“Okay.” I turned to walk away when Saint’s hand clamped around my wrist, tugging me back to face him.
“Okay what?” he growled, danger flickering in his eyes.
I felt Monroe’s gaze on me and hated that he was watching me be rebuked by this asshole. He’d never witnessed my abuse up close, even though he’d heard all about it.
I knew what Saint wanted, but I also refused to make life easy on him these days. “Okay, Lord Fuckwit?” I guessed innocently, my voice as sweet as sugar and the others started laughing. Saint did not. His eyes were swirling like a hurricane and my heart thundered in my ears as I waited for him to chew me out.
“Do you think your filthy tongue is amusing, Plague?” Saint asked icily and everyone’s laughter fell dead.
“It was just a joke, wasn’t it Tatum?” Monroe offered, but I didn’t acknowledge him, my eyes glued to Saint in a dare. It wasn’t a joke. It was a threat to his little regime. And I was going to face his wrath and deny him the dose of fear he wanted from me.
“Answer my question,” Saint snapped, his voice cutting the air to ribbons.
“Yes, I think my filthy tongue is amusing,” I deadpanned, my eyes burning from how few times I’d blinked in the past minute.
Saint strode forward suddenly, his grip on my arm iron clad as he tugged me toward the stairs.
“Saint,” Monroe called. “We need to finish getting ready.”
I knew he was doing it for me, but if he really thought Saint would stop once he had an idea in his head, he was fast going to learn he was wrong.
I kept pace with Saint as he jogged up the stairs, refusing to be dragged the whole way and lifting my chin as if I wasn’t in the least bit bothered by where this was leading. But inside, everything twisted and knotted, making me sick with worry. I stole a glance at the others down below as Blake pinned a cloak around Monroe’s neck. He looked kingly…dark…like one of them. And I wasn’t sure I liked it.
Saint led me into his bathroom, slamming the door shut and releasing me at last. He pointed to the shower. “In. Clothes on. Kneel down.”
I choked back the question in my throat - what are you going to do to me?? - and walked confidently into the shower. I turned to face him, dropping to my knees and gazing evenly up at him as if I wasn’t rattled to my core.
He surveyed me like that for a long moment, looking like the king of darkness in his cloak and painted flesh. He stepped forward, leaning over me to turn the shower on and I winced as freezing water washed over my head, chilling me in an instant.
He turned to the sink, opening the cupboard beneath it and taking out something I couldn’t see as I started to shiver. He tossed a packet in the trash then turned to me with something concealed in his palm.
“Eyes shut, tongue out,” he commanded and panic splintered across my spine.
Tongue out?!
I wanted to refuse, but knew it would get me nowhere. So I needed to front this out.
Face it like you’ll make him face it when it’s your time to punish him.
A wave of calm washed over me at that thought and I met his gaze with a cool determination. “One day, it’s going to be you on your knees and me striking the whip,” I told him, a dark smile pulling at my mouth.
He moved forward so I fell into his shadow and all the brightness of the room seemed to fade. “Oh I don’t think so, Barbie. I was made to follow rules. So I’ll break yours approximately the same time as a halo appears above my head and I receive my acceptance letter from heaven.”
I glowered a challenge at that and he smiled his victory like he’d already won. I wasn’t going to give up, but he was going to be nearly impossible to break. As soon as I found a crack though, I’d tear into it with tooth and claw and never let go. I will defeat you Saint Memphis.
Saint crouched before me but was somehow still taller, his chin cocked down to gaze into my eyes. “Obey me.”
I hesitated for one endless second, my inner rebel not liking being told what to do. But I wasn’t going to balk.
I closed my eyes and stuck my tongue out, fighting the urge to flinch as I sensed him moving even closer. He took a handful of my hair, yanking my head back and the water cascaded over me, wetting my face and running down my cheeks in streams. Something hard and apple scented pressed to my tongue and I fought the urge to jerk away as Saint scrubbed the bar of soap over my mouth in firm strokes. Gah!
“Let’s see if you curse at me after your tongue has been washed clean, Plague,” Saint purred and I squeezed my eyes tighter as the water washed away the suds on my tongue only to be replaced by more and more as he continued to rub the soap up into a lather.
It tasted vile and I battled the urge to gag as he continued.
This was cruel and humiliating, just like everything else he did to me. It made me feel ill and I had to hold myself back from trying to scratch his eyes out for it.
“Spit,” he said at last, removing the soap from my tongue.
I did, wiping my tongue on the back of my arm, wincing as the bitter taste remained there to torment me.
Saint tossed the soap at my feet, moving to stand and casually wiping his hands off on
