Scorpio (The Zodiac Queen Book 8) Read online

  Scorpio

  Copyright © 2022 Gemma James

  Cover design by Gemma James

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Up Next

  Newsletter

  Torrent

  The Devil’s Kiss

  Trashy Foreplay

  Swallow Me Whole

  With Dreams of Payne

  Playlist

  About the Author

  To my readers, who waited and waited and waited some more for this book. Thank you for your endless patience.

  1

  OCTOBER 23RD

  The decision should be simple, like deciding between oatmeal and eggs for breakfast. No more complicated than choosing a color palette for a new dress design. As easy as selecting a pair of shoes for a special event. But this isn’t just any event, and the wrong choice could bring on a whole new level of emotional destruction.

  As if there’s anything left to destroy after these past few weeks. The memories torment me, especially the moments I spent with the chancellor in the dungeon, trapped in the snare of Pax Monroe’s vengeance. I’ll never forget the ownership in Liam’s grip as he thrust his way to climax, or his shame afterward, thickening in the air with the scent of deviance.

  And then there’s the memory of Sebastian and his wounded ocean eyes. Will he ever forgive me for what he interrupted on that island? There’s only one way to find out, and that involves cornering him at the ball.

  Which brings me back to this decision.

  With a sigh, I trace the complex stitching of the silver mask before hovering over soft, black lace. The unknown makes my fingers tremble. Too many what-ifs. Too many variables. Too many men to think about.

  Men like Heath Bordeaux, Miles Sinclair, and the beast of all beasts…

  The monster in the dungeon.

  Will they wear silver or black? Or maybe the Brotherhood villains will cover their bases by choosing both.

  One in silver, two in black. Or vice versa.

  Rubbing the goose flesh from my arms, I sink onto the ottoman at the end of the bed. A light breeze drifts through the French doors, chillier now since the change of seasons painted the trees with splashes of blazing color. It’s too cold to leave the doors open for more than a few minutes, but I crave the sun, the break of waves against the cliffside, the gentle wind that carries a hint of freedom with it.

  As the sun dips below the horizon, I close my eyes and breathe in the essence of the sea, a scent that’s reminiscent yet so unlike the tropical setting the Brotherhood dragged me away from just days ago. Somehow, even after everything I’ve been through, I find comfort in this moment—in these formulaic living quarters and the tradition of a new month.

  My personal space in the House of Scorpio offers no surprises, easing my anxiety with the same balcony and seating area, the same luxurious quality of furnishings and linens, and the same layout I’ve become accustomed to in this tower. It’s the only constant in my life, and I cling to it in the face of this choice.

  Because this decision is about more than just the villains.

  Is it too much to hope that Sebastian and Liam will wear the same color, even if it’s the opposite of mine? That’s the only scenario that will put the three of us on even ground at Ford’s ball.

  “Having trouble deciding?”

  I lift my head and find Ford lingering in the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to see that you’re torn.” His hair is careless and overgrown like Sebastian’s, though it’s a lighter shade of blond. He’s a golden boy extraordinaire, decked out in a light gray tux with his hair slicked back.

  A glance at the ornate clock on my nightstand shoots a ping of apprehension through my chest. The ball starts in a little over an hour, and I haven’t begun to get ready for it.

  I’m still stuck on this choice.

  “How can I decide?” I gnaw on my lower lip as he steps into the room.

  “I can choose for you.”

  For a tempting second, I consider it. Handing over the decision would certainly take the pressure off. But I’m already shaking my head as he settles next to me, leaving the box of masks between us on the ottoman.

  “Thank you, but I need to make this decision on my own.”

  Somehow, I need to make Sebastian see that he’s still got the biggest piece of my confused, fragile heart.

  “How was your nap?” Ford asks, and his change of subject doesn’t go unnoticed.

  I offer him a tremulous smile. “Restless.”

  “Pax is a madman. I’d be shit shocked if you didn’t have trouble sleeping.”

  “You don’t agree with the way Pax runs his house?”

  “Few of us do.”

  “Do you agree with the rest of it?”

  “The rest of what?” Confusion laces his tone, but the knowing squint of those striking hazel eyes makes me question if he’s feigning ignorance.

  “The Brotherhood, the auction, the queen’s duty…all of it.”

  “Yes, to the first—with some notable changes—and no to the second. As for the queen’s duty, I have no problem sharing you, though I’d prefer your willing participation.”

  “So basically, you’re saying ‘no’ to all three.”

  He raises a brow. “Am I?”

  “Your answer to the second question was clear as day. The other two are open for interpretation.” I study him, taking note of his square jaw and the boyish slant of his full lips. He wears that tailored tux as if it’s an extension of him, imparting the kind of confidence that borders on cocky. “Do you not want to bid at the auction?”

  “You’re very direct.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I shouldn’t be. While Liam watched you drool over Sebastian, I watched you from the advantage of obscurity.” With a tilt of his head, he tucks a flaxen braid behind my ear.

  I suck in a breath. “What did you see?”

  “A spirited girl who refused to break.”

  “They tried. All of them.”

  “I know.” Withdrawing his hand, he inches away. “But they failed every time, didn’t they?”

  “Is that why you don’t want to marry me? I’m too resilient for your taste?”

  “If I wanted to get married, you’d be at the top of my list.”

  So Ford Stryker isn’t the marrying kind. He looks no younger than my eighteen years, but I somehow feel light years ahead of him, because he’s still coming into his own—on his own terms—and I came of age by force and fire.

  My attention returns to the masks, causing my heart to stutter. This month, this night, and this boyish man is a turning point. I don’t know how or why the certainty grips me now, but it does.

  “If I asked you to decide for me, which color would you choose?”

  “Silver,” he says without hesitation.

  “That
was quick.”

  “It’s just one night. I’m not asking you to decide the fate of your future.”

  Then why does it feel like everything hinges on this supposedly simple decision? “No offense,” I say, grabbing the box, “but I’ll go with black.”

  He chuckles. “I’m not trying to trick you, I promise.”

  “Then why the choice?”

  “To keep things fun.”

  “Fun for whom?”

  His tongue sweeps his lower lip, and in that instant, it pulls at me.

  The twinge.

  Just as unwanted now as when Liam held me hostage on his island.

  “Everyone, my queen. Fun has no bounds.”

  I clear my throat. “Then I guess I should get ready.”

  “I’ll meet you down there.” He makes it to the doorway before coming to a halt. “Two things before I go.” A glance over his shoulder accompanies his preamble. “I left a gown for you in the closet, and I’d really love to see you in it.”

  “Okay,” I say, wondering where he’s going with this. “And the other?”

  “This ball isn’t like any you’ve been to before, but I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind.”

  “That sounds…ominous.”

  “It’s just a simple request, Novalee.”

  “A request?” My dubious tone draws out the question. “What do you want from me, Mr. Stryker?”

  “You can start by calling me Ford.” His gaze intensifies, challenging me from across the room. “And tonight, I want you to come for me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I want you to touch yourself in front of everyone.”

  “W-what?” I sputter.

  Before I can argue with him, he disappears from sight, footsteps retreating down the hall in a rhythm of finality. That’s when I realize Ford Stryker is a liar. He promised freedom and fun, but his request is little more than a veiled demand to get what he wants.

  And when it comes to the men in this tower, they all want something from the queen.

  2

  Ford’s “gown” is the raciest thing to grace my body in public. The dress hugs me like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Glittery lace the hue of a moon-lit night puts my breasts on display, exposing my erect nipples under the see-through bust. Double slits run up my legs, ankle to hip, allowing for easy access, but the most scandalizing part is how I’m not wearing any panties.

  I could have picked another dress for the occasion, as he’d had the closet stocked with my wardrobe—as if daring me to go against his wishes—but my gut told me it’s the type of game he’d play.

  A game he clearly expected me to lose.

  And that’s why I did the opposite by shimmying into his obscene, form-fitting gown. Besides, I’m forbidden fruit in this sinful lace, a taunt and tease for the testosterone-infested population in the tower, empowered by the black mask around my head and the severe line of my blood-red lips.

  As I stall on the threshold of the ball, I aim to stun, my offensive strategy one of false bravado. I hadn’t planned on making a grand entrance, but I took extra time on my hair, leaving it falling in a sleek sheet around my bare shoulders. As I sweep my gaze across the bustling space in search of a familiar blond head, techno music throbs under the red soles of my heels.

  The ballroom has gone under a complete transformation—the left side of the room sectioned off from the dance floor with gauzy black curtains strung with gold lights. The French doors remain closed against the frigid autumn temperature.

  Masked guests mingle and dance, the men in various shades of tuxes while women show off couture gowns that glitter under the ambient lighting. The fashion statements range from formal to kinky lingerie, and my own dress falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.

  Ford appears from the thick of it, the guests parting for him as if he’s a king in their midst—a king heading straight for the queen.

  He halts within arm’s reach, his hazel irises glinting behind a silver and black mask. “You wore the gown,” he says, sounding surprised.

  “You asked me to.”

  “You look…” His perusal lingers on my chest. “Wow. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday gift.”

  “Today’s your birthday?”

  “Nineteen years and counting.”

  “Happy Birthday.”

  “Thank you.”

  I glance over his shoulder, searching the crowd once more, and spot Mr. Bordeaux with his jet black hair, face hidden behind a silver mask. I spy Vance and Miles wearing black, but Sebastian is nowhere in sight. Neither is Liam.

  “They haven’t arrived yet.” Ford’s lips purse in amusement.

  I return my attention to him. “Who?”

  He laughs. “You’re cute when you act coy.” Taking a step closer, he sticks out a hand. “I want to show you something.” It’s yet another demand obscured by a tone of gentle persuasion, but I slide my palm into his and allow him to lead me through the throng. The guests part again, keeping to either side like pillars, and it isn’t until we cross through the gauzy drapes that I let out a shocked gasp.

  Under the glow of neon lighting, a separate realm exists—a deviant clash of perversion and decadence. Scantily dressed people gyrate to the pulsing music on a makeshift stage, their skin damp with sweat.

  In the middle of it all is Pax, bare from the waist up except for his leather mask the same color as mine. He crosses the stage with an undeniable swagger, his abs glistening under the lights as he leads his slave to a giant X on the wall. Nude acrobatic dancers perform in neon cages on either side as he secures Frieda to the planks. Curious guests make themselves comfortable on the surrounding loungers to watch the show.

  “So what do you think?” Ford asks, lingering behind me. “Want to go up there and play with me?”

  “I should…p-probably eat something,” I say, my vocal cords constricting as I envision the hors d’oeuvres near the ballroom’s entrance. If there’s one thing about this night for which to be thankful, it’s the cancellation of the monthly dinner in favor of Ford’s ball, not to mention a much-needed escape from his expectations.

  I push past him and disappear into the crowd, but his chuckle seems to trail after me above the techno beat. I sense a mischievous streak in Ford Stryker, and that makes him as unpredictable as the rest of the men in the Brotherhood.

  Sending a quick glance over my shoulder, I make a small plate before blending into the shadows at the edge of the ballroom, grateful for the illusion of solitude. With my attention on the front entrance, I nibble, tasting none of it. I’m wound tight from too much nervous energy, and so focused on the masked guests coming and going that I don’t notice the tall figure appearing from the opposite direction until he’s right in front of me.

  A pair of seductive brown eyes stare back from behind a black mask, making my heart skip a series of beats.

  For several moments, Liam says nothing, though his expression betrays what’s on his mind.

  Fear of rejection.

  Self-recrimination.

  Lustful appreciation.

  “Jesus…” he trails off with a thick swallow. “You wouldn’t have made it out of my bedroom dressed like that.” His gaze drifts down my body, that heated perusal caressing me like a phantom touch.

  “The gown was Ford’s idea.”

  “I could murder him right now.” A tick goes off in his jaw.

  “Aren’t you in enough trouble already?”

  “Apparently not.” Tilting his head toward the dance floor, one brow raised in silent question, he holds out a hand.

  I glance at the entrance again before depositing my plate with the other abandoned culinary fanfare.

  As his warm grip encloses my hand, hesitation stiffens my limbs. Against my better judgement, I allow him to usher me onto the dance floor.

  He pulls me close, and the music slows to a hypnotic beat. A full minute passes in soundless tension, despite our bodies moving as
one. Burrowing his face against my neck, he holds me tight against him, as if he’s scared I’ll disappear from the cage of his arms.

  “I’m so sorry, Novalee.” Further words aren’t needed to convey what he’s apologizing for. What happened in the dungeon plays in my mind like a horror film, and in this moment, I know it haunts him as much as it haunts me.

  “You stopped Pax from hurting me.”

  “By hurting you myself.”

  “You did what I asked—what you had to do.” Pulling back, I meet his eyes. “We both did.”

  “There’s no justification for how I got off on it.”

  “We didn’t have a choice, Liam.”

  He brushes my hair back, thumb grazing my cheek. “I had options from the beginning. You didn’t.” He lets a slow beat pass. “I hope you can forgive me someday.”

  “I’ve already forgiven you.” Maybe I shouldn’t, but my heart can only house so much hatred, and every ounce of rage is reserved for the men who hurt me without remorse.

  Monsters like Pax Monroe.

  Liam swallows hard. “As much as I want your forgiveness, I know I don’t deserve it.”

  “It’s all I have left to give you.”

  If forgiving him is self-destructive and foolish, then so be it. At least the decision is mine.

  He cups my cheek. “What about your heart?”

  “You’ll always have a piece.”

  Liam blinks, dark lashes lowering in saddened defeat. “Sebastian’s a lucky man.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t see it that way.”

  The corner of his mouth tilts up, incongruent with the melancholy in his eyes. “Impossible.”

  “You didn’t see his face on the island.” Liam was busy getting dressed as Pax paraded me in front of the entire Brotherhood, naked as the day I was born.