Libra (The Zodiac Queen Book 7) Page 6

  Gentle apology comes off Vance as he slides my panties down my legs. His temperament is the exact opposite of Sebastian, who storms from the room the instant the doctor begins the exam. I’m not sure what bothers me more—the violation going on between my legs, or the stomps of an irate lion growing distant down the hall.

  11

  Libra is supposed to be the house of justice, the balance of right and wrong, the juxtapose of harsh and merciful. For Pax Monroe, justice means vengeance, wrong is right, and mercy is launched out the window under the weight of his sadistic characteristics.

  The House of Libra is deviance incarnate with accents of pain.

  Black sofas square off the living area from the kitchen and eat-in bar, and the standard floor-to-ceiling windows draw the eye toward the sea—until the dark gray wall opposite steals the focus with its display of leather crops and paddles. It’s the artwork of a sadist.

  The rest of the living space is clean and contemporary in feel, with white shag rugs in front of the couches and bouquets of slate roses on top of glass side tables. Pax seems out of place here, his dark attire and slicked-back hair more suitable to the dungeon.

  Still reeling from the last twenty-four hours, I almost miss the figure kneeling in the corner of the great room. Pax snaps his fingers, and the brunette springs into motion, crawling to him on all fours, her gaze on the marble floor. Short dark hair reaches her chin in a sleek and severe fashion. A leather collar circles her throat—the same type Pax wanted to buckle around my neck before Liam drugged him. Other than that collar, she’s not wearing a thing.

  “Welcome home, Master.”

  Pax bends, tipping her chin, and I’m taken aback by a pair of exotic green eyes. “This is Frieda,” he says, turning to face me as he tightens his grip. “She’s my slave, and since the chancellor kept you from your duty here this month, you won’t get the chance to earn your place above her. When I’m not around, you will obey her.”

  Upon my silence, he lifts a brow. “I’m assuming you still remember your training from the House of Taurus?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will call me Master.”

  Only a few days left.

  I can get through this, and considering the humiliation of the medical exam not even an hour ago, the fact that he hasn’t beat me or done some other unimaginable thing is a good sign.

  Or maybe I’m deluding myself. Maybe my head’s still spinning, trying to catch up to the lightning-speed change of living in paradise with Liam to becoming this man’s slave for the next few days.

  He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Address me, my queen, before I show you what a real punishment is.”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I say, giving him the response he wants.

  He turns his attention back to Frieda. “Get up.” Still gripping her chin, he doesn’t let go until she rises. “I have a training session in the dungeon today, so I’m putting the queen in your hands until I get back. Have her readied in two hours.”

  “Of course, Master.”

  “Do a good job, and I’ll reward you.” He turns on his heel and exits, the front door slamming in his wake.

  That’s when his slave trains those startling eyes on me. “You’re a fucking disaster,” she says, her lip curling in contempt.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Her soundless footsteps take her in a circle around me. “Your hair’s a tangled mess, your skin’s washed out, and that dress belongs in the damn trash.”

  “Does your master know you have the mouth of a sailor?”

  She laughs. “Of course he does. He punishes me for it all the time.”

  I can’t relate to the excitement in her voice—as if she likes it when he punishes her.

  “Take off your clothes,” she orders.

  My first instinct is to argue with her, but I bite back my indignation and strip. The two of us stand naked in the monster’s living room—his slave and slave-in-training.

  Only a few more days.

  Those five words will be my mantra until I set foot in the library.

  Freida nods toward the floor. “That’s where you belong until you’ve earned your place.”

  “Am I supposed to call you Master as well?” My sarcasm comes swift, and so does the harsh strike to my face.

  “You’ll address me as Mistress. Now get on your knees.”

  Stunned speechless, I hold my smarting cheek and dip to the floor.

  Frieda stares down at me for several seconds, lips pursed, expression alive with malice. “Your title means nothing here. In this house, you’re the dirt under this slave’s foot.” Pivoting on her bare feet, she walks away, a cocky sway to her hips. “This way.”

  I crawl after her, somehow knowing it’s what she expects, and the next couple of hours are filled with waxing, bathing, hair-washing, and makeup. Everything but clothing, because in the House of Libra, nakedness is the standard uniform for the monster’s slaves.

  His house is the culmination of every bad experience I’ve withstood in this tower, from the beatings and sexual degradations to forced capitulation. It all led me here, in preparation for something much worse.

  I don’t know what’s coming, but my gut roils with dread.

  Frieda escorts me back into the great room, and we both wait on our haunches, eyes downcast and palms face-up on our thighs. By the time Pax returns, my knees burn from kneeling so long. As he approaches, I spy a chain and collar hanging from his right fist.

  “You’re incredibly lucky, my queen. I was able to work out my anger on the trainee in the dungeon.” He fastens the collar around my neck and tugs on the chain. “Up.”

  I stand, and my skin crawls as he studies my naked body, assessing Frieda’s work. “Very nice.” He brushes his fingers across my lips, trails them down my throat, teases my nipples with light pinches. I lurch back a few steps, out of reach, my toleration for this monster approaching the breaking point.

  Suddenly, he grips me by the chin. “As my future wife, you will obey me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He slaps Frieda. “Refuse to address me as Master again. I dare you.”

  I bite my lip, shriveling under his glare. “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “She might be above you now, my queen, but one day, she’ll be your proxy. Her happiness in this house depends on your behavior.”

  Now Freida’s hostility makes sense, because it wasn’t just born from possessiveness or petty jealousy. No, it was hatched from the most basic of human instincts.

  Survival.

  The resentment wafting off her naked skin chills me to the bone. So does the way Pax’s mind works—with a thousand diabolical angles leading to various traps. Frieda is one of them, and no matter how poorly she treated me, I don’t want to be responsible for him hurting her.

  “Come with me,” he says, releasing my chin and yanking on the leash. Frieda doesn’t break her pose as Pax ushers me away, past the kitchen, down a hall, through a heavy set of doors with an intricate capital M carved into the wood.

  M for Monroe.

  Or M for Master?

  Maybe it’s a combination of both.

  He unlocks the door to his private quarters, and we enter a space that falls somewhere between a rustic dungeon and a luxurious master suite. The room is painted in charcoal gray with an accent wall of warm bricks featuring a wooden X. Additional white throw rugs liven up the hardwood floor, tinted a sinful red from the unusual recessed lighting in the ceiling. A king bed sits atop a cage in the corner, its four posts made of iron.

  Pax opens the door to the prison under the bed. “Get in.”

  Viewing those bars as protection from him, I scamper inside and let him lock me in the cage. Through the round opening in the bars—large enough to accommodate my head—he reaches in and grabs the end of the leash before fastening it to a hook on the floor. There’s enough slack in the chain for me to lie on my side, but other than that, movement is impossible.


  Seconds later, he exits the bedroom, leaving me in dreaded anticipation of what comes next. Jet lagged and hungry, I let exhaustion pull me into an uncomfortable sleep for a while, until the door clicks open again, followed by heavy footsteps.

  I jerk awake, instinctively fighting the leash that keeps me from retreating deeper into the cage.

  “You’ll just hurt your neck doing that.” His bare feet come into view. With his usual sinister grin, he sets a bowl on the floor in front of the circular opening. “Eat.”

  I reach for it, but he brings a crop down on my fingers.

  “No hands. Lap it up like a dog.”

  There are certain men in this tower who deserve a session of slow torture, and Pax is definitely one of them. The aroma of beef and vegetable soup reaches my nostrils, making my stomach rumble, and I push my dignity aside in the name of sustenance. Scooting forward, working my head through the opening, I hover over the bowl and try to figure out how to eat without getting the soup everywhere.

  “Some of us are anxious to get laid.” He wraps my thick hair around his fist and forces my face into the bowl. “Hurry up and finish.”

  It’s hot enough to burn my tongue, but I lap it up anyway, my eyes stinging as the hot liquid slides down my throat. As I empty the bowl, I try not to think of what my life will be like if Pax wins the auction.

  The scenario is unfathomable—on the same level of horror as the thought of marrying Heath Bordeaux. I summon my memories of Sebastian, holding onto the way he loved me in the cottage on the beach.

  I have no choice but to trust in my brother’s plan. The alternative can’t happen.

  It can’t.

  Pax takes the empty bowl from the room and returns a few minutes later with Freida. He picks her up and dumps her naked body onto the bed, and then his pants puddle around his feet in front of my face.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard, the queen will feel the power of my cock from the floor.” He climbs out of sight, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and the top of the cage shudders under the force of his punishing dominance.

  12

  Time moves at the speed of agony inside the House of Libra, making two days feel like two weeks. I spend all of my time in the cage, only allowed out to use the bathroom and to eat a real meal at the table. The confinement brings back the trauma of the days Miles locked me in the double suite without food, but even after endless hours in the cage, I find the imprisonment preferable to becoming a plaything to Pax.

  I’m dozing after another lunch of soup—again, eaten like a dog—when approaching footsteps jerk me awake. I bring my knees to my chest and hug myself, my gaze glued to the front of the cage.

  “Is my pet anxious for tomorrow to arrive?” His black denim-clad legs come into view, and the jingle of keys reaches my ears before he bends, unlocking the latch. “Sadly for you, tomorrow isn’t here yet. Time to come out and play.”

  I knew this moment would come—the one I feared most—and there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. I crawl out of my prison and assume the position at his feet.

  “Have you ever had an anal plug inserted before?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “How about anal sex?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. Bend over the bed.” I start shaking, and the uncontrollable shudders intensify as I sprawl on the end of the mattress.

  “With Castle?” he asks, lubing my hole and shoving in a painfully large plug.

  “No, Sebastian,” I choke out, tensing from the insertion.

  Laughing, Pax pulls me to my feet. “Oh, this is good. The chancellor didn’t have the balls even when he had you on that island.”

  “The chancellor had honor.” My tone might get me slapped, but I don’t care. I’m tired of submitting to this monster, all in the hopes that he won’t seriously hurt me.

  “We’re about to see how honorable he is.” Yanking on the chain, Pax pulls me from the room, and the trip to the dungeon passes in a terrified blur. By the time we descend the stairs, I’m trembling all over.

  There’s something colder than usual about the underground space. Maybe because most of the lights are shut off, and this time, I’m alone with Pax. He strolls across the floor as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  And why should he? He’s the one in control down here, the master of this torture chamber. He glances over his shoulder, sending me a grin I find more terrifying than the harshest scowl. Another ripple of fear shoots through my body.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” he asks, pulling on the chain. My breaths come too rapid; my pulse amps too fast.

  I’m alone.

  Alone with a monster.

  And I’m not prepared for what comes next. He shoves me onto a bench, and a piece of my mind chips away at reality. I close my eyes and block out the chafing texture of the wood under my breasts and belly. Thick buckles surround my wrists and ankles, and a leather strap wraps around my waist. He stands behind me and tugs on the strap, raising my ass in the air.

  “If you lower your ass, I’ll whip you, understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  There’s nothing comfortable about this piece of equipment. It was designed to humiliate and punish, immobilizing its victim in the most degrading position imaginable.

  Thighs spread.

  Ass raised.

  Arms rendered useless.

  Pax rounds the bench and stalls in front of me. “Do you know why you’re down here?”

  I have a strong hunch, but I play dumb as he reaches for his zipper. With a shake of my head, I hold my breath. If I don’t, I might start hyperventilating.

  “You’re down here to get ass-fucked.” He exposes his thick cock, aiming the tip at my face. “Some women love the pain these cause.” His fingers caress the spiked piercings surrounding the head.

  “Please, no!” My voice comes out high-pitched, any semblance of courage or bravery running in desertion. “You don’t have to do this.”

  He presses a finger to my lips. “Shhh, it might not be so bad.” He gestures at his erect cock and the painful-looking piercings there. “Sure, the spikes will hurt like hell, but you’re strong, my queen. I know you can take it…if you decide you want me to fuck you like that.”

  I stall on a gasping whimper, searching the calculation in his expression for a sign of false hope. A man like Pax is more than capable of messing with someone’s head just for the fun of it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got a choice to make, since he won’t take what I so generously offered.”

  “Who? I don’t understand.”

  “Choose me now, or I’ll bring Castle down, and you can beg him to take you instead. Either way, once I remove that plug, you’re getting a rough ass-fucking.”

  I close my eyes as understanding dawns. Liam told him no.

  Which means Pax wants him to do it. He wants the chancellor to hurt me.

  This is Pax’s revenge.

  I eye the metal spikes poking out from his glands and imagine them tearing through my rectum. The last thing I want to do is bring Liam into this, but any other option is unfathomable.

  “Clock is ticking.” Pax taps his platinum gold watch.

  “If I ask him to do this…I need your word you won’t touch me.”

  “I’ll touch you as much as I want, but if you get him to fuck your ass, I’ll leave it alone.”

  I’m suspicious of his terms, but I don’t see how I have a choice, considering I’m strapped down to a bench, and he holds all the power.

  I make the only choice I can. “I want him to do it.”

  If Pax harbors any disappointment, he hides it well. “I thought you might say that, which is why I told him to meet me down here.”

  As usual, Liam has impeccable timing. The door to the dungeon open and shuts, echoing through the chilly, dark space, and my attention swerves to the stairs, where Liam descends.

  “What the hell is going on?” h
e shouts, rushing to my side. “Why is she strapped down like this?” His tone vibrates with enough rage to bring down the tower.

  Stroking himself in leisurely fashion, Pax gives the chancellor his signature smug smile. “As soon as that anal plug comes out, the queen’s getting a rough fuck in that tight little hole. The question is, are you doing her, or am I?”

  “I will kill you for this.”

  “I wouldn’t make such threats if I were you. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  Liam lurches toward Pax, intense hatred distorting his gorgeous face. “I could beat the life out of you right now, and no one would miss you.”

  “You could, but you won’t.”

  Liam’s shoulders slump. He’s not a coward. He was raised to be a leader, a diplomat, and somehow—despite having been raised in such a misogynistic culture—he found a way to keep from selling off all the pieces of his gentle soul.

  “Liam, please. I want you to do this. Please.”

  “This isn’t a choice!” He glares at Pax, who’s still stroking himself. “This is his sick way of getting revenge.”

  “I know. Please, I’m begging you. I want it to be you.”

  Liam’s eyes cut to mine. “You wouldn’t let me do it on the island, but you’re begging now?”

  “Yes.”

  Running both hands down his face, he shakes his head. “Under these circumstances…without time and preparation…it’ll hurt, Novalee.”

  “He’ll hurt me more.”

  Pax snickers. “She’s not lying.”

  “If I do this, how do I know you won’t hurt her anyway?”

  “On my honor as the Brotherhood Enforcer, I give you my word.”

  Liam hesitates.

  Pax taps his watch again, muttering, “Tik-tok.”

  With a frustrated, resigned exhale, Liam reaches for his zipper. “Where’s the lube?”

  “You don’t get any. Use spit if you must.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Focus on how you’re saving her from me. I take ass all the time without a drop of lube or spit.”