Page 161 of Chandelier Sin
I gave him a humorless smile. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with here.”
He arched a brow. “This is going to be interesting.”
“I’ll fight back.” I watched him carefully, bracing for his attack.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Lance raised the whip to strike, pausing with the crop above my head in a looming threat.
He laughed when I flinched.
I swallowed the bitter taste of hate. “Go to hell.”
Lance didn’t shackle my ankles himself.
He had two of Pendulum’s senior Doms have the privilege, making a show of the degradation to come. They were gentle at least—probably because they knew the repercussions of facing my wrath later.
Even so, I struggled against them, refusing to surrender.
The entire point of this session was to watch me fighting for my dignity. We all knew that. Those who’d gathered here wouldn’t know the reason I was being punished; they probably didn’t care.
Once secured to the end of the bed with the ankle shackles, I pushed to my feet, hands balled into fists ready to punch or scratch, or do anything else to deter him.
Lance stood before me looking smug, like he’d already tamed me. But his expression changed as he turned to face the far wall.
I heard it too, the rumble of the elevator behind the mirror that camouflaged it. Then the rattle of a door handle on the other side.
What other fresh hell was heading my way?
When the mirror-door opened, I squinted into the dimness, drawing in a sharp breath when I recognized Atticus.
He was making a habit of these grand entrances.
Seemingly unharmed even after breaking Pendulum’s ultimate rule, he looked unperturbed by the stares coming from the esteemed audience, and the fact he’d interrupted a session.
I snapped my gaze over to Aemon and Jewel and read their annoyance.
Atticus had gatecrashed—again.
He strode into the center of the room with unmatched confidence. The kind that even seemed to impress Lance.
Aemon had always had a dark sense of humor. Somehow, someway, Atticus had sensed this and played along as the ultimate rogue.
Lance turned a critical gaze on him. “You weren’t invited.”
“That’s what makes these the best kind of sessions.” Atticus stretched his arms wide. “Did I miss anything?”
“This is a private session,” Jewel called out.
“We all know once I get here the party starts,” Atticus said with panache.
Lance tapped the whip against his palm, unamused.
Atticus gestured to Lance to follow him, and they walked to the other side of the room. Both their heads leaned close as though they were having a reasonable conversation. If there was animosity between them, it was concealed. Seeing them together, seemingly scheming, made my stomach lurch.
I tugged on the shackles as panic surged through me, a chill slithering up my spine. It was useless to struggle—I was trapped at their mercy.
Lance gave a conceited nod to the room. “I concede to Sinclair.”
I’d misheard, surely?
