Page 135 of Bound By Her

A ripple of unease brushed through Bryson.

“Eric, would you be so kind as to escort one of the slaves to the stage?”

Bryson noted the flicker of surprise in Eric’s features before the man masked it.

“Anyone in particular?” Eric asked carefully.

Jonathan surveyed the room, his gaze hunting.

A tingle crawled up Bryson’s spine.

“How about the bigger one?” Jonathan’s voice took on a mocking lilt. “The brute scaring off our guests.”

Across the table, Kaydon sat alone.

Two empty chairs on either side of him, a quiet testament to how many people he had, in fact, scared off.

Bryson’s muscles flexed.

The room was split.

At the center table, the players. Alessandro. Helen. The Triune.

Watching. Waiting.

On the outskirts, the audience. Regular club patrons sipping expensive wine, oblivious to the shift creeping into the air.

But Bryson saw it.

Felt it.

The Triune’s table was watching with keen interest, and Jonathan’s fingers snapped again.

His hulking bodyguard, Crest, stepping forward, carrying a leather bench.

Bryson’s jaw locked.

Kaydon didn’t resist as Eric led him to the front.

Didn’t fight.

Didn’t speak.

Kaydon’s wrists were shackled to the top of the bench, his ankles secured at the base.

His body doubled over. Ass facing the dinner guests.

Bryson’s nails bit into his palm.

Nice manners, Jonny. Real fucking classy.

Jonathan went to a nearby drawer and drew out what looked like a metal ring. Hallow in the center it was designed to hold a person’s mouth open.

“I understand you were disowned due to your aggressive nature. I’m here to assure our guests, and help them understand, that behavior is easily remedied.”

Bryson hated Jonathan’s proximity to Kaydon. Especially with Kaydon shackled and helpless.

“Open, slave.”

---