Page 6 of Broken Queen
The skull mask man bent down, grabbing my face with his hands, the remote sliding against my wet cheek. Then he dug his fingers into my scalp with so much force, it was like he considered my head already detached.
Click.
He smacked the side of my cheeks, silently ordering me to open up and take more of his length. I complied.
Click, click, click.
He pulled out, his shaft still hard and twisting with veins. His pale skin had deepened with color, the blood threatening to burst out of his length. Red lipstick painted the base of his shaft.
He wasn’t going to come for me.
Why was I disappointed?
The remote clattered to the floor like a pen in an empty hall. The skull mask man kneeled down in front of me. Two caverns opened in the front of the skull, hollowed out for his eyes. Shadows swarmed over his irises, but his gaze burned deep inside of me.
He gave me a slight nod of his head, as if to tell me it was over now, and he was still by my side. Chills ran down my spine.
And with that, the skull mask man moved toward the door. His boots sent tremors through the room, marking his exit. The crowd silently parted again.
Logan pulled out from behind me. He hadn’t come either, but that was to be expected; he was too uptight for this sort of experience. He zipped his pants, then quickly unlatched the top lunette of the guillotine, removing me from its grasp.
“You made it,” he breathed. The crowd murmured back to life again, now that the skull mask man was gone.
I pursed my lips. “You’re surprised?”
“Relieved,” he gasped. As if this wasn’t his idea.
The members conversed with each other, while several came over to congratulate Logan on his new membership. I pulled on my white dress, pleased that I didn’t have to wash off any blood this time, then I took my place by his side, congratulating him like the others.
Once we were alone, walking toward the main ballroom, I held Logan’s hand lazily. A server came by with a tray of champagne, and we each took a glass. I tossed mine back immediately. Logan took a small sip, watching me over the side of his flute with amusement.
“Next Masquerade, I promise not to put you in the guillotine,” I said.
“What if your father wants it?” he asked.
“He already got his show with you. How about the rack instead? It’s easy, right? And as an official member, they’ll be nice to you,” I winked. “I promise I won’t let them kill you. Just a little caning on your balls.”
Another server passed us, and Logan settled his half-empty flute on her tray.
“I’m not going to be a sacrifice at the next Masquerade,” he said, his words stern, like the matter had already been decided.
But I hadn’t been part of that decision.
I furrowed my brows. “Yes, you are.”
“We talked about this,” he said calmly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “Only one of us needs to be a member.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, but we made a deal?—”
“That one member was supposed to be me.”
I clutched the flute’s stem like a thin neck, ready to snap it in half. Logan was too soft for a life in the Marked Blooms Syndicate. If only one of us would officially join the secret society, it was supposed to be me. My lips curled, forcing my facial muscles into that look of satisfaction.
He was messing with me. He had to be messing with me.
Logan wrapped his hand around my shoulder. “Being in the Marked Blooms Syndicate is too dangerous for you. You’re high profile enough as it is, babe. And after everything you’ve been through, don’t you want to relax? Enjoy your life, for once?”
