Page 5 of Broken Queen
“Let’s find you a real dentist,” Logan said. “The implants will be easier to manage.”
I glanced back at the dead woman, but Logan wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, using it to physically angle me away from the room.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he said, guiding me down the hallway. “Once we’re married, you’ll never have to be sacrificed again.”
CHAPTER 2
present
ZIRA
The neck hole was loose, giving me just enough room to jut back and forth with each thrust as I laid on the bench. Logan plowed me from behind, his grunts loud and emphatic, a performance unlike anything he had ever done while we were alone together. A head lay in the basket in front of me, painted in red light. I wasn’t the first sacrifice in the guillotine that night, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the last. But at least it was a man’s head this time—some initiate’s brother. Even though women were the main source of entertainment, it was a recent Marked Blooms Syndicate rule to make sure that only the men died publicly at the Masquerades. Go ahead and kill as many women as you want in private, just not at our parties.
“Come and play with us,” Logan said, ushering another member over. “Try the game! Press the button!”
A man dressed in black smiled as he took the remote. His white, spiky hair puffed around his head like a halo. Simon, one of the Syndicate’s long-time members. Like a true gentleman, he bent down to grope me, twisting my nipple like a key in the ignition. A buzzing sensation rolled through me, as if his white hairs on his scalp were worms burrowing into my spine. He gripped me like he could squeeze out some milk, and I rolled my eyes. How typical. He lowered himself farther to get a better grip on me, and his spiked hair flooded my vision, reminding me of tiny blades, ready to butcher me, but only after he got a handle on the meat.
Finally, he straightened, fixed his white hair, then pressed the button.
Click.
Nothing.
A murmur of disappointment ran through the crowd. One down, nine to go. The game was ten completely randomized clicks, which might or might not trigger the guillotine. A high tech bluetooth setup was integrated with the blade, making it a convenient party game for the Syndicate. There was a chance I would lose my head, but I wasn’t afraid. I had watched the first sacrifice’s decapitation minutes ago, just like I had watched my mother’s. I had survived the Marked Blooms Syndicate for twenty-eight years now, and I had been a sacrifice countless times since her death. If this was my time, then let that warm blanket of death smother me.
Another man stepped forward, a black mask covering his full face and neck. The men in black were already members of the Marked Blooms Syndicate and had gone through the initiation process, but the men in white—like Logan, my husband—were still initiates. Logan handed him the remote. The member’s gaze leered down through the eyeholes at me.
Click.
Nothing, again. So much for the excitement.
As part of Logan’s initiation, he was sacrificing me. Ever since my mother had died, my father had been obsessed with guillotines and beheadings. And now, to impress his father-in-law, Logan wanted to do the same by potentially beheading someone he loved. Obviously, Logan’s mother was dead, and his father wouldn’t agree to be his sacrifice, so that left me, the jaded heiress, as his only option. But it was the last time I was going to go through this.
The crowd erupted in laughter as a member made a crass joke—something about the view of my ass being covered by Logan’s bad form—and I forced a smile too. At the next Masquerade, it would be Logan’s turn, and after that, we would both be on the board.
Silence fell over the crowd as heavy footsteps entered the room. The crowd of men parted, and Logan’s mechanical thrusting stopped. A tall man, his body flexing with each step, his chest chiseled and rippling with strength, came forward, each step forceful. Wrinkled black pants on his legs. A bull skull resting on his head, the horns painted black. Light freckles painted the man’s shoulders, and though he was beautiful like a work of art, it was his mask that hypnotized me. The horns stretched wider than an arm span; he must have had to enter the room sideways to get through the doorway.
I glanced around as much as I could in that head hole. Every single member and initiate in the room had fallen to silence, kowtowed by this man.
Who was he?
Logan offered the skull mask man the remote without a word. The skull mask man clutched it in his grasp, then unbuttoned his pants. His length sprang forward in front of me, long and proud, the pale skin tinted pink with blood. Thick black barbed wires were tattooed around his shaft, covering his head, like a symbolic warning. Even in pleasure, he would tear you apart.
He shoved himself inside of my mouth quicker than I could blink, penetrating my throat to the hilt. My eyes watered, the air taken from my body as I choked on his length. His horns pierced the sides of my vision. The shadows of the mask covered his face. His thickness swelled in my throat, then he thrust. Hard. I gurgled in response.
Click.
He pulled himself out, letting the head of his length rest on my lips. He circled his hips, letting his head play with my tongue. The stench of saliva and sweat filled my nostrils. I kept my eyes peeled wide, afraid he might disappear.
Click.
His neck twitched, then he shoved his length down my throat. As if remembering that he was supposed to be performing too, Logan thrust from behind, but I couldn’t feel him anymore. The stranger shoved himself inside of me until my nose was flat against his skin. I could barely breathe.
Click.
Everyone silently watched as the stranger tore my mouth apart. Black tears ran down my cheeks. Maybe those tattoos weren’t barbed wires at all, but the tears of women he used like this. I could barely see, but everything inside of me twitched in a sudden frenzy. It wasn’t random members taking turns with the remote anymore. It was just the skull mask man, absorbing every opportunity to behead me.
Click.
