Page 34 of Broken Surrender
“I’m being honest,” she said. “You make me feel like you know what I want. Even if I don’t.”
I sucked in a breath. Her words always called to my need for power. And she gave it, willingly, like she wanted to. But I couldn’t shake those videos, I couldn’t let go of what might have happened to her.
And besides, she was simply a way to gain access to the Marked Blooms Syndicate, a way to get rid of my final enemies. The masquerade was soon. After that, I might always look out for her, but I would never haveanyneedfor her to be in my life again.
“Part of the final test for the Marked Blooms Syndicate is an initiate’s offering to the members, and what that person would be willing to sacrifice,” I said, though I knew the options swayed toward torture, not sexual exploits. But perhaps making her enjoy it through test injections would save her from the worst torture. “If a member wanted to take your ass, would you do it?”
Her eyes searched me. “Don’t I have to?” she whispered. Her subtext was there: she was asking if I was giving her a choice.
“This is not about what will or won’t happen. This is about whatyouwould do.Ifyou had a choice.”And I’m trying to prepare you,I thought.
Her eyes fell to her feet. I tensed, ready to correct her, but she looked up at me immediately. “If it was up to me,” she started, “I’d only let you do it.” Her chest filled and she broadened her shoulders, confident with her answer. “Only you.”
My arms flexed, relief waving through me.As long as it was me.
I ignored the warnings blaring in my head. I wasn’t ready to face them yet.
CHAPTER 11
Desmond
The Marked Blooms Syndicate held the masquerades at several rotating locations, though this time, it was at the banquet hall on the far edge of the Bloom Estate. Magnolia trees glowed white outside of the structure. Lights flooded from within, pooling through the windows and columns like the holes punctured into a scarecrow. A parade of town cars pulled into the porte cochère, letting the masked men out.
My driver opened our door. I stood and held out a hand for Lena. Lena’s gloved fingers reached out. Her red dress held onto one shoulder, exposing the other, her hair pulled into an elegant, low bun. As she stood, glancing around at the scenery, her belly doing a sharp, but subtle intake of breath, my mouth opened, and I licked my lips. She was devastatingly beautiful.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I wore a white mask to match my white tux, my hair styled. One aspect of the Marked Blooms Syndicate tradition was the dress code. Members wore black. Initiates wore white. And we were the only ones who wore masks. The sacrifices weren’t given that privacy; they always stood out, dressed in color. And Lena stole the show. Inside, pride swelled within me, making my chest expand and my shoulders broaden. Lena was mine tonight, mine to show off, mine to boast about. And yet as soon as I handed her the ornamental necklace, she would be sacrificed to the members. A blood-red ruby was in the center of the necklace, flourished with long petals of diamonds. It was hidden in a slim case in my pocket.
But she didn’t have to wear it yet.
We took glasses of champagne from a passing server, clinking our glasses together. A woman crossed the threshold, coming toward us. White lace dress clung to her skin, silver stilettos on her feet. Her blond hair was pinned to her head in a weave of tressels, and her tanned skin glowed.
“You must be the Callen Party,” she said. She held out a hand. “My name is Zira.”
“Zira Bloom,” I said. I bowed my head, showing my respect, giving her a firm handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the heiress.”
“Don’t charm me yet,” she laughed, her teeth white. She was likely the only woman in the entire building who wasn’t a sacrifice; with Bloom blood running through her veins, she had more power than most understood. “And you must be his offering.” She faced Lena, her eyelashes batting behind her white mask. “I didn’t know you were bringing an offering so soon.”
I tightened my grip around Lena’s back, pulling her in closer. Zira’s eyes wandered over Lena’s form, judging her both as the heiress and as a participant.
“This is my girlfriend,” I lied. “This is Lena Dalton.”
“I know,” Zira said. She tilted her head. “As in John Dalton’s surviving wife.”
Lena lowered her head. Then she quickly looked back up at Zira and held out her gloved hand. “Call me ‘Lena.’”
“Of course,” Zira said, winking. “I remember you. I can’t resist a first-name basis with such a gorgeous offering. And are you exploring our members’ appetites tonight?”
Lena’s cheeks reddened, and in Zira’s eyes, she ate her up, feeding off of that shameful embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” Zira said. “I prefer to play with the big bad men as much as you do.” She curtsied. “While you’re waiting, please,” she gestured around, “make yourselves at home. My father will arrive shortly, but I can take care of your needs.”
Zira disappeared, finding another set of members to greet, and I steered Lena out of the way. She was drawing the eyes of everyone in the room, and the urge to remove her from prying eyes while I still could, grew inside of me.
A section of the ballroom was scattered with high tables covered in satin. A server came by, holding lobster toasts with avocado and pepper, and we ate a few while the crowd developed.
Lena’s fingers tapped the table. “What do we do now?” she whispered.
“Are you nervous, puppet?” I smirked, teasing her. Shoving it inside. Because I didn’t care. Lena was a woman to use. A woman to offer to the Marked Blooms Syndicate and be done with it.
