Page 8 of Broken Discipline
“Did you officially become a member tonight, sir?” I asked.
Bruce’s laugh boomed through the car.
“I’ve been a member for several decades now,” he said. He squeezed my waist, then pulled his hands back into his lap. “I enjoy the festivities.” He pointed at the burns on my arm. “I always try to do it myself at first, but it seems I can’t get it up unless I’ve got someone else doing it for me these days.”
My stomach tingled with nerves because I knew what that meant. I was going to have to go through these Masquerades once or twice a year for the rest of our marriage because Bruce got off on watching me get tortured. If I wanted to make sure the twins got everything they deserved, then I needed to learn how to survive these nights.
He said it was only one or two nights a year. I could do that. Then the twins would never wonder where their next meal was coming from. They would never wonder why Santa never visited their house. They would never wonder why their mother kept leaving for longer, and longer periods of time. Or why their mother pretended everything was perfect, claiming she loved them, before she disappeared again. The twins would have everything they needed, and I would be there every step of the way.
All it took was a few nights of survival each year.
The town car rumbled over the cobble-stone driveway to Bruce’s Tuscan-style mansion. Sloping roofs with terracotta tiles glowed under the exterior lights. The arched doorways loomed over the walkways, like gates leading to hell.
But it was only hell for me. To the twins, it washome.
“Will there always be two people each Masquerade, sir?” I asked. Bruce led me to my bedroom, next to his master bedroom. For once, he followed me into my room, and it was unsettling. We had been married for over a year now, but he rarely came into my bedroom unless he wanted to try another sadistic act. Luckily, for being in his sixties, his sex drive—as sadistic as it was—was not overly active.
“Just one, darling. One member every Masquerade. I don’t want to use you up too quickly,” he chuckled. “But Finn offered me a reward I couldn’t refuse.”
“What reward, sir?”
“His service.”
My brain filled with fog, but his words from earlier came into my mind:We provide our services to other members and use other members’ services.
“You need his service, sir?”
“Yes. Thatishow the Marked Blooms Syndicate works, darling. To put it plainly for your little mind, I provide my investment expertise to other members. Another member might offer his political influence. And yes, even Finn Carter has a service we need.” He cracked his neck, agitation growing in his voice: “Trust me, darling. Every member has an important role in the Syndicate.”
I stared at him for a second too long, and when his brow twitched, I lowered my eyes.
“Thank you for informing me, sir,” I said.
He reached over, pinching my upper arm. “It may hurt now, but you’ll survive. I know we’ll accomplish great things, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.” He closed my bedroom door.
I checked the video monitor in the nursery. Both of the twins were fast asleep. I let out a long breath. Seeing their chests rising and falling filled me with relief. Like everything would be okay.
Once I was ready for bed, I peeled back the soft sheets and switched off the lights. Even in the darkness, the bright walls were shadowed in reds, yellows, and oranges, like I was washed in warmth, exactly like I had asked. Bruce wasn’t a good husband, but when it came to my requests, he always filled them. And I didn’t have to share it with my mother, my best friend, or even my husband. I had my own space.
A dull pain throbbed in my head, but I closed my eyes and settled onto my side. It was just past three a.m., but it felt later, like the sun would rise soon. Like an entire lifetime had passed since we left for the Masquerade.
Sleep drifted closer, the memories of Finn comforting me, but I knew I’d never see him again. The warm-colored walls washed into the gray darkness, and I drifted off, imagining Finn’s gray eyes holding me. There was no reason for me to be comfortable with him. I had just been another shared wife, and he had simply bought my time.
We meant nothing.
CHAPTER 3
Ramona
three years later
I blinked awake, swatches of gray fluttering into my vision. Tension pulsed between my temples, and I quickly scrunched my eyes. The satin sheets were cool against my skin, slicker than I remembered. Once the headache cooled, I opened my eyes again, looking around carefully this time. The walls were gray. In fact, everything was gray, even the sheets. Where was I?
I turned my head to the side, finding a dim red glow from a digital clock, the only source of color in the darkness. It was three a.m. Suddenly, everything shifted out of focus. There were shadows I didn’t recognize, but the furniture was there: my dresser, my vanity mirror, my accent chair, the wicker chest with my cardigan lying across it, each thing arranged as if it had always been that way. As if I had always lived in these gray walls. A figure to the side of me stretched, a deep masculine sigh escaping from its mouth. Thick muscular arms wrapped around me. I held my breath.
My husband and I slept in separate beds. In the four and a half years that I had been married to him, he hadneverheld me like this.
Whoever was holding me wasn’t my husband.
