Page 7 of Lady of Darkness
“Fifty sit-ups,” Alaric says, looking at me with his hands on his hips. He has his shirt off, and if I wasn’t actively dying, I might be admiring how his shorts hang over his visible bulge.
“What?” I ask, still wheezing.
“You heard me.”
I look down, and it’s only mud and rocks. “Here? In the mud?” Alaric crosses his arms and waits, not answering me. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” I ask, the wobble in my voice evident. “Punishing me? Pushing me like this, day in and day out? What’s the point? I said I was sorry…”
He cocks his head and sucks in his cheeks. “We’ll punish you for however long we see fit. And I’m not going to ask you again. Fifty sit-ups.”
I choke back a sob as I get down onto the ground, wincing as the small pebbles dig into my back and the cold, gritty mud seeps into my pores. It hurts, and five sit-ups in, I grab my jacket to put underneath me. By number thirty, my whole body is trembling.
By number forty, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I get to fifty only by screaming, and then I roll over and vomit up every ounce of water I’ve had today.
When I sit up, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Everything hurts, and I’m starting to feel dizzy.
“Fifty push-ups,” Gideon says, and I swing around to look at him.
“I can’t,” I tell him, no longer caring if I sound pathetic. The rain is pouring down on me now, and I’m completely soaked. We all are.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
I feel my lower lip crack as I look between all of them. “You want to punish me? Fine. But you can’t push me past my breaking point and expect my body to cooperate. I’m not a puppet. I can only do so much,” I add, my voice breaking on the last word.
“Fifty push-ups,” Gideon says, giving me a monstrous smile. “You say you’re not a puppet, but you forget that we can command you however we please.”
I grind my teeth together. “To an extent. I am tired. I physically cannot do it, Gideon.”
“My Lord,” he growls.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“You will address me asMy Lord.”
Despite being hot and sweaty, my blood cools at his words–at the cool indifference in his tone. And yet… his eyes travel down my body as he tilts his head, assessing me. The way his hungry eyes take me in makes my whole body tingle.
I can’t keep up with how I feel around them, and apparently, neither can my libido.
Gideon walks over to me and grabs my wrist, tugging me into his hard, wet body. He smells like earth and sweat, and something about seeing his hair unbound and wild, about being in nature with him–a goddamn psychopath–it makes my knees weak, my core molten, despite my mind screaming to get away.
“You have to earn our trust back, Harlow. Don’t you think for one second that we’re ever going to forgive and forget what you did, little monster.” I whimper as he reaches up and tugs my wet ponytail back with his other hand, exposing my neck. “Your punishment is undermyjurisdiction. It ismydecision. Not yours. With your betrayal, you have lost your autonomy. So you will do as I say, act as I please, and submit to me–to us–fully. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He tugs harder. “Yes, what?”
I hate him. I hate him, and I am still so angry about everything. Him bossing me around like this sparks the fury that’s been boiling underneath the surface.
He grips my hair tighter, and I groan, my scalp stinging.Why do I like this and hate this at the same time?
“Yes, my Lord.” Gideon lets me go, and I stumble forward. I look at all of them defiantly. “Funny how I have to earnyourtrust back. How easily you all forget that you lost mine the second you put me in a cage with my rapist.” I swear I see all of their hard expressions falter for just a second.
I drop to my knees and place my hands in the mud. I do twenty push-ups before taking a short break, and my arms shake by the time I get to thirty. It’s extra effort trying to keep my palms from sliding around in the mud. Alaric and Sterling walk over to the edge of the outlook a few yards away. Sterling is on the phone, and I’m guessing some issue cropped up with Acadia again. I’ve heard them talking about it.
I don’t care.
At thirty-five, my arms give up completely, and I fall onto my stomach.
