Page 56 of The Masked King

I press my ear to the door and try to tune out the blood gushing around my veins.

Silence on the other side. No one is coming.

Leaning my back against the door, I sink onto the floor, knees raised to my chest. The water has helped a little, muffling the hammers inside my head with cotton wool, but from this vantage point, I realize that the lamps have been strategically placed around the room, concentrating the light on one focal point.

The bed.

I shudder at the mental image of the sick fuckers watching me while I was unconscious. They must’ve drugged me. I wasn’t wearing a bracelet, so they couldn’t zap me like they did with Brian and Nyx, which means they saved another brand of twisted fuckery to get me out of there and put me here like an exhibit in a glass container.

That’s what this is… The lights, the Egyptian queen Nyx outfit…

I realize I’m still not wearing any underwear around the same time I understand that there are cameras watching me.

I scrabble onto my feet, tugging the skirt down to cover my nakedness, then I mentally carry out a full body check, clenching my pussy and testing my nipples for soreness and swelling. Confident that my captors haven’t crossed that line, I dart into the bathroom, undress, and stand under the shower until I feel at least a little cleansed.

When I come out and look for a robe, there isn’t one.

“This isn’t a fucking five-star hotel, Demi,” I tell my reflection.

I’m not here to be pampered. I’m here for someone’s entertainment, and nothing will convince me that this isn’t all about Brian. He’s involved whether he likes it or not, and my gut is telling me that it isn’t what he signed up for when he knocked on the front door of the nightclub and handed over his invitation.

Staring at the fat pouches under my eyes and my stringy-wet hair, I get a niggling feeling about Brian. Something he said… I replay my raggedy recollections of that night until my head hurts, but it remains just out of reach and the ache inside my skull won’t let me pursue it.

Unable to look at the golden outfit on the floor, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and wander back through to the bedroom. The shower has highlighted my aching muscles and the bruises on my arms and thighs, and I pray that I put up a good fight. But I refuse to go back to bed and play their twisted games.

Instead, I sit in the corner of the room, hug my knees to my chest, and close my eyes.

Everything about the club was false, fake walls, secret panels, hidden exits.

Michael Douglas…

How could I forget what he did for me? He was Team Brian all the way, it turned out, and although I’ve no idea why he was helping me, right now, he’s my only chance of getting out of here.

A click from the doorway drags me onto my feet, pulse racing. I’m there, holding the towel around me, ready to lunge the instant it opens.

But when it does, my breath sticks in my throat, and rather than balling my hands into fists, I clutch the towel around my body.

The guy with the snake tattoo isn’t smiling. Not that a smile would make much difference at this point, not when he’s holding all the cards, and I have nothing to barter with. Because I’m fucked if I’ll open my legs for him, and we both know it won’t buy my freedom even if I did.

“Tut, tut, Demi, I’m disappointed with you.”

It takes an interminable beat for me to realize that he knows my name.

“How did you⁠—”

His lips curl, but a smile isn’t forthcoming, and I think it says a lot about a person when their mouths don’t instinctively curve upwards like regular people.

“You lied to me, Demi. Do you know what happens to people who lie to me?”

I don’t want to know, but I reckon he’s going to tell me anyway.

“They get what’s coming to them.”

I hold his cold dark eyes and jut my chin. “Do you ever think that maybe someday you’ll get what’s coming to you too?”

He laughs, and I glimpse gold in the back of his mouth. Then his hand is around my throat, and we’ve swapped places, and the back of my head collides with the wall.

His breath is in my face again, but I hardly notice because no air is getting through his metal grip. The pounding in my skull is magnified by a thousand, my heartbeat playing a heavy bass vying for attention with the ringing in my ears.