Page 329 of Primal

She nods toward the altar.

The silence presses in. Everything sharpens—colors bleeding brighter.

Payton turns away first. Jaw set. Chin high.

Her palms press flat against the stone. No hesitation. Just that steel spine she’s always had.

I could go for Derek.

But what are the odds I make it two steps before Amanda drops me? Derek will carve Payton open just to watch me break.

Payton flicks a glance over her shoulder. Wildfire in her eyes.

And for the first time tonight, I’m grateful for the mask. Because the darkest part of me?

It doesn’t just want to watch. It wants to play.

Then she lowers her gaze. Presses her forehead to the marble.

Derek steps forward, giving the knife a showman’s twirl. “Now, spank her like you mean it, Ghostface.”

My blood boils. He’s quoting her—almost.

Fuck.

This was on the waiver. One of the boxes she checked between shots of tequila and laughter.

Derek leans against the altar. “What’s wrong, Thirteen? Performance anxiety?”

Amanda’s taser crackles—a warning.

Payton lifts her head, meets my stare over her shoulder.

I close the distance in two strides. My hand finds the curve of her ass.

The chapel disappears.

It’s just her. Just us—and the sharp, sweet ache.

I raise my palm. Bring it down.

The crack tears through the chapel’s dead air, amplified by stone walls that have heard too much screaming.

Payton gasps—something wicked that coils low in my gut.

Derek whistles. “Damn, Thirty-one. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Amanda hovers nearby, perfectly still.

But Payton?

She pushes back against my hand, enough to let me feel it.

Again.

The first few smacks are light. Almost playful if not for the cameras and blood-stained marble.

Payton holds position. No more cues.