Page 48 of Deadmen's Captive

"Until you were brought here against your will?" Bast's voice was low, sceptical, as he set the brush down on the vanity with a soft clink. The sound seemed deafening in the thick silence that followed.

"Exactly."

He watched me in the mirror, his eyes fixed on mine, like a hawk studying its prey, but his fingers remained firm, rubbing away the tension at the base of my neck.

"Tell me, Paige," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the thick air, "do you know anyone who could orchestrate this? Someone who knows you intimately enough to fill out such a detailed application in your stead?"

I shook my head, strands of my damp hair clinging to my cheeks. "No, I—I can't think of anyone." My words sounded small, even to my own ears, lost amidst the dark opulence of the room.

"Think harder. Someone who knows your fantasies, your fears... who would want to see you here, at the mercy of strangers?"

"I don’t know, but it definitely was not me. I never filled out that form." I met his gaze defiantly, even as his fingers inched down the sides of my neck. At the mercy of strangers. I certainly felt at his mercy right now, though the way my body was reacting to his touch, I wasn’t sure his mercy was what I wanted from him. My eyes moved to his mouth, as I remembered the way his tongue had danced over my clit, and I bit my lip as a jolt of desire flooded me.

Bast pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and set it in front of me.

I picked it up, my hands fumbling slightly as I unfolded it.

"See for yourself." His tone carried a weight that suggested I wouldn't like what I found.

I stared at the page, not really reading, just seeing my name scrawled at the bottom. It looked exactly like my signature, but how?

"That's not possible."

"Yet there it is."

My eyes darted over the elegant script summarising the terms of submission and servitude for the position of Persephone at the Deadmen’s Club. At the bottom, in a flourish that was unmistakably my own, lay my signature. A cold tremor ran through me as I traced the looping letters.

"This is impossible," I whispered, looking up at Bast.

Bast's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze penetrating as if he could peel back the layers of my soul with just a look. "I don't believe you, Paige. The application is thorough. Every detail has been checked, cross-referenced, verified. It's all correct."

My heart pounded as his fingers trailed down my collar bones dipping under the silk of my pyjama top before moving back up my throat.

"But I'm telling you, it wasn't me!" Frustration knotted in my throat, every fibre in me straining against the accusation.

"Then someone knows you very well. Someone who can forge your hand extremely convincingly. If you're truly not lying, Paige, then someone went to great lengths to harm you."

"Me?" My voice cracked. "Harm me how? Why?"

"More than just you. They clearly aimed to damage the club as well. Setting you up as a victim. Who would believe sweet, innocent little Paige would apply to be Persephone? No one. You would be, in your view, assaulted, and then when you were released, would head straight to the police where you would, quite rightly, accuse me and the members of the club of assault."

The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls inching closer. That was exactly what I had planned to do. I looked down at the signature on the paper, it was definitely mine.

"Who would—" I started, but no name came to mind. No one I knew held such a vendetta, or would be this cruel.

"Think, Paige. Anyone in your life with a grudge? Someone who knows you intimately enough to forge this?" His eyes searched mine.

I shook my head. "No one… I don't understand. Someone really wanted to hurt me this much, and I have no idea who they could be."

"Then we have a problem."

I took a deep breath and laid the paper on the vanity, watching him in the mirror. “No, we don’t. I don’t understand why anyone would do this to me, or to the club, but it ends here. I won’t report you. I’ll just leave, you can find someone else for your… club.”

"It's not that simple," he said, his hands drifting to my shoulders, rubbing his fingers digging into the knots, and I closed my eyes.

“Why not?” I asked. He moved closer as he massaged me, and I felt his body press against my back again, his heat searing through the thin silk I was wearing. I knew I should pull away but with all the stress of the night and now this revelation that there was someone who wanted to hurt me, someone who knew me well, I needed the comfort he was providing.

"You've been publicly inducted." His voice held no room for argument. "Leaving isn't an option."

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