Page 133 of Loving the Liar

Nightclubs in Heaven - Henry Morris

My head is swimming, heart beating fast. Whatever they put in me has my whole body feeling strange. They could have asked me to get in the car with them. They could have sent me a message saying that I had to come and explain myself for not showing up.

But they wanted me scared.

And I am. The split moment of relief when Chris entered the room was crushed to nothingness once he approached the cage. He isn’t here to help me. He’s here to help himself.

I’m trembling as I crawl out, keeping my eyes to the floor. I refuse to look at him. The things Megan told me earlier are still rolling around in my head, making me question who the man in front of me really is. I don’t know if I want to find out.

“Kneel,” Chris orders. It’s not in the calm way he usually speaks to me. There’s a tension in his voice that tells me he’s barely holding himself back.

He truly wants to punish me, and that’s what scares me the most.

It takes me too long to kneel, and I feel a line of fire spreading at the back of my thighs. I hiss, looking back to see Chris holding a black cane. The dress I’m wearing didn’t soften the blow whatsoever, and I struggle to hear him through the ringing in my ears.

“Kneel,” he repeats in the exact same tone.

I rest my ass on my upturned feet, but keep my gaze on the floor.

Ignore him. Ignore the man you have so many conflicted feelings for. Ignore that you’re about to be punished by someone who might or might not have been planning to keep you vulnerable since you graduated high school.

Eugene Duval is somewhere to my left when he talks. “Shadows, Heras. It’s good to see some of you were able to show up tonight to witness the punishment of one of our Aphrodites at her altar.”

As he continues, I see the end of the cane coming toward me from the corner of my eye. Chris slides it across my collarbone and pushes one sleeve of the dress off my shoulder, then the second. The loose material means that the dress falls all the way to my waist, uncovering my breasts. As a reflex, my hands come to cover them, but Chris is quick, smacking one hand with the cane and forcing me to drop my hands instantly.

I bite my lower lip to keep the pain inside, but I’m shaking as Duval keeps talking.

“As we all know, Aphrodites have decided to dedicate their lives to our pleasures. They must be available at all times and come to the temple when called.”

Chris keeps close to me, circling me like a lion ready to devour his prey. I tense every time I feel a shift in the air, thinking the cane is coming to torture me again. But he only uses it to tap my skin softly and make me move.

One tap to the small of my back makes me straighten my spine. One to my shoulders makes me pull them back. There’s the click of his shoes on the floor, and they come into view in front of me. Right by my knees. A tap of the cane to my inner thigh and I spread my legs apart.

“Unfortunately, this Aphrodite didn’t follow the simple rules that we have set up for the women in her position. And at the temple, breaking the rules is punishable. Ella.” My name on Duval’s lips makes me squeeze my eyes shut. I feel sick. “You will be punished, and refusing to present yourself to a Shadow will never happen again.”

I jolt when Chris grabs the hair at the back of my head, pulling me into a standing position. The movement leaves the dress at my ankles, and he forces me to step out. I catch the crowd by accident, and my throat tightens, tears springing to my eyes. In the back of my head, the only thing I can think about is that they might be able to see my scar despite the low light, and it lays down another layer of vulnerability on my soul. I attempt to cover whatever is left of my dignity, but Chris is quick to bring the cane to the side of my thigh, making me shriek.

I can’t do this. I can’t let them all see me naked… What is he even planning on doing exactly?

“Chris,” I whimper as he forces me to turn around and face the cage rather than the small audience.

He bends me over it, my boobs crushed by the metal crate. Leaning over me, he brings his mouth to my ear.

“Be quiet.” It’s a simple order, but I hear it this time. The hidden softness in his voice that shows he is not completely detached from this.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, the weight of terror heavier than his own body on mine.

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand caressing my lower back is a reassurance I’ll hold on to.

Straightening, he walks around. With my cheek pressed against the grille, I can only see one side of the room, and I wonder if he chose the empty wall with no one standing there on purpose. He wants me to forget there are other people. But it’s impossible when I hear Duval again.

“Christopher,” he chuckles, clearly enjoying the show. “You’re going to traumatize the girl.” Nothing in his tone says he disagrees with that.

Chris stays completely silent as I feel his presence near me again. He’s holding cuffs in his hands, and my eyes widen as he takes one of my wrists and wraps the leather around it.

Something swirls inside me. A fight between lust and reason. It’s strangely calming to see his strong hands handling the cuffs, his fingers sliding along the leather and tightening the buckle. The material is warm against my skin, tightening to a point that feels almost dangerous. It’s probably a worse threat to my sanity than my being, and when he grazes his fingertips on my inner wrist reassuringly, goosebumps trail all the way up my arm.

But then he hooks the cuff to the crate with a metal ring, and my stomach drops.

---