Page 17 of Beloved Sacrifice

“A count of ten.” His voice broke, his throat tight with his own tears.

“Fifteen, Weston.” His father moved farther into the living room, taking a seat on the couch so he could watch.

Elroy’s words made Weston see red. Rose whimpered softly and turned her head so she wasn’t looking at Elroy.

“Ten,” Weston snarled. “Don’t interfere.”

“She’s not like Pet. She’s still being trained.” Elroy’s gaze roamed over Rose’s naked body. “She’s defiant and needs constant correction. You’re not experienced enough to handle her.”

Weston swallowed against the bile that rose up his throat. He laid his hand on the small of her back, spreading his fingers wide, hoping she understood.

That she’d forgive him for what he was about to do.

He raised his hand and brought it down on her ass.

Crack.

Rose jerked, but didn’t make a sound.

Elroy hummed his approval. “If you want her to count then order her to do so. As I’ve mentioned, she takes her punishments in silence. It’s a mental exercise that will serve her well.”

Again, Weston brought his hand down flat but at the last minute used his fingers instead of the base of his palm. That made a nice loud sound, but was softer.

At least that’s what he hoped.

Eight more times, he hit the girl he loved as his dad watched.

Until that moment, he’d tried to pretend that he was at least halfway normal. He was a legacy to a powerful secret society and would be in an arranged ménage marriage. That wasn’t what most people considered normal, but among members it was normal. There were people who understood the ménage marriages, the secrets and power.

But this… This was just so deeply fucked up.

He finished the spanking and stopped, not sure what to do next, how to get them away from Elroy.

Rose slid off his lap and knelt at his feet.

“Thank you for punishing me, Sir.”

Weston suppressed the need to roar in pain and rage. To fly across the room and beat his father. He looked from Rose’s bowed head to Elroy, who was watching them and smiling.

Weston reached for Rose, making sure her body hid Elroy’s view of his hand. He hoped it looked like he was—ugh—grabbing her breasts or something. Instead he held his hand in her line of sight and crossed his index and middle fingers. When they were younger, they’d been rabid believers in the idea that a lie told while you crossed your fingers (or toes, or eyes) didn’t count.

Rose sucked in air, then released a long shaky breath.

Please understand what I’m doing.

Weston snapped his hand up, grabbing Rose by the neck and forcing her chin up. For a second, wide brown eyes met his.

“Go,” he commanded, voice low. “My room.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

He released her throat.

Rose turned and crawled out.

Dad made her crawl?

Weston turned to his father, rage making him shake.

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