Page 6 of Say It Slowly

Once we’re all settled, Roman lifts his hand, and with a twist of his wrist, sends a signal to Lindsay, who bows quickly, and then leaves the room. A couple of minutes later, returns with someone in a robe trailing behind her—head bowed, face concealed by the deep hood. Tyler, maybe?

She leads the person to the center of the room, where she instructs them to stop, all the while more members are coming in, filling up the space. It’s a sea of navy blue robes, and they form a half circle facing us, surrounding the person Lindsay just ushered in.

Once everyone is inside, the secret door is shut, and the guy with the stick thumps on the floor three times–thump, thump, thump. Always with the thumping. That’s his entire job, it seems.

Roman rises from his chair, and the person in the middle of the room looks up. My stomach clenches when I see his face. ItisTyler, but he’s almost unrecognizable. His one eye is swollen shut, and there’s a mottled bruise that runs along the entire left side of his face.

Shit.That’s the damage Roman did to him.

The entire room is silent when Roman begins chanting something—it sounds like it’s Latin, and I couldn’t repeat it even if I tried to, but I manage to pick out certain words—fides, contumelia, poenas…

As Roman is speaking, Lindsay steps forward and hands him a long wooden paddle with a hole in it. He accepts the paddle from Lindsay and approaches Tyler, who falls to his knees.

Roman looks down on him, paddle in hand, and my heart is in my throat. What’s he going to do with that?

“Tyler Sevano, a tribunal has been called to determine your fate within the Society of the Burning Crown. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Tyler says, head bowed.

My Lord?Wow. I glance to my left, but none of the other consorts even flinch at the phrase. M‘kay.

“You have dishonored my consort and disgraced the brotherhood. How do you answer for this?”

Tyler lifts his head and closes his eyes briefly. When he speaks, his tone is submissive, which is wild to hear after the way he spoke to me the other night. “I accept full responsibility for my actions,” he says. “And humbly ask for the queen consort’s forgiveness.”

Forgiveness?After what he did to me on that porch? And aftermaybemowing me down the other night? Fuck, no.

Roman half-turns, and holds his free hand out to me. I just blink at him for a second until Lindsay starts waving at me frantically, mouthing the words, “Get up.”

For fuck’s sake. No one mentioned me having to get up. It’s like they expect me to automatically know what I’m supposed to be doing. So annoying.

Rising up out of my chair, I step down off the dias and move to stand next to Roman. Tyler’s gaze shifts to me—and I swear to God, if looks alone could tear someone to pieces, I’d be a puddleof twisted flesh on the floor right now. The hatred in his eyes is frightening, and I hesitate on that last step, but Roman takes my hand and pulls me the rest of the way.

“Strip, and make yourself vulnerable,” Roman instructs Tyler.

Strip? Wait, whoa. I open my mouth to say, “Let’s not do that,” but Tyler is already stripping off his hood, and flinging the robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he’s not wearing anything at all. No underwear. No socks. He’s kneeling in front of uscompletelynaked, balls out.

Oh. Wow. Okay.

Having a grown-ass dude, kneeling in front of me, buck-ass-naked is a whole new level of awkwardness that I wasn’t prepared for. A heads-up on some of this would have been great.

I want to look away, but that would be even more awkward somehow, so I just keep my gaze trained on Tyler and the tiny dick that’s buried in the dark curls between his legs, barely visible.

Small dick syndrome. I should have guessed. It explains a lot.

My gaze travels up, and I notice a brand on his right pec. It’s a circle with the same crown that’s on my necklace. Does every member get branded? Seems very cult-like.

“Ready yourself for your queen’s punishment,” Roman says.

Roman glances at me. “How many strikes?”

I blink at him.Me?Ihave to decide? Everyone is staring at me, so I just grab a random number out of thin air. “Um, ten.”

Roman nods and readjusts his grip on the hilt of the paddle, then moves around to stand behind Tyler. “According to the by-laws set forth by our forefathers, you will endure ten strikes, or face permanent expulsion from the Society of the Burning Crown. Do you accept this punishment?”

Tyler clears his throat. “Yes.”

I glance down at Tyler. His body is vibrating, like a tight string that’s been plucked. He closes his eyes, awaiting the first blow.

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