Page 50 of Don't Look Away

I hope it doesn’t kill me, I think idly.

My eyes scan the circle, as far as I can see without twisting my body, and it looks like both men and women just based on the body shapes—some are short and petite, and others tall, leaning towards muscular.

As the chanting continues, I sway, the drink wending its way through my veins, spreading warmth throughout my body. One female member steps forward, and gently lays me down, which, at this point, I do willingly. She doesn’t reach for the straps, thankfully, but she unties my robe and spreads it open to reveal my naked body beneath. When she’s done, she stands by my head, where she stays.

Cold air brushes over my naked skin and I immediately stiffen, squeezing my thighs together, my hands itching to pull the robe back around my body. But Iforcemyself to relax, focusing on my breathing. All they need is a show of devotion, right? So I force myself to remain still, and accept whatever humiliating thing they have planned next for me…

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Lux

You’re doingthis for Bree.

You’re doing this for Bree.

I keep repeating those words in my head, trying to focus on my breathing. I’m calm–thanks to whatever they gave me—but the urge to get up and run is still strong.

A member steps forward, and it’s a girl, thank God, I can tell by her shape. She’s holding a large feather and brings it down on my breasts.

“This feather represents our forbearers, looking down on us, guiding us in the way of the order…” She brushes the feather gently over my skin, teasing my nipples, then flicking it over my ribs, stomach, and thighs. I resist the urge to laugh because it tickles.

Okay, if this is the worst of it, thenpffft, this thing will be a breeze. Maybe the ritual is a secret because they don’t want people to know how easy it is. Everyone would want to join.

When the girl is done, she steps back, and the person next to her steps forward. A guy. He’s carrying a paddle, and then it occurs to me that every member—and there are about a dozen in this room—is each carrying some kind of implement. An implement they intend to use onme.

Oh, shit. It’s then that I’m truly afraid for the first time, and I frantically glance around the room to try and discern what the other implements are, but they’re holding them at their sides, so they’re obscured by the layers of their cloaks. I do see a rope, though.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

I suck in a breath as the guy approaches the table, slapping the wooden paddle in his palm. I gulp, remembering Tyler’s tribunal. It was brutal, and he only made it throughtwowhacks before I scrambled away in agony.

Fuck.

Can I do this?

The girl by my head—who I’m beginning to suspect is my attendant—lifts me up, removes my robe entirely, then guides me to flip over, so I’m on the table, crouched in a fetal position with my ass exposed.

“This paddle represents the adversity you will endure in defense of the society.”

Without any official warning, the paddle comes down on my naked ass with athwakthat I feel all the way to my bones. I cry out before I can even think about holding it in, the sharp sting snatching the breath right out of my lungs. Then anotherthwak, this one harder, and another quickly follow, the force of it vibrating through my entire body.

My God, I don’t know how much of this I can take.

Thankfully, I see the guy retreat in my periphery, and I push out a long, shaky breath as silent tears roll down my cheeks. That shit was hard, but I have a feeling it was just a fraction of the force Roman used on Tyler. Now I understand why two whacks were all he could take.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and rest my forehead on the leather cushion when I hear someone else approach.

You’re doing this for Bree.

My head is still down, and I hear someone else approach. I don’t dare look up, for fear that people will see the tears streaming down my face. I don’t know why it’s so important that these faceless people think I’m strong, but it is. Or maybe I just don’t want to show them weakness. Either way, I stifle my sniffs, and keep my face hidden in my arms.

The stranger stops beside the table.

Please be a feather.

It’s a guy’s voice. Jackson, maybe. The voice is muffled by the mask, so it’s hard to hear clearly. “This whip represents the adversaries that will attempt to pry our secrets from you.”

Whip?

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