Page 64 of Servitude to Serpents

I flinch with each word, but my master doesn’t. I need to go.

God, I hope he’s not mad at me.

I quickly strand, nodding to Sir in dismissal, but I’m not even turned before he speaks again, his eyes on the fuming man I can’t bring myself to look at. “You are not dismissed. Come.”

Sir pats his lap, and my chest is heaving.

“If you were seriously interested in smoothing over bad blood, you’d accept our eye-for-eye call we made months ago!”

Eye for eye.

Oh God. They want to kill me.

Of course they do, stupid.

Anxiety rattles me as I climb into Master's lap, straddling him, burying my face in his neck. I’m not remembering my training, not sitting pretty, or displaying myself properly. I’m hiding, cowering in his arms.

“The infamousBasiliskprotecting a fucking cunny!” The man fumes, yelling so loud, tears well in my eyes.

“Chloe, are you dull? Do it better! You’re wasting my time!”

“Do not embarrass me tonight, Chloe!”

“Chloe!”

“You killed my fucking baby!”

“You let her die!”

An iron band is looped around my chest, squeezing it, the taste of saltwater on my tongue. The yelling, God, I can’t take the yelling. I’m shaking now against the strong and stoic man underneath me.

I sputter, coughing up saltwater as the men punch at my chest. It feels like they’re killing me. They’re going to kill me. I cough again before being jerked to my side, someone slapping my back hard enough for it to echo in my fluid-filled ears. My eye hurts so badly? Why can’t I open it?

“My sister…” I croak. “Where—"

“You were alone.” The panicked voice of one of the men cuts in. “Fucking hell, callthe coast guard! You’re a kid! What the fuck were you doing way out here in the middle of the night?”

“Renee,” I wheeze.

“Your name is Renee. Tell them her name is Renee. What’s your last name, kid?”

The man keeps yelling, barely taking a breath as Sir’s lips find my ear. “Cover your ears, baby.”

My hands are clammy as I obey, clamping them over my ears. Finally, Master shifts underneath me. The movement is so practiced and fluid, neither me nor the other man recognize what’s happening before it's done, the shot deafening. The ringing that follows is jarring as I fight against Master’s hold, trying to twist to see what he’s done. It’s his voice that cuts above everything, halting my wheezing panic. “Good girl, you’re alright. I’ve got you. Keep your head down, okay? If you open your eyes, I will cane that beautiful body of yours, understand?”

I nod, panting as he gently puts me in his high-backed office chair, digging around in his drawer. The sounds are so mundane next to the wounded man’s screaming and cursing. Master makes quick work of placing the headphones over my ears, turning on whatever he was last listening to.

Hallelujah. Played halfway through.

If my heart could warm right now, it would.

I hear him as he discards his suit jacket, draping it on my shoulders, rolling his sleeves up over his heavily tattooed corded arms. I don’t hear any reprimand he may give me as he puts his hand over the back of my head, pushing my head down to the table with a warning squeeze.

Gasping for breath, the varnish on his desk fogging, I strain to hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh amidst the rising music. I can’t help it; God, I can’t help but look. I lift my head, just a little, the guise of sneaking a look dropping away when the bloody form of the man comes into view.Hallelujahloops again as my mouth drops open in shock. Master’s hand is wrapped around the man’s tie as he strikes him with such force, the man’s head bounces unnaturally. The butt of the gun is soaked and sopping, the light gray of Sir’s dress shirt decorated with blood. I watch as he grunts, his forearms flexing with each unyielding strike. Hisfirm jaw is speckled with blood as it clenches, that quiet rage now explosive and booming in his eyes. Master doesn’t speak, no cursing or yelling as he beats the man extracting his pound of flesh as what was once a human face deteriorates. Cheekbones are swollen, pushing into eye sockets, and God, he’s going to kill him.

“Sir!”

He halts the battering of the man long enough to glance at me from the corner of his eye. Master is panting, excluding masculine violence, and again, I find there are few depths I won’t sink to for this man. I press my thighs together, morbidly enamored and terrified as he drops the man, letting him crumble to the floor as he walks over to the intercom button on the desk in front of me.

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