Page 81 of Servitude to Serpents

At least I made it out.

I lived.

I should’ve felt grateful, vowed to do something amazing with my life, written a memoir and dedicated to her. I did none of those things.

Guilt, like the saltwater, was always too deep. The anger, the resentment, and the bone-crushing sadness were always suffocating. The moment I thought I might snap out of it, the moment there was a tendril of light, I’d wonder how she would’ve spent her years, if she would’ve wasted them like me. We were told by the doctors she did well for children with her condition. We were told she’d have thirty to seventy years, good or bad, suffering or not.

I robbed her of every one of them.

Because I was mad at Mom and Dad for not showing up again. Because I was mad at Grandma for hurting me. I was mad at myself for not being good enough. I was mad at her for having it so easy. How the fuck could I have ever thought that?

I wanted to take her into the water that night because she loved it, because I loved it too, but nowhere near as much as I loved her, but I should’ve said no.

Like I had since the last time we got caught.

The difference?

I was mad.

Hurt.

I wasbad.Fundamentally.

Grandma told me so over and over again until I was sureit was her favorite word.

I was alreadybad.

So why should I listen?

I was fucking stupid.

And I still am.

Standing outside his bedroom door sobbing, begging to be let in, his note crumpled in my hand. It’s almost funny the way history repeats itself.

Chapter thirty

To own is to…. Wound

Jokes on You by Charlotte Lawrence

My heart pounds in my ears in a sickening, whooshing sound as I’m guided onto the yacht, the smell of saltwater this time a very physical thing. I make a conscious effort to block out the sight of the murky, foreboding water that surrounds us. As much as the idea of being touched makes me want to shed my skin, I want to please the man at my back, to show him I’m capable of all the things I was trained to do. I can beusefulto him. His hand firmly grips the back of my serpent collar. The gesture would’ve seemed attentive, possessive, endearing if it wasn’t wrought with tension. My collar itself is beautiful, resembling a serpent slithering around my neck, the trail resting just under my collarbone, the head stopping just above the valley of my breasts. It’s a stunning, heavy dark gold to match my dress, my hair left to fall in waves down my back. I freeze as the boat rocks, stepping back into Master. He simply tightens his hand, making the collar press against my flesh in warning.

I scan the crowd on the lower deck, searching for the man I’m meant to seduce.The plan is simple, really: get his attention. Once I have it, offer myself as a gift from my master. I fuck him. Nothing in this world is free. He knows that. My master needs proof that the man’s house had a hand in the ambush that killed his father. Although it won’t take any explanations for the man to know what’s needed of him. Everyoneknows,which is exactly why it’s a risk for him to be here, why he can’t openly approach the man. Any single person here could tell Tyet, and they’d quickly close their ranks, which means killing off everyone and deleting anything that could get Sir what he needs.

I’ve gleaned enough from our time together that this is important to him, themostimportant thing to him. It’s more than enough to make me steel my gut to its churning and my mind away from the crashing waves as the boat undocks, pulling away from the marina.

I’m not in the water.

I repeat it like a mantra until Master's lips grace my neck. “Would a drink help to calm your nerves?”

Nothing, absolutelynothing,would help, but I nod anyway. At least I get a drink before I spread my legs. “Please, Sir.”

He calls to a server before pulling us toward the huge, L-shaped couch, settling me into his lap. I press myself tighter into him, hyperaware of the way his nose buries in my hair, inhaling me. His arms cage me against him, my entire body responding in kind. Imelt. “Are you scared, little pet?”

My breath shudders. “Terrified.”

The wide splatter-shaped table is inky black, lit from underneath with warm lights as a server lays down the drinks. Master makes a disapproving sound when I reach for mine, making me still my hand, placing it back on my lap. He picks up whatever he ordered for me, taking a drink before gripping my chin, angling my head up as he lets the liquor run from his mouth into mine. Even here, anxiety burrowing through my bones and sick churning in my gut, my body readies for him. My core pulses and slickens, but the drink is gone too quickly, the moment fizzled away and sucked out to sea.

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