Page 89 of Servitude to Serpents

But I’m not crying right now.

My whole body throbs as I drag myself to a sitting position from where I’d rolled off my raw back hours ago. It has been hours.

I’m tired.

Honestly, I get it. I can’t even find it in me to be mad, staring down absentlyat the cruel words written all over my body. My hands aren’t shaking when I run my fingers over the brutal, bloody teeth impressions on my skin. Before they’d brought me pride, much like all the bruises that make me feel so…beautiful, used in the best ways. Right now, I feel nothing. I understand better than ever why they chose me that night in the bar; I was always expendable. I was always bad. The universe thought it right to punish me for it. I was okay with that because of him. I’d made my peace with the phantom hands because those phantom touches that maimed and pushed and throttled would never be his.

He adored me. He could never be the phantom hands.

I can feel the exhaustion deep in my bones as I tilt my head back, staring at the rigging above me. My leash is cool on mottled, throbbing flesh, a chain-type rope on a sliding bar connected to the structure above the headboard. Expensive fabric hangs around the four posters, elaborately carved banners connecting them all. I remember that first day, when I’d considered tossing myself over the side of the landing, knowing I wouldn’t.

Icouldn’t,and soon enough, I didn’twantto. I wanted to be good for him, to live…for him.

The way he seemed to live for me. But it was a naïve, hideously illogical notion.

I was wrong about so much.

And my mastercouldmake mistakes.

My fingers skim along the length of chain, testing where it connects with my collar—a wide leather one this time, thick, strong.

I get up on unsteady legs, feeling my core ache in protest as I walk to the bottom of the bed. It takes time before I can work my way up, pulling and stacking pillows for just a little boost, but eventually, I do it. My body trembles with exhaustion, my forehead beading with sweat as I balance on the top of the mahogany banister that connects the four posters of the bed, only inches left of length on my chain. My eyes get stuck on the lily tattooed above my wrist, my brand. You can barely see it now, not unless you really look. It’s faded, the white ink a fleshy tone, but it feels like a two-ton weight, making my body impossibly heavy. It’s pulling me over the edge as I lift it. Everything is heavy, heavier than they’ve ever been.

I saw a doctor, one of Master’s, after the boat accident. He asked me if I knew the date, giving Sir a concerned look when I said no. It’s not because of any brain damage; I have no reason to know the date.

He told me it was May.

It has been almost two years since that night.Almosttwo years seems likeenough.

Warrick

I drag her nightgown over my nose as I lay back on her bed, self-loathing settling in my gut like a lead weight. I didn’t hesitate when I jumped into the water after her. I didn’t even care if she could get herself out; I needed to save her, to be the one worthy of saving her, to be good enough to stand by her side.I betrayed everything to take away her pain, only to cause more of it. I wanted to validate the good she saw in me, to deserve her love and adoration. For once in my life, I wanted to be loved, but I’m a sick fuck. I’ve got two aliases on the international most wanted list. I’ve destroyed, razed, and created havoc, devastation on biblical levels. War crimes, war machines. Weapons that have killed millions with my brand on the side. Truth be told, I never batted an eye. I’m fucked, wretched, unworthy of the type of devotion, the blinding, soul-changing adoration in her eyes….

I don’t deserve her.

Even so, I’m on my feet, halfway down the hall, before I decide to. I’m fucking sorry ,and I need her to know. I can fix this; I can be whatever she sees in me, if only she can be patient while I learn. Every fiber of my blackened husk of a soul aches for her. She needs me, but I think Ineedher more. I destroyed everything for her, and I would destroy more if it meant earning her forgiveness. If she told me she wanted that ounce this world owes her, I’d call it in. I’d do it now. Eachhouse would fall to her feet, and none of it would matter.

I didn’t hesitate then on that yacht. Why hesitate now?

When I toss open the door, it takes my mind a beat to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. When it does, it clicks like the hammer on a gun. My heart plummets, panic hitting me in the chest like a nuclear payload.

“NO!” The bellow is more agony than words as I run for her. Her nude, battered body dangles over the banister of my bed by her neck as she thrashes. The choked, gurgling sounds coming from her worm their way into my marrow as I take her weight. Her desperate gasp for air is guttural, strained, my hands trembling, mirroring the shakiness in my core as I reach up, fingers fumbling as I try to release her collar from the chain.

“Why would you do that?” I choke out. My fingers slip on the clasp, working the leather collar off her neck, letting it fall to the ground.

She forces air through her lungs, blue edging her full lips as I lay her back on the bed. My eyes burn, her beautiful face blurring as I run my fingers over her bruising, bloody neck, scratched from where she clawed at the collar. “Why?”

I feel sick.

Imagines of bloody water and long, black hair assault me, making bile rise in my throat, but when I drag my mother’s stiff body from the water, her hair is blonde, and I’m met with wide, unseeing doe eyes.

Chloe

The world bubbles in tiny blips, my neck throbbing with each strum of my pulse, but I can smell him, sage and oak as he murmurs against my skin, his forehead pressing against mine. His words come in small waves as my brain releases the panic.

“You want to leave me that badly?” His gruff, tormented voice floods me with a rush of emotions, the weight of regret settling in my chest.

I try to look down at him, to see his face, but his hand stops me as he swallows hard, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding against my chest. “Why. Would. You. Do. That?

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