Page 12 of The Queen
I glance around the alcove one last time, committing every inch to memory. This isn’t just some musty, old nook; it’s a vault of hidden truths, a crossroads of past and future.
Flicking off the light, I hold up my phone and ignore the buzzing of Raph ringing, somehow getting a signal this far underground.
I climb back up the ladder, one-handed, after shoving my phone back in my bra.
As I emerge from beneath the earth, the morning light stings my eyes, too bright after the dark. I shield my gaze and glance back at the ruptured ground.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Raph roars at me and then glares down into the tunnel.
“That explains why you didn’t pick up,” Tarquin says, also giving the tunnel the side-eye.
“Sorry, yeah, long story. I’ll tell you on the way home. Close it up and shove that clump of ground back over it, would you?”
Raph obliges without question, sending a rush of what I’m trying not to think of as love over me.
In silence, we head back to the townhouse, my mind reeling from the information overload. Catching sight of Robert as he continues cleaning up, I wave to him. He waves back and then turns away.
Who is he to me?
Is he related to me in some way?
This is all fucked up, but I need answers. After a cup of coffee and maybe more sleep.
8
TARQUIN
Pushingopen the door to the townhouse, we step inside, and I slam the door, leaning against it as I fix Eliza with a furious glare. “Well?”
“Not now. I swear I’ll tell you everything when all of you are here. I don’t like repeating myself.” She lifts her chin and meets my stare, and I see the flicker of something wild, untamed. It’s what draws me to her, what keeps me on edge.
I stride towards her and take her hand, ignoring the dusty old book in her hands. I’m wildly curious, but I’ll leave it for now. She will come clean when she does and not a minute sooner. Right now, there is something else that needs doing.
Leading her up the stairs, I kick open her bedroom door and take the book from her, placing it on the dresser.
She licks her lips as Raphael joins us, closing the door behind him.
There’s a lesson that needs to be taught, and we’re going to make it one she won’t forget.
Dragging my blade out, I watch as Eliza’s eyes narrow when she glances at it.
Reaching out, I pluck the hem of her tee away from her body and slide the sharp edge through the fabric. It parts like water, falling away from her body. Her skin is revealed inch by tantalising inch, and I love the way she stands there, bare and beautiful, all grace and defiance.
“Hands up,” I murmur, and she complies, raising her arms above her head. I circle her, the knife still in my hand, making sure every inch of her clothing is removed without a single scratch on her skin. Raphael moves closer, his gaze dark with longing. He wants to unleash on her in ways she hasn’t experienced with us yet. I need it as well. Today, she learns who we really are.
Eliza is exposed now, completely vulnerable to our gaze and touch. This is where we remind her who she belongs to, who controls her pleasure and her pain. This is where we start unravelling her, piece by piece.
“Turn around,” I command.
Eliza’s obedience is immediate, her movements fluid as she pivots, showing me the gorgeous tattoo on her back. I grab the handy zip ties from the back pocket of my pants. Her eyes lock onto mine in the mirror, a silent challenge, even as I bind her wrists tight enough to leave a mark.
“Too tight?” I ask, knowing full well the pressure is just right—a reminder that actions have consequences.
“Fuck you,” she spits back, the words laced with venom but her tone betraying a hint of excitement. That’s my girl—fire and ice, wrapped up in a package too tempting to resist.
I turn her to the bed and walk her forward, pushing her over so her cheek presses against the cool sheets. “Stay.” It’s one word, but it holds the heaviness of our unspoken dynamic. She doesn’t move, her body held in place by more than just the restraints—by the anticipation, the need for what’s coming.
My hand hovers over her ass, skin pale and smooth, begging for it. I rear back and bring my palm down hard, the crack of flesh on flesh reverberating through the room. She gasps, the sound mingling with the rush of blood in my ears. Again and again, my hand falls, each spank a rush of pain and pleasure that skitters across her skin and pings its way into her core.
