Page 12 of Mafie Kings

I hold up a hand to stop her as she keeps rapidly firing questions about my preferences. “I like popcorn, with a Jack and Coke.” Because Lord Hades knows I’m going to need alcohol to deal with this level of energy. “I’m not picky when it comes to candy, although I don't eat it that often. Let's see how classes go before we commit to a certain day. Does that work for you?”

Laney nods her head vigorously. “Totally, perfect, love it. I’m gonna go unpack. Did you already have your stuff delivered from the boat? I didn’t see anyone come by for you yet. They just delivered my boxes before you walked in.”

“Boxes?” I ask, astounded. “I only brought what I could carry, so I’m good.” I shrug.

“That’s all you brought?” She questions with a frown, gesturing to my two duffle bags.

“Yup,” I say, popping the p. “Well, anyways, I don’t think these clothes are gonna hang themselves,” I say, walking towards my room. “Movie at 2200?” I ask, needing to get away from the talking.

“Sure, sounds good,” she says walking into her room.

Between Bryce and Laney my people meter is maxed out. I hang up my clothes and unpack my few toiletries in fifteen minutes. The rooms are fully furnished, and the black silk bedding is heavenly. The white and gray accents tie the place together nicely. For such an old university that dates back to the original Mafie of Sicily in the 1800s, I expected much more historic-looking accommodations. But this modern style is a nice surprise.

I go to our kitchen to hunt for food and find it’s fully stocked with snacks. I grab a few granola bars, eating them as I prepare to take a shower. My bathroom is even bigger than the one at the compound. It has a large glass shower complete with multiple massaging heads, and the white tub encased inside has me stripping instantly, needing to know if the water pressure is up to my usual standard.

The jets are amazing and hit every sore spot from traveling and the failed challenge. My hands and feet are still healing, but thankfully the sores are no longer open.

That thought has me reflecting on the men I saw arrive on the private boat. The Elysium Kings. I belong to them for as long as I’m here, and I have no idea what that’s going to entail. Anxiety washes over me at the thought of all the things they could force on me while I’m under their thumb. I kick myself mentally, pissed that I didn’t take the consequences of failing this challenge more seriously.

This could work in my favor though. I’ll have the most powerful men on the island at my fingertips. If I follow orders, get them to trust me, and flirt a little here and there, maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll let them think they’re in control while I ingrain myself into their lives.

That means you’ll have to be obedient and submissive to their orders. You’ll have to play the long game.

I let out an exasperated sigh, the tension the jets just worked to erase already begins to flood back. As I wrap up my shower, I try to get myself into character. Except, the more I think about submitting to them, the more my stomach turns.

One day at a time. Just get through the first day.

At 2200, I walk into the living area in a long t-shirt and sweatpants. Laney is sitting on the couch waiting patiently for me.

“I thought we could watch this,” she says, holding up Legally Blonde.

Man, was I right on the mark with her or what?

“Really?” I ask with a laugh.

“Don’t give me that look,” she says, pointing a finger at me. She’s wearing a matching pink silk nightie that makes it difficult to take her seriously. “This movie is all about just how powerful women really are in this world. If there is anything we should be able to bond over, it’s men underestimating us.”

Damn, I might have pegged her wrong. That’s a really good point. I nod in agreement as I make my way to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

“Plus,” she adds, “the men are hot.”

I laugh and fold my legs under me. “Alright then,” I tell her, “let’s see these hot men.”

???

I’m tied to a table. The man standing over me is wearing a black mask with just the eyes cut out. He picks up a knife and gets to work.

You know when people tell you that rib tattoos or childbirth are the worst pain in the world? Well, those people have clearly never been tortured.

The knife begins to make shallow cuts down my left side. The small lacerations are annoying, but it’s what they symbolize that has me screaming on the table. My right side was done a few days ago. He will start off slow. The pain will come fast, but after a while, it will almost feel tolerable. When the urge to claw through the ropes holding me down starts to subside, is when he decides to change tactics. All of the small shallow cuts he made before, he goes back over with a thicker blade, cutting deeper until my flesh is nearly hanging off of my body.

Then they turn the cold air on and leave me here overnight. The constant cool breeze over my naked, bleeding flesh prevents sleep from taking away the pain. The movement of the air around me keeps the open wounds burning indefinitely.

In the morning, they will come in and stitch me up. Just enough so that the wounds will heal in a few days before they do it all over again.

Bile rises to the back of my throat when he goes for the bigger knife. My mouth is open, attempting to scream through the pain. No one hears me. I try to scream again, praying someone will come to save me. But it’s no use, my prayers go unanswered.

I never asked for a prince charming or a white night, but at this point I would sell my soul to Hades himself if it meant I could get off of this table.

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