He trails his gloved fingers down my arms and sides, then over my round stomach. Goosebumps pebble on my skin, and my nipples harden into tight peaks. The adoring and gentle way he touches me is confusing because he literally doesn’t know me. What’s more confusing is that my body responds to him as if we’ve done this before. Like it recognizes his touch.
“The choice is yours, Dahlia Evergreen. Sacrifice something or die.” The leader stands from his seat and straightens his black jacket to free it from wrinkles.
“What the fuck is the Exodus?” I raise my voice, not bothering to keep quiet.
The man wearing a creepy spider mask with sharp pincers chuckles. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
My kidnapper runs his hand down my pelvis and brushes his fingers over my mound, teasing me with his soft touches. “Welcome to the Reckoning,” he murmurs into my ear. “The one night every ten years when laws don’t touch us. We’re told to bring party favors, and I chose you as mine.”
Everything in me stills. “The Reckoning . . .”
My husband brushes his mask against my ear. “You know what to sacrifice, wife.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
He pauses, then his hand shoots up to grab my throat in a tight grip that makes my head spin. “Then you die.”
If I were watching this from an outside perspective, I’d scream for the victim to do the sacrifice. The last of my innocence doesn’t matter to me. It never did. I don’t know if I’m innocent since I’ve had anal sex with Jaxon.
Facing a life-or-death situation brings out the very core ofwho you are. Are you fighting your way out? Or are you rolling over and accepting your fate?
I don’t want to die. I want to live so I can see Jaxon when he finds me, because I firmly believe he will.
“My virginity,” I whisper shakily.
“Repeat that,” one leader says. “We can’t hear you.”
My husband stiffens. “She said she’ll sacrifice her virginity.”
They hum in unique tones, pleased with my answer.
“Then, by all means.” One leader gestures for us to begin.
“Right here?” I squeak.
“What?” The leader leans forward to hear better.
Annoyance rolls off my husband in noxious waves. “She asked,right here.” He angrily taps his finger on my abdomen, right beneath my breasts.
The man in the creepy frog mask waves him off, then rolls his wrist, two fingers held up as he silently urges us to fuck.
I suck in a breath as my husband peels off my crop top and tosses it aside on the bear rug. He snaps my bra undone, freeing my heavy breasts from their confines for the viewing pleasure of the men watching with disinterest. I can’t look away from them as they relax in their seats. One looks bored, with his leg crossed over the other, his elbow resting on the chair’s arm, and his fingers tucked against the cheek of his spider mask.
“Please don’t do this,” I whisper to my kidnapper.
“You have no choice, wife.”
He undoes my shorts and yanks them down to pool around my boots. Coming around to stand in front of me, he tilts his head as he stares at my crotch. I’m left standing in my underwear, fishnets, and shoes. His gaze rises to my face with a look of warning before he drags down my fishnets, rips my panties in half, then jerks them off of me.
I gasp and stumble forward, then steady myself by holdingon to his shoulders in his bent position as he pulls up my fishnets.
My eyebrows fly up to my forehead.
He looks up at me, and I swear I can see the smirk behind his mask. “I want to fuck you while you’re wearing these. I love how they cling to your curves.”
My cheeks warm with a blush, and I squeeze my eyes shut to close myself off from the outside world. This is so fucked up. I have to remind myself that this is a life-or-death situation and not something I can run away from. If I bolt out of here, he’ll chase me and enjoy it a little too much.
