The Ritual: Chapter 17

I SIT AT the kitchen bar in our apartment drinking a rum and Coke. It’s my third. I skipped the rest of my classes today. Didn’t give a shit to be there.

Matt got to me. He was right. It doesn’t matter who I fuck today, tomorrow, or next week. The end will be the same. I’ll be his. And now I’ve pissed him off. He pretty much told me he’d keep me caged in the dark as his sex slave.

What the fuck did I do to him? He was cheating on me! He never even told me about the ritual. How was I going to vow to be his if I didn’t know about it? Ryat chose me, but Matt showed no interest in me whatsoever. Just our future as husband and wife. Let’s not forget the girl he’s been with for God knows how long.

I take another drink, the straw making a slurping sound as I realize I’ve reached the bottom. Then there’s Ryat and his high horse. I’m not telling him shit about Matt and me. He’s already possessive and controlling. If he knew what Matt said to me, he’d probably take it out on my ass, and I’m not going to allow that. I didn’t do anything wrong.

Getting to my feet, I walk into the kitchen to pour myself another drink but realize the bottle is empty. “Great.” I throw it into the sink, and it shatters, some of the pieces falling onto the floor. I step back, not wanting to get cut, and go over to the bar, picking up my cell to call Sarah.

“Hey, girl.” She answers on the second ring.

“Wanna go out?” I ask her in greeting. Either she wants to or not. I don’t have time to beat around the bush.

“Yeah,” she answers excitedly. “Gunner and I—”

“Just me and you,” I interrupt her. “I need a girls’ night. And please don’t tell Gunner where we’re going. I’m avoiding Ryat right now.”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “You at the apartment?”

“Yep.” I nod to myself.

“I’ll be there in twenty.” She hangs up. I set my cell down on the counter and make my way to my room and to my closet, leaving the mess of broken glass in the kitchen. I start digging through my clothes, looking for the most revealing thing I own. The motherfucker burned my skirt. Fuck him!

Smiling, I pull the dress off the rack. “Perfect.”

I get undressed and step into the skirt, pulling it up to my waist. Then I raise the two pieces of fabric up and around my neck. Turning, I look at myself in the mirror and the crisscross halter cut-out dress. It shows off my stomach, chest, and all of my back. The crisscross material barely covers my tits. Looking down, I pull on the string on my right thigh, making the skirt bunch up even more.

Twenty minutes later, we’re walking into Blackout. It’s a four-story club on the outskirts of town. “Have you been here before?” I ask her while we check our stuff in at the front. No way am I carrying it all around with me while I dance and drink. Plus, me drunk with a phone isn’t smart right now. I don’t want to drunk text Ryat when I’m horny at two o’clock in the morning. Or do something worse like send him pics of my pussy while in the bathroom.

“No. Janice was telling me about it the other day.”

I nod. Of course, our neighbor did. Last year, Sarah and I were woken up at three in the morning because the cops were banging on her door. They found drugs inside her place, and she spent three weeks in jail. We had to feed her cat and water the plants for her.

We shoulder our way past the crowd, and I grab the bar for stability. I should have worn flats. I’ve already had so much to drink; I’m going to be crawling out of here after closing.

A bartender walks over to us. “What will it be?” he yells out to us.

I go to hand him my bank card to start a tab when a guy beside me slides a hundred across the bar. “I got their drinks, Benny.”

Looking up, I see a pair of dark eyes staring at me. A smirk covers his unshaven face, and his eyes drop to my tits.

“No thanks.” I dismiss him, slapping my card on top of the bar.

He snorts. “Come on, let us buy your drinks for the night.”

“Us?” Sarah asks.

“Name’s Nathan,” a guy to her right introduces himself, placing his forearm on the bar. “And this here is my friend Mitch.” He gestures to the one next to me.

“Well, thanks for the offer, Nathan and Mitch, but we’re good.” I look at the bartender. “Rum and Coke. Two, please.”

“Oh, come on.” The one next to me picks up my card, and his free hand grabs my forearm. “You should be grateful we’re offering to take care of you for the night.” That smirk returns to his face. “You can pay us back later.”

His words anger me. He expects us to get on our hands and knees and kiss his fucking shoes because he’s offering to pay what? Maybe a couple of hundred dollars on drinks for us tonight? “No, thanks,” I repeat and yank my arm away from him as I take my card from the other.

“Hey—”

“It wasn’t a fucking hint, asshole.” Sarah snaps, cutting him off. “The answer is no. Pick two different girls.” She grabs my hand, yanking me from the bar. “Come on,” she growls. “There are other bars here to get drinks at inside this club.”

Looking back at them over my shoulder, I see another guy join them, but his back is toward me, so I can’t get a look at his face. But I see a tattoo on the back of his neck that looks like a spider crawling out from underneath the collar of his shirt. My eyes go to the one who introduced himself as Mitch, and he’s already glaring at me. Giving him my back, I throw my hair over my shoulder.

Fuck him!

RYAT

I HATE CLUBS. I’m not much of a partier. Even throughout high school, I didn’t go to many. I hate people in general. Then you mix alcohol and drugs with it, and I just can’t deal with them.

The house of Lords throws parties all the time, and although I tolerate them, I don’t drink at them. Too many opportunities for shit to go wrong. I prefer to be levelheaded and in control. That way, if something goes down, I can handle it.

So, the fact that Gunner and I are at Blackout isn’t helping my already sour mood. I’ve left Blakely alone since she threw her little fit earlier today at Barrington, but then Gunner called me and said we had a situation. I’m not happy about it.

The fact that I’m standing on one of the second-story balconies looking down onto the first floor and watching another man touch what’s mine makes me see fucking red.

Pushing away from the railing, I rush down the hallway and see two men standing at the railing. Both have holsters on their belts with guns loaded. “Ryat.” One nods at me.

Walking over to the edge, I point out Blakely and Sarah on the first floor. They’re throwing back shots at the bar in the back. “See those two girls. One dressed in a white dress, the other in a black one?”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“No one touches them. Got it?”

He nods. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied that they will do what needs to be done if something happens, I finish walking down the hallway to the end and come to a door. I punch in the key to enter and push it open.

Ty is in the middle of fucking a server.

Her brown eyes widen when she sees Gunner and me enter the room. Shrieking, she presses her palms on the desk he has her bent over and tries to push herself up. Grabbing the back of her neck, he slams her face down onto the desk and continues to fuck her from behind. “Just let them watch,” he tells her.

“Ty …”

Leaning over her back, he reaches in front of her and pries her mouth open, sticking his fingers inside—two on each side—opening her mouth up so she can no longer argue with him. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls.

Her face is scrunched, and she closes her eyes in embarrassment. That’s Ty for you. He was always good at humiliation. The man taught me everything I know.

He pumps into her, their hips hitting the desk, making it rattle.

She moans, unable to help herself, and her fingers curl around the edge of the desk, holding on to it. She’s fighting the inevitable. Drool starts to run down her dark-painted lips and onto the desk. Her hair covers parts of her face, and the room fills with her unintelligible sounds that he’s forcing from her. Then her eyes roll back into her head just as he thrusts one last time—both of them cumming.

Pulling out of her, he removes the condom and tosses it into the trash can by his desk and sits down. “Now get the fuck out,” he orders, and she gladly obliges, running as fast as she can past us, but stumbling out the door. “What can I do for you guys?”

“The basement.” I get to the point. “May we use it?”

He smiles up at us. “Of course. You never have to ask.” Sitting up, he places his forearms on the desk. “Just point them out, and I’ll have them delivered for you.”