Authors: Tiffany Reisz
17
THE QUEEN
I
asked my husband to sacrifice himself for you.
Those were the words Marie-Laure left with Nora after their little bedtime story. The French bitch had said a jaunty,
“Bonne nuit,”
before curling up into bed and falling fast asleep. Nora had considered screaming at Marie-Laure or kicking her or something, but Damon stood as a mute menace, watching her. So Nora got as comfortable as she could despite the bonds on her wrists and the awkward position and had prayed with all her heart and all her soul and all her might that no one would die because of this woman and her bitterness and her obsession. No amount of reasoning or rationalizing could make sense of this madness, so Nora prayed only for a miracle.
And at dawn, she finally slept. She woke up to her hands numb from the rope and in a world without miracles.
Alone in the bedroom Marie-Laure had commandeered, Nora assessed her situation as calmly and rationally as she could. Marie-Laure was clearly off her fucking rocker. That was the calmest and most rational judgment Nora could muster about Søren’s ex-wife. No.
Current
wife. And to think Nora had been worried for the past eighteen years that the church would find out about her and she was nothing but a mistress. Wonder what they would do if they discovered he had a wife?
But...Nora tried to comfort herself as she watched the sun peeking over the windowsill. Søren hadn’t been a priest when he’d gotten married. And all the world considered Marie-Laure a dead woman. The marriage had never been consummated despite Marie-Laure’s attempts to seduce her husband. Surely Søren could get an annulment once all this was over. Or, even better, he’d be a widower.
Nora forced her mind away from all the vagaries of Søren’s marital situation. It didn’t matter. She was only thinking about that because it scared her a lot less than her real problem. She had to break that mindset. She couldn’t give in already. Marie-Laure had no qualms about killing people. She pushed a teenage girl off a cliff once. Having one of her boys put a bullet in Nora’s brain would be an even easier kill.
Luckily Marie-Laure seemed intent on toying with her first, toying with her and Søren and all of them. That took time and with enough time anything could happen. Marie-Laure clearly underestimated the people she’d chosen to fuck with. It had always amused her, when out on the town with Kingsley, how the two of them intimidated the innocents they’d mingled with. Kingsley Edge—King of Kink, King of the Underground—his bedroom exploits were the stuff of legend. That he openly admitted to a love of both men and women, of sex, of kink, of the darkest sorts of pleasure—blood-play, knife-play and, his personal favorite, rape-play—engendered fear in the hearts of the outsiders they encountered. The word
play
clearly didn’t register with them. That Kingsley was kinky was the least of their worries. That Kingsley was an ex-spy and assassin who had spent his twenties killing enemies of the French government. Now that should make them nervous.
Oh, and on top of that, Søren, the man who loved her more than anyone else had ever loved her and would ever love her, was an unapologetic sadist who’d once hammered nails through the testicles of a Dominant at the Eighth Circle, a man who’d ignored his submissive lover’s safe word and pleas for mercy and had beaten the boy unconscious. Nora smiled at the memory. After all, she’d passed Søren the nails while Kingsley had held the man down. They’d offered the Dominant two choices—King’s justice or the courts. He’d picked King’s justice and soon regretted it.
Marie-Laure would regret it, too, eventually. Hopefully Nora would live long enough to see that.
As visions of bloody retributions danced through her head, Nora ignored the quiet voice in the back of her head that warned her Søren would do nothing that put her life at risk. A rescue mission with doors kicked opened and guns blazing would only end up getting them all killed. Even now she heard the creak of hardwood outside the door—one of Marie-Laure’s boys standing guard, ready to mow her down if she somehow managed to untie herself.
Worth a shot, anyway.
Nora twisted her arms slowly as she tried to get the feel of the ropes, the knots. She’d done her fair share of Shibari in her days as a pro. She loved it, especially for clients who’d paid for three- and four-hour sessions. Putting a client in a reverse shrimp tie could take an hour in itself. So she knew knots and she knew rope, and she knew there was no way in hell she would be able to wriggle her way out of these. He’d tied her wrists and her forearms. She’d have to dislocate her own shoulders to get to the knots.
Still, a little dislocated shoulder never killed anyone. Bullets, however, killed lots of people.
As Nora started to pull against the rope, the door opened.
She froze in place as Andrei stared at her. She didn’t like the look on his face—one of utter disdain—but it was better than the alternative. At least she didn’t see any violent or lascivious intent in his eyes. “May I help you?” Nora asked as Fat Man continued to stare at her in mute contempt.
“She wants you for breakfast.”
“Is she a cannibal, too?”
“Probably,” he said as he came to the bed and began untying Nora. Once her hands and legs were free, he nodded toward the bathroom. “One minute. Make it good.”
She ran for the bathroom and pissed like a racehorse. She knew Doms and subs who played around with bathroom control. Thankfully Søren’s kinks focused on a far narrower swath of tortures. Although every now and then he got a bit demonic with her while playing at the club. In the middle of a scene, she’d admitted to a desperate need to pee. He’d kicked a metal bucket into the middle of the room and said, “Go.”
Andrei had given her one minute so she didn’t waste it. While in the bathroom she looked around wildly, trying to find anything that she could use. Nothing. Jack-fucking-nothing unless she thought she could smother a man to death with a bath towel.
“Better?” he asked when she emerged.
“My bladder thanks you.”
“Don’t thank me. She doesn’t want you pissing on yourself again.”
“She seems kind of sensitive,” Nora said as Andrei the Fat Man grabbed her by the arm and led her into the hall, his large gun strapped to his side. Briefly Nora regretted refusing Kingsley’s offers to teach her to shoot. Søren had instilled his Jesuit’s pacifism in her at too young an age. That and a preteen crush on MacGyver had pretty much ruined any appeal guns might have held for her once. Kingsley taught her long ago that the main rule of self-defense was “Don’t do anything stupid.” Trying to steal a gun from a giant mercenary when she didn’t even know how to take the safety off easily qualified as stupid. Fatally stupid.
Fat Man led her into the breakfast room where Marie-Laure sat at the table in her gown and robe, looking for all the world like a damned duchess at tea. Marie-Laure said nothing to her, didn’t even glance at her as she picked up her cup of tea and sipped from it. Fat Man pushed Nora down to the floor and stood behind her. Nora waited in silence and made a surreptitious sweep of the room. When she’d been here for Søren’s father’s funeral, the family had gathered here for breakfast. Nora had been only seventeen then but she knew enough to keep her mouth shut and her head down and disappear into the background so no one would wonder who she was, what she was doing here. When anyone asked, she’d said she was a friend of Claire’s, Søren’s sixteen-year-old half sister from his father’s second marriage. It wasn’t entirely a lie. She and Claire had gotten along beautifully. And “friend of Claire’s” sounded a hell of a lot better than “my priest who’s in love with me brought me here so he could tell me all his secrets.” Discretion had proved the better part of valor then. She decided it was the better part of valor again today.
“Hungry?” Marie-Laure asked after five minutes of silence.
“Me?” Nora asked.
Marie-Laure nodded.
“I wouldn’t turn breakfast down if you offered.”
“I’m offering.”
Nora started to stand up but the guard pushed her back down to the floor. Marie-Laure held out a plate, which Fat Man took and dropped on the floor in front of Nora.
“No butter?”
Andrei, the Fat Man, only glared at her.
“You don’t mind eating on the floor, do you?” Marie-Laure asked as she finally turned to look at her.
“I’ve been subbing half my life. You think this is the first time I’ve had to eat off the floor?” She tore a bit off a piece of dry toast and popped it in her mouth.
“Subbing half your life? Interesting...tell me about it.”
“About subbing? What do you want to know?”
“Why do you do it? Why do you like it?”
“The answers might take a little longer than breakfast.”
“It’s more brunch-time.”
“Fine. Subbing. Some people, men and women, enjoy giving up control. Sometimes for short periods of time—during sexual encounters. Some like to do it all the time, 24/7. It turns me on giving my body and my will to Søren.”
“You don’t seem very submissive.”
“What gave it away?”
Marie-Laure laughed softly.
“Someone not that long ago made a very poor decision to cross me in an important matter. Andrei brought him to me for a discussion.”
Nora had a hunch that this meeting Marie-Laure alluded to was the sort of “discussion” that ended with someone bleeding to death on the floor.
“You two work things out?” Nora asked, trying to focus her energy on eating as quickly as possible in case Marie-Laure changed her mind and took the food away. She’d need to eat to keep up her strength.
“He and Andrei worked things out in such a way that this man will never breathe again. I wouldn’t mourn him, though. He was something of a demon, notorious for the sorts of things...well, that Andrei is notorious for.”
“Mad fly fishing skills?”
Marie-Laure grinned. “You see, that’s my point exactly. This man who had murdered for love, lust and money begged and cried and wept for mercy. You who are in an equally tenuous situation sit on my floor, insult me and crack jokes.”
“I haven’t insulted you all day.”
“Oh, yes, that was last night. Do forgive me. But still...explain to me how a woman so...” Marie-Laure paused as if searching for the right word.
“Courageous? Brave? Badass?”
“Stupid,” Marie-Laure corrected. “How a woman with such wanton disregard for her own safety could be happy as a simpering little pet sitting at a man’s feet. Can you tell me that?”
“Well...first of all, I don’t think I ever simpered. I’m not particularly coquettish. I’m not even sure I could spell
coquettish
if you held a gun to my head. Please don’t,” she said, looking up at Fat Man, who glowered at her. He wasn’t the simpering type, either.
“But you were happy sitting at my husband’s feet.”
“He has nice feet.”
“You’re not answering my question. It’s getting irritating.”
“Okay, serious answer. Ready? Here we go.” Nora took a deep breath. She didn’t want to talk about this stuff with Marie-Laure, but as long as she stayed interesting, as long as she stayed entertaining, she stayed alive. “I get off on submitting to Søren. I don’t know how or why. I can’t explain any more than you can explain why you like Irish breakfast tea instead of English breakfast or whatever you’re drinking. It’s a personal taste. I liked it. He’s the most beautiful man on earth, he’s got an inner drive and power that I’m drawn to, he can scare the shit out of someone with a glance, he can put someone on their knees with a word, he can see into your soul if you make the mistake of looking into his eyes. And it is a mistake because you will never want to look away again no matter how bare and naked he lays your most private self. I knelt at his feet because I felt like that’s where I belonged. And no, not because I was so unworthy of him, but because he was so utterly worthy of my devotion.”
A noble speech and a true one, Nora decided as her words settled into the room. True, yes, but not the whole truth. Might as well spill it all.
“Oh,” she added a moment later. “And me submitting to pain gets him rock hard and the man fucks like a freight train when in the right mood. Not that you would know anything about that.”
Marie-Laure let her fork drop to her plate and the metallic clatter echoed throughout the room.
“I don’t think I like you,” Marie-Laure said.
“Join the club,” Nora said. “There are many other members to keep you company.”
“Is my brother in that club?”
Nora balked at the question. Trying to explain her relationship with Kingsley would be more fraught with peril than trying to explain her love of submitting to Søren.
“You don’t want to talk about my brother?” Marie-Laure taunted. “Fascinating.”
“We can talk about Kingsley. Whatever you like.” Nora decided she’d probably pushed enough of Marie-Laure’s buttons today. Morning had dawned bright and beautiful today. She would love to see another morning.
“Good. Let’s talk. But work while you talk. Clear the dishes.”
Nora glanced up at Fat Man, who nodded at her. With his permission, she pulled herself off the floor and started piling dishes in her arms.
“You can answer my question anytime now,” Marie-Laure said, sipping her tea again.
“Um...Kingsley and I, we’re complicated. No, some days he doesn’t like me very much. Some days we’re thick as thieves.”
“Why is that? Because you aborted his child?”
Nora almost dropped the dishes on the floor. With only force of will did she manage to keep the dishes and herself from shattering.
“I did, yes,” she admitted without shame. “But no, that’s not why he doesn’t like me sometimes. The pregnancy was an accident, his and mine. He’d never be petty enough to hate me because of that.”
“Then why does he hate you?”
“He doesn’t. Not all the time, anyway. If he’s mad at Søren, I’m his partner-in-crime, the only person on the planet other than Kingsley who can get to Søren. If he’s...if he’s remembering what he and Søren used to be and missing it, he sees me as the enemy.”
“Are you?”
Nora put the plates on the sideboard.