To his credit, he’s also pushing the shrink back, proving that it’s just as much him as it is me. It doesn’t help the anger swirling in my gut, demanding I stand up against his implied show of force.
“What have you been telling them about me? Hm? That I’m not good enough? That I can’t cut it with you rich folks. Sorry, quack, am I not hoity-toity enough for your ass? Silly me. I thought you were a real shrink, you know, the ones bound by the law to keep things private. Or is that only for the ones that can pay for your silence?”
The quacks lips curl up in a silent snarl as he stares me down. His eyes swirl with unspoken retribution. Perhaps some might think it’s stupid of me to poke at the ones that will be initiating me, but I’m beyond caring. The few things I told him should have stayed private. Not one thing should have passed from his lips, least of all his judgment.
The rest of the crowd backs away, their eyes flitting between him and me. The dean hasn’t moved an inch, but his fingers push against me just a little more, as if coaxing me to stand down. But why? Why not just call this whole thing off and kick me out?
It’s what they all want. I can see it etched onto their faces like a mask. The only one that seems to care at all about me being here is the strange guy that hasn’t stopped smiling since I walked in. I trust him least of all. With everyone else, their true feelings are out on display, but this guy just grins at me like a damn clown.
“Luke,” the dean murmurs, keeping his voice low. “I need you to calm down. Doctor Andrew only told us what he had to. He hasn’t said a word about anything you’ve told him. Whatever you discussed is private. The only thing he warned us about was your anger, but none of us need a psychiatrist to tell us that. It drips from your body like sweat.”
I pull back and cross my arms, seething at the quack’s smug look. It’s infuriating. If what the dean said was right, then I have no business being upset at the shrink, but I still have no clue what exactly he said. The dean could be lying for all I know. But deep down, I don’t think that he is.
There’s something about Dean Anderson that feels safe, nurturing almost. It turns my stomach to think about it. Turning to Mr. Smiley, I pin him with a glare, trying to figure out what his angle is. “Glad you find this funny.”
“Oh,” he laughs. “I do. Anything that gets Doctor Andrew huffing is a good thing in my book.”
Got it. So I’m a pawn in their rivalry. Good to know. Shaking my head, I walk up to the dais and start to remove my shirt. “Are we going to do this thing or what?”
“My, so hasty. Are you sure you’re not looking forward to the pain we’re about to bestow? Perhaps we should put you through a different kind of initiation, the one we save for our submissives.”
“Nadia,” the dean warns, taking a step forward, as if he could somehow protect her if I wanted her dead.
“Mistress, Nadia,” She corrects him, her blood-red lips curling up into a smile. “And this little boy doesn’t frighten me one bit. I’m pretty sure all he needs is a good spanking and a nice nap to improve his disposition.”
Red floods my vision at Nadia’s words. I am no one’s bitch. I am no one’s submissive. And most importantly, I am not a child. I haven’t been one since I was twelve years old.
That’s not how I understand it?
The voice floods my head, interrupting my thoughts. It’s that damned voice that never leaves me, almost as if it’s a part of me.
Go on. Show her just how submissive you can be. You can take it, can’t you, boy? You took it from me. She seems harmless in comparison.
Reaching up, I grip my hair, willing the voice to silence. I can’t lose it here. I can’t crack up. Any show of weakness will confirm to them that I’m a submissive, a toy to be used at their will. But I refuse to submit to anyone else, most of all a woman.
Her eyes dance with unshed laughter as she stares me down, her long, red nails tapping against her pouty mouth. She’s the type of woman I’d fuck then leave on the bed, dollar bills bouncing across her large breasts.
The robe hangs open on either side of her, revealing her barely-there outfit. While the men are dressed in suits and ties, she’s waltzing around in a negligee. The plunging neckline stops just short of exposing her nipples, but her dusky areolas peek through, tempting me to touch them.
She’s exquisite, the type of woman that reeks of wealth and privilege, the type I’d fuck in the dirt just to bring her down a peg. When she steps forward, the world stops for a moment. A cloud of perfume reaches ahead of her, making my head swim. What madness is this?
Her fingers brush against my face in a soft caress, like the fur of the rabbit I once had as a pet. The rabbit Ryker made me kill. It was my first time taking any sort of life. I sobbed as I buried him, earning a smack across the face and a cock down my throat.
That was the last day I cried. Even now, even when the tears threaten to burn my eyes, I never let them fall. To do so would be to let him win. And I’ll be damned if he ever wins again.
Reaching up, I grip her wrist and yank her forward, pausing as the other men rush toward us. But to her credit, she never falters, as if my reaction is expected.
She holds up her free hand and motions for them to move away, allowing us a wide berth. Big mistake. Doesn’t this woman know how dangerous I can be? And here she is, shooing away her only protection as if they’re a nuisance to her.
Bending down, I make a move to kiss her, to show her who’s really in charge, but before I can get the chance, her hand is at my face, her fingers digging into my cheeks as she pushes me back.
“No one touches me without permission. It is a privilege and not a right, one which you have not earned. Now then, little boy, unhand me before I get upset.”
As she finishes her tirade, she moves her hands a fraction, but it's enough that I feel the bite of her nails as they dig into my skin. This bitch isn’t worth it. Dropping her hand, I stare her down as her lips curve into a wicked grin.
“That’s a good boy. Perhaps I should add you to my harem. I’d love a big strong man to pin me down while I order him about.”
“You think too highly of yourself,” I growl, stepping away.
I can see her for what she really is - yet another manipulator, just dressed up in a pretty package. Disgust rolls through my gut as I pull away, noting the soft lines on her face. She’s no longer a youthful temptress, but instead, she’s a washed-up hag trying to get her kicks in before she’s past her prime. She may have sway over younger, inexperienced guys, but she’ll never draw me in again.
Turning to the dean, I finish unbuttoning my shirt and drop it down to the ground. A strange calm infiltrates my body as I step onto the dais, as if I’m no longer in my skin.
My haven.
I finally found it.
Here, nothing can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. I’m cut off from everything and everyone. Unless they sever a limb, I can pull into this space and just breathe. It was one area Ryker couldn’t touch.
Movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Mr. Smiley standing next to me. His movements are slow, unhurried, as if walking through the Florida swamps in the heat of summer. He shimmers like a mirage as I watch him slide his robe behind his shoulders so that it hangs down his back instead of impeding his arms.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m an actual doctor,” he murmurs, his voice a low buzz in my ears.
From my peripheral, I notice the look he gives the shrink, and I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. In turn, the shrink scoffs and crosses his arms, studying Mr. Smiley’s every move. These are grown-ass men, presumably far older than me, and yet they bicker like children.
Are these really the types of idiots the dean wants in this society of his? Perhaps with me there, it will actually make it more respectable. At least I know my skill and don’t feel the need to parade it around for false accolades. I’m content knowing that I’m lethal without having to shout it to the rooftops.
“I need to make sure you can withstand the initiation.” Mr. Smiley’s voice pulls my attention back to the matter at hand.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a stethoscope and slides the buds into his ears. Pulling the diaphragm up to his lips, he huffs on top of it before rubbing it against his shirt. Such a small kindness for him to heat it up before touching me. Perhaps the initiation won’t be that bad after all.
Leaning against the wood, I absently note the smoothness of it. It’s not jagged or harsh, but then, these guys could afford the good stuff. No makeshift shit they’re forced to work with.
The only time I ever saw anything even close to quality was in the club Malum. Closing my eyes, I conjure up the fun I had there, bending women and men to my will, forcing my pent-up aggression into their bodies.
They wanted it, wanted me. I saw it in their eyes. I heard it in the breathy moans as it brushed against my skin. They took the pain I gave them and responded with, “Yes sir,” giving me the respect I was due. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a Raven pissant. I was a god to them.
Perhaps this place will be a good fit after all. Now that I’m able to look at things with a cool, rational eye, I see it for the opportunities and less for the jail I perceived it to be. I just have to find a submissive that matches my own dark desires. I’ll have to find someone that will take my iron dominance and bend. I won’t tolerate brats, and they sure as hell won’t want to be at the end of my wrath.
I need a good girl I can corrupt, to bend to my will. Someone that likes the idea of blood coating my lips as I lap it from their spent bodies. I want a submissive I can hurt, someone that can take the pain from me. A willing vessel that I can transfer all this anger and hate onto and not have them wither.