Page 87 of Vicious Knight
He’s as obvious as the sun rising in the morning and the moon taking its place at night.
When he spots me those blue eyes light up with a lethal concoction of mischief and malice.
It fuels the ball of emotion settling in the pit of my stomach that’s always there.
“Bambi, come here.”
This is the first time we’ve been around so many people. Around him are Kade, Dmitri, Logan and Alek. I don’t look at them too much even though they’re watching me.
I stop before Thorne and glare at him. “You could have told me there was going to be a party.”
“I could have. I just chose not to. Here is your uniform for the night.” He reaches down for a bag beside him and pulls out a little black bikini. It’s pretty but I’m not in the mood to wear anything like that. Especially when I could have been on the trip.
“I’m not wearing that.”
The guys chuckle, but one look from Thorne and the snickering dies.
“Yes, you are. Go upstairs and put it on then bring some drinks for us on your way out.”
My entire body tightens with the rage of a bull. He wants me to serve them. He stopped me from going on my trip by being his jealous, possessive self so I could be his servant. What a fucking jerk.
“Go on now.” The stiffness in his tone carries a warning, so I don’t bother to defend myself. What's the point? It’s not like I can win here.
I take the bag from him and walk away feeling like my dignity is in pieces around me.
I go upstairs to his room and change into the bikini, which barely covers my body.
Just as I thought, the moment I step outside all the guys are looking at my boobs, which look even bigger in the bikini top.
I grab a tray of drinks from the server in the kitchen and walk back to Thorne with it.
He smiles when he sees me strolling back to him, loving the conundrum I’ve found myself in where he is my master and I have to do exactly as he says.
Bastard.
He takes another beer, and I set the tray on the little table between the guys.
Thorne then holds up a bottle of massage oil to me. “Make your hands useful. I need a shoulder massage.”
Grudgingly I take the oil from him, squirt some into my palms, and rub it onto the wide expanse of his shoulder blades.
The muscles here are so thick they feel as solid and compacted as the ropes on Levgen’s sailing yacht back home.
My fingers are no match for them and I actually hurt myself trying to press into them.
“Harder.” He throws the word over his shoulder in that commanding voice I hate.
I try my best to rub him harder but it’s clear I’m struggling.
The guys start talking about all sorts of nonsense. Women and booze and training for their trials.
My mind drifts to my father and this possibility of finding the scar-faced man.
I haven’t stopped thinking about that.
I wanted to tell my mom and even speak to Levgen about it, but I stopped myself.
Mom would go crazy if I mentioned one word to Levgen about my father. The subject of the scar-faced man was explored before but I was never asked to identify him.