Frost (Queens of Hell Book 1)

by Liza James

  Contents

  Trigger Warning

  -

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Liza James

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2022 by Liza James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing and Proofreading: Amy Briggs

  Cover Design: Dez Purington with Pretty in Ink Creations

  This story is inspired by the fairy tale known as The Snow Queen.

  While this isn’t the darkest story I’ve ever written. It does carry darker themes and kinks that may seem taboo to some readers. Please be aware that sexual encounters are written in explicit detail.

  I’ve found myself trading one monster for another.

  Lost to the dangerous touch of my captor and a slave to her commands.

  Escape is my only option, but it seems she has other plans to break my defiant nature.

  Pain. Punishment. Humiliation.

  Fear of death–in one form or another–rules both my surrender and fight in this place. Afraid to give in and terrified to fight back.

  But when lines become blurred and pain turns into pleasure, I find myself in an impossible position.

  Kill to evade the Bite. Or give everything to the one who has stolen me from my own life.

  To every soul striving to write their own story and define their own identity.

  This is for us.

  Silence.

  That’s all I want these days. Peace. Calm. Serenity.

  Safety. Security.

  A space I can no longer feel what I’ve felt for the last three years of my pathetic fucking life.

  God, I must be a joke to all of them. The one who can’t stop pining over the girls she inevitably falls for. The ones who never want me…and yet I continue offering whatever I believe they may take.

  Stupid fucking whore.

  The words repeat themselves like an incessant little gnat, flying far too closely again and again until you’re desperate to kill it.

  Kill it.

  Die.

  Stupid fucking whore.

  My eyes graze over the stage, watching one of the dancers move against the pole until she drops down on all fours and arches her back for the audience. Dollars are thrown her way as she saunters toward them, making confident and powerful eye contact with each onlooker.

  Her ass sways with every seductive inch she moves forward, her tits glistening with whatever shimmer she adorned her skin with behind stage, and now the sweat from her dance speckles her flesh as well.

  It’s an illusion. The entire show.

  For her, she steps behind the guise of an alter ego. The stage is a space she can claim her sexual power and maintain control over it. Because God, if she did this elsewhere? Men would come to eagerly strip her of that power, stake their dominance, and rip away her independence.

  Ironically, this is the safest space for her to bask in her sexuality.

  I scoff, turning around and reaching for the small shot glass on the other side of the bar. It’s been poured for someone else. I don’t even know what liquor it holds—I don’t care. I toss it to the back of my throat before dropping the glass to the counter and sending it sliding all the way over edge until it crashes to the ground.

  “What the fuck, Skilla?” Aura barks, raising her eyebrows at me before reaching for another glass and pouring the shot again.

  I’m still caught up in the vile taste of what I assume is—yep, she’s pouring tequila—and I can’t stop the way my mouth puckers up and my eyes squeeze shut while I process.

  I still don’t take the chaser she suddenly offers though; I want to feel this. Whatever it is. Almost as if it’s a form of punishment for my reckless and pathetic mistakes.

  Aura is still staring at me when I finally clear my vision and turn to face her. Her bright eyes burning in the darkness, her creamy skin shining amongst the filth and dirt of this club. How the fuck does she always look so…transcendent? No wonder Ruby fell for her as quickly as she did. She works as a bartender here now, dances every once in a while—usually with her girlfriend Ruby. I swear, they’re going to get fucking hitched soon. I’ve never seen anyone as into each other as they are.

  Well, aside from Calypso and K. Those two give them a run for their money. But I try to avoid all of them as often as I can.

  It’s embarrassing…being the one rejected for someone else. Not good enough, not pretty enough, not funny enough.

  God, I could be sick.

  “Mind your own goddamn business, Aura.” I turn on my heels, hellbent on disappearing out of this club as quickly as possible.

  “Seriously? Drop the fucking attitude already.” Her voice takes on an edge, and her slim fingers dart forward and wrap tightly around my forearm as she pulls me back. I whip my head around and meet her gaze head on, anticipating the same fierce power behind her eyes I clearly hear in her words.

  But it’s not there.

  “You can talk to us; you know that right?” she continues, her voice quieting and her tone turning slightly sympathetic. “Or…someone. Talk to someone.”

  She pleads.

  Sympathy. Pity. She feels sorry for me.

  A sick and twisted smile pulls at the corner of my lips.

  Fuck no.

  “Fuck you and fuck off, Vibe girl.” I rip my arm out of her hold and stalk away. Silence follows behind me, aside from the usual rowdiness of the club around us.

  She says nothing. She doesn’t follow. None of them would anyway. It’s simple pretense she holds, being the sweet and caring one of their little group. She puts in the minimal effort to seem invested in my happiness.

  But none of them actually care.

  No one ever has.

  I step forward, shoving my way through drunk and lust consumed people. Mostly men, dressed up in casual suits with loosened ties and unbuttoned shirts. Fancy watches encase meaty wrists, and expensive shoes cover feet that were never meant to step inside this club.

  All the secrets, all the hidden nights these men tell their wives they’re grabbing a beer with a friend at a local bar. No one suspects anything, and yet Chad over there is getting a lap dance from Shauna, his boner already sky fucking high as she dances against it.

  I cringe even though this is my space. This is familiar. And at least she’ll have the money to pay her electricity this month. She’s been taking on extra shifts when she can.

  I’m still watching, keeping an eye out in case Chad gets a little too handsy, when a set of fingers tightly grips my ass. Whipping around, I find a stranger, another man, laughing alongside his friends as they hold up a drink in my direction. Is that a fucking thank you?

  “Touch me again and you’re eighty-sixed.” I don’t smile.
I don’t offer a polite nod of the head. This outfit isn’t your ticket to this feast.

  All of the men freeze, for only a moment, before raising their eyebrows in mockery. “It was a dare, sweet cheeks. Here, I’ll throw you a buck for it.” The first man scoffs as he reaches into his back pocket for what I assume is his wallet.

  “Her ass wasn’t that great,” another man laughs, and the others immediately join in on vile comments.

  For some strange reason, everything changes. My emotions shift from anger to insecurity. Rage to worry. Strength to weakness.

  My eyes narrow, and I drop my gaze as the men laugh ahead of me. Fuck. I’ve gotten so good at not giving a single fuck what anyone says about me, and yet tonight is absolutely not my night. Not right now, and the sudden wash of embarrassment and self-loathing swamps my entire being.

  I storm through crowded space as everything begins shrinking around me. I’m suddenly anxious, and my skin feels tight and itchy while my heart begins racing in my chest.

  I just want out of here, away from these familiar faces. I feel like I know everyone on this side of Pandora’s Box. Every disgusting gaze settling on my quickly fleeting figure. Every stripper, every bartender, every set of eyes filled with varying degrees of desire, lust or pity.

  My hand absently flies up and rests over my heart as I press down against my own skin. As if I can manually slow down it myself, my palm rubs rhythmic circles over the erratic pounding below.

  Breathe, Skilla. Breathe.

  My strappy leather bra wraps around my waist and ties at the small of my back, settling just above the matching harness that secures over my ass and thighs. I’m wearing a set of tight, black briefs. I wasn’t dancing tonight, and I wanted to be far more comfortable than my usual tiny G-string.

  I’m thankful right now for every inch of clothing I have on, and I’m desperately wishing I had brought a change of clothes tonight.

  But fuck it, I’m making a run for the Kink Club. There’s something far more comforting knowing I’ll be surrounded by people who know nothing of me. My own identity.

  My own story.

  My ability to lie and create something far bigger than the life I lead now is just beyond my reach.

  So that’s it, right? If anyone asks who I am, what I’m doing here. I’ll lie. I’ll make up my own enticing past, something that proves just how strong I am on my own.

  God, to be wanted. To be chosen. To know my worth is not determined by the ones who have used and tossed me to the side in the past.

  No matter that my mind is telling me otherwise.

  My sweaty hands fly forward and against the cool metal door that separates us from what lies on the other side. I’ve heard stories about this place, the dark and sadistic secrets explored within those walls.

  They say there’s something otherworldly about Pandora’s Box. Magical. Dark. Disillusioned by every dark and deceitful desire you’ve kept tucked away in your innocent mind.

  Those are all revealed here, in sexual exploration, exploitation, and submission.

  I stumble through the door as I shove it forward, feeling a rush of air fill my lungs in a way I didn’t anticipate. It’s not like it isn’t crowded here as well, but as soon as I meet the eyes of strangers, everything changes.

  My hammering heartbeat slows incrementally. My skin cools at the same time a sweet heat bolts through my body. I step forward, releasing the door and letting my hands fall loosely at my sides.

  Straightening my shoulders, I intentionally tilt my chin up and force a confidence I know I’m faking entirely.

  But they don’t know that, and the knowledge alone causes a subtle smirk to pull along my lips. I casually lift my arms up to my silky hair and untie it from the braid running down my back. My feet move steadily in the eight-inch heels I’m wearing and I’m grateful for the skill I’ve mastered through dance.

  My eyes rake over and across the crowd dancing in front of me. Countless groups scatter the wide expanse of the club. It seems everyone is exploring each other’s bodies in a melodic fusion of breathy moans and sinful slaps.

  The walls are draped in black and red fabric, the floors covered in a velvet that spills over every silken couch and chaise lounge. The space is…grand, for lack of a better word.

  It’s something I could have never imagined if not seeing it for myself. The energy here is electric, and suddenly the few drinks and shots I’ve taken tonight feel heavier in my body and blood as I move. I can hardly remember why I was sprinting from the strip club in the first place.

  Exactly what I needed.

  The music is fast-paced, an enticing beat layered under the sounds of pleasure and release. It draws me closer, and as my skin brushes along anyone I’m passing while I walk, I feel more alive than I have in years.

  How have I never been in here before now?

  I find myself moving through people who captivate my gaze. At first glance, everyone looks normal, average even. But as my eyes remain resting on these magnetizing individuals, I’m realizing just how alluring everyone truly is. It feels like the space is glowing, heated with a fire lit energy that whips through our bodies and wraps around our throats.

  We’re connected. Each of us with each other and slowly my eyes begin colliding with individuals as I move closer to the bar.

  “A shot of tequila,” I say, forcing my tone strong and steady. My heart is racing and tiny goosebumps are breaking out along my skin, but I run my fingers swiftly over them, warming myself with my touch in hopes that I can keep this charade up even longer.

  A tall man on the other side of the bar is pouring my shot. He’s tall, at least six foot four, and covered head to toe in dark and intricate tattoos. Hell, even his eyes are inked black, the whites bleeding darkness around his irises. My eyes fall lower, noting the heavy veins running along his forearms, but it’s when I drop further that I notice the scarring along his ribs.

  Thick, jagged lines mar his decorated flesh. Four along each side, and when my head absently tilts, he’s quick to step directly in front of me and slide the glass my way. “Eyes up here, sweet cheeks.”

  I snap up, a slight heat staining my cheeks as I instantly reach for the glass and toss the shot back before I have to respond. But once I set it back down, he’s already pouring a second one and sliding it forward again.

  “What? No. I only need one—" I start, but he nods his head back, indicating it’s from someone else. “Who?” My eyes narrow as I look behind him, but it’s nearly impossible to decipher anyone I could possibly know.

  God, I hope it’s no one I know.

  “They’ll find you.”

  I halt my search immediately, twisting my head back toward the bartender as he walks away with an arrogant glint pulling at his features. He’s running his hands along a thin black towel, laughing quietly to himself without another word before turning around and tucking it into his back pocket.

  “Excuse me? What the fuck does that mean? Who’s going to find

  me?” I attempt shouting over the loud music, but it’s useless. And another part of me believes he wouldn’t answer if he did hear me.

  He simply scoffs and moves to assist the next person standing at the bar without so much as a second glance toward me. Not fucking surprised, but as my gaze drops back to the single shot ahead of me, I run the tip of my finger slowly along the rim.

  I shouldn’t get wasted tonight…I have to get home at some point and who knows exactly what state my apartment will be in at that point. But God, it feels good to let go. Hell, free drinks along with it? Maybe I should make the most of it tonight.

  Without another cautionary thought, I down the second shot and endure the vile taste before slamming the glass back on the counter and turning around entirely. I press my lower back to the counter and rest my palms against the edge, watching the edges of my eyes go fuzzy while the liquor settles in my stomach.

  So fucking gross. Yet the second I lean forward, I know the liquor is doing its job. M
y feet feel a bit unsteady, but nothing I haven’t handled before and I confidently step forward as I inhale a deep breath and regain my mental footing.

  Confident. Sexy. Empowered.

  I remind myself of the intention I have for tonight and as I repeat those words over and over in my mind, it’s as if my entire being begins to believe them. My hips sway with the music as I move through the crowd and head toward the center of the club. This is where most of the dancing is taking place, and I’ll have a decent view of the entire space if I can climb on one of those platforms.

  Poles are scattered on raised pedestals throughout the dance floor, and a few of them are occupied by men and women in strange costumes. A man with an entirely tattooed chest dances against one, but wild and grotesque horns spiral out from the top of his head. Another girl, with long, straight ice white hair dances against the other, her creamy skin marred in red stripes that have me narrowing my gaze in question.

  What in the world are these people dressed as? I absently wonder, but my body continues moving to the music in sexy sways and I drift my hands over my own figure. I love music, and in this space, around these people, I feel intoxicated by far more than just the Tequila.

  I inch close to a third platform, this one empty, and notice few eyes suddenly turning in my direction. I continue dancing and lift my hands to twist in the long strands of my hair before letting my fingers trail sensual patterns along my neck. Tilting my head back, I reach up and grip the bottom of the pole using it as an anchor to pull myself up and onto the platform.