Beloved Sacrifice: Trinity Masters, book 9

by Mari Carr

  Weston dropped to his knees, his muscles twitchy with shock. Her eyes were wide and his heart clenched. “Rose, you…he…”

  She looked toward the kitchen door, back the way Elroy had gone, and then she lowered her gaze like a good little submissive.

  Weston pushed to his feet and stumbled back until he hit the counter.

  Elroy returned, holding something. Weston swiveled away.

  “Bend over the counter to accept your punishment.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose obey. She did exactly what Elroy said, rising smoothly from her position using only her legs. She turned and bent over the counter.

  She was a submissive. She was…his dad’s submissive.

  This was not happening. It had to be some sort of nightmare. Right?

  Weston felt ill. She was sleeping with his dad, but kissing him?

  He was a damned fool. Weston turned and walked to the kitchen doorway, the one opposite from where his father had come in. He paused there, shaking with a combination of emotions so intense he couldn’t name them all.

  He heard the distinct sound of nylon rope sliding against itself.

  “Be silent,” Elroy commanded Rose.

  Whistle, crack.

  Weston jumped in reaction to the sound, clenched his hands into fists, then slowly turned around. Rose had seemed scared. A black, ugly voice deep in his mind reminded him that her supposed fear was probably part of the scene. Pet had done that sometimes, pretended it hurt more than it really did.

  Weston figured he should be feeling something, and the emotions were there, but they were fuzzy, as if they were music playing in a neighbor’s yard, only barely audible. With everything muted, that slimy black voice was able to speak loud enough to turn Weston’s thoughts into something ugly and selfish.

  Did Father know how Weston felt about Rose? Did the two of them lie in bed together and laugh at him?

  Some perverse part of Weston wanted to see this, wanted to let the sight of her happily submitting to his father kill his feelings for her.

  Her hands were bound together behind her back with white nylon rope. A doubled strand was looped around her throat and tied to a cabinet handle on the other side of the island. If she tried to stand up, she’d choke herself.

  In the reflection on shiny dishwasher door he could see her legs and butt. There was a red line across the back of her thighs and a thin trickle of blood sliding down the back of her leg.

  Weston’s gaze whipped to Rose’s face. Her eyes were open, staring into the distance in fixed horror. There was blood on her mouth where she’d bitten into her lip in an effort to keep quiet.

  The cane—Weston recognized it, but had never seen Elroy use it on Pet—landed again, this time across her ass. Immediately a white line appeared that then darkened to an angry pink in the next breath.

  The third blow landed on the skin where her thighs met her butt—the sensitive “sit spot”.

  “Keep your spankings to the fleshy part of the ass. Be gentle with the sit spot—the skin is stretched when a woman is bent like this and it’s highly sensitive. Only one or two strikes to this area unless you need to make a point.”

  Those had been Elroy’s instructions.

  Rose gasped, choking on the blood that filled her mouth, and she started to retch, blood spattering out of her mouth onto the counter.

  “I’m sorry, Master, I’m sorry! Please, no more. Please! I’ll be good. I’ll obey! No more, please!” Her words tumbled over one another. Her whole body was shivering, as if she were freezing cold.

  Weston leapt forward, shoving his father back. This wasn’t submission—Dad was beating Rose.

  Elroy looked at Weston with cold eyes. There was no anger there, only calculation.

  “What the hell are you doing, Dad?”

  “I’m correcting her behavior.”

  “Correcting what?”

  “A submissive should always greet a Dom naked and on her knees. You’re a Dom, and she should respect and greet you as such.”

  “No. I don’t want that. Not from her.”

  “Don’t confuse her. Rose needs to learn.”

  Weston opened his mouth to snarl at his parent, but the cold gleam in Elroy’s eyes stopped him.

  Think. You have to think before you say anything to him.

  Weston stepped firmly between Rose and Elroy. “You don’t treat your submissive like this—the rope on her neck is dangerous, you broke the skin, and you didn’t double check her safe word before you started. You taught me those rules.”

  Elroy almost smiled. “Ah, but she’s not my submissive. She’s not allowed a safe word. I’m training her.”

  Weston took a protective half step back toward Rose. “Training her?”

  “The way I trained you. But the other side of the coin. She needs to learn her place. She was…resistant. She’s been fighting it.”

  No safe word. Fighting it. Resistant.

  God, no. No.

  Weston felt physically ill at the realization of what his father’s words meant.

  “You son of a bitch,” he snarled. He took a step forward but stopped. He didn’t want to get too far away from Rose.

  Elroy shook his head in disgust. “Really, Weston? I expect better of you.”

  “You’ve forced Rose to be a submissive?” This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

  They made you train to be a Dom. Why wouldn’t they train Rose, too?

  “For her own good, of course.” Elroy looked as if he was enjoying this. “She’s proven to be quite the challenge to train, but strong women make the best submissives.”

  Weston shot a quick glance over his shoulder. “Rose, are you okay?”

  “She won’t talk.” Elroy’s words were a command and a threat, and Rose remained totally silent. “She’s not allowed to make any noise during punishments, but as you saw, she’ll disobey when too much pain is applied. The only correction is to continually push her pain tolerance boundaries, and remind her that any disobedience carries harsh consequences.”

  Rose whimpered, so quietly Weston almost didn’t hear. That small, terrible sound broke his heart.

  Weston swallowed. “Fine. If she’s…a sub, then I was the one she offended. It’s my right to punish her.”

  Elroy grinned with…pride. He handed Weston the cane and slapped him on the shoulder. “I want you to take a minute. Examine her. Look her over. Orient yourself. You’re used to seeing her as an equal, not a submissive, but the timing for this change in dynamics is good.”

  Weston looked at the cane. There was a bit of her blood on it. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he tossed it away in disgust.

  Elroy’s face hardened. “Pick it up, Weston. Caning is more difficult than anything else, because it can do real damage. You need to be versed in how to use it. I’ll teach you on her.”

  Weston ignored his father, and undid the ropes at her wrists and neck and helped her stand. She swayed and looked up into his eyes. Her gaze flicked to the doorway. He could read her thoughts on her face—run, they should run.

  Elroy snapped his fingers, and Rose gasped and dropped to the floor bowing her head in a submissive posture.

  What has he done to you?

  Weston looked at the part in Rose’s still wet hair. He felt like everything was moving at high speed and he couldn’t keep up.

  “You didn’t know I was a Dom,” he said to Rose, but speaking more to Elroy. “No punishment.”

  “No, Weston. You’re not listening. You have to use this moment to reorient how you see one another. You’re a Dom, she’s a sub. It’s a Dom’s job to correct and guide a submissive.”

  Weston gritted his teeth. “You’ve already done enough.”

  “Very well. I’ll finish her punishment later.”

  Rose’s started to tremble.

  “No,” Weston said immediately. “Don’t touch her.”

  Elroy raised one brow.

  Shit. Weston knew what he ha
d to do. He had to finish the punishment.

  Weston bent and took Rose by the elbow, helping her to her feet, and led her into the living room just off the kitchen. He sat in an armless parson’s chair.

  “Over my lap,” he said, using the voice of command Elroy had taught him.

  Rose’s gaze, which she’d kept downcast, darted to his face. Her eyes widened in horror.

  He wanted to fall to his knees before her and swear he would never hurt her—he was just trying to get them out of this moment. He knew his father, knew that if they didn’t play this game right, it would all fall apart.

  Weston didn’t dare wink at her, smile, anything. His father was watching.

  When Rose didn’t move, he pulled her down over his lap, positioning her so she was draped over one of his thighs, her hands on the floor, her legs between his. He felt sick to his stomach, and nearly quit when he heard her first quiet sob. There were two welts across her bottom and a cut on her thighs.

  And this was the first time he’d seen her naked since they’d been little kids.

  “A count of ten.” His voice broke, his throat tight with his own tears.

  “Fifteen, Weston.” His father moved farther into the living room, taking a seat on the couch so he could watch.

  Elroy’s words made Weston see red. Rose whimpered softly and turned her head so she wasn’t looking at Elroy.

  “Ten,” Weston snarled. “Don’t interfere.”

  “She’s not like Pet. She’s still being trained.” Elroy’s gaze roamed over Rose’s naked body. “She’s defiant and needs constant correction. You’re not experienced enough to handle her.”

  Weston swallowed against the bile that rose up his throat. He laid his hand on the small of her back, spreading his fingers wide, hoping she understood.

  That she’d forgive him for what he was about to do.

  He raised his hand and brought it down on her ass.

  Crack.

  Rose jerked, but didn’t make a sound.

  Elroy hummed his approval. “If you want her to count then order her to do so. As I’ve mentioned, she takes her punishments in silence. It’s a mental exercise that will serve her well.”

  Again, Weston brought his hand down flat but at the last minute used his fingers instead of the base of his palm. That made a nice loud sound, but was softer.

  At least that’s what he hoped.

  Eight more times, he hit the girl he loved as his dad watched.

  Until that moment, he’d tried to pretend that he was at least halfway normal. He was a legacy to a powerful secret society and would be in an arranged ménage marriage. That wasn’t what most people considered normal, but among members it was normal. There were people who understood the ménage marriages, the secrets and power.

  But this… This was just so deeply fucked up.

  He finished the spanking and stopped, not sure what to do next, how to get them away from Elroy.

  Rose slid off his lap and knelt at his feet.

  “Thank you for punishing me, Sir.”

  Weston suppressed the need to roar in pain and rage. To fly across the room and beat his father. He looked from Rose’s bowed head to Elroy, who was watching them and smiling.

  Weston reached for Rose, making sure her body hid Elroy’s view of his hand. He hoped it looked like he was—ugh—grabbing her breasts or something. Instead he held his hand in her line of sight and crossed his index and middle fingers. When they were younger, they’d been rabid believers in the idea that a lie told while you crossed your fingers (or toes, or eyes) didn’t count.

  Rose sucked in air, then released a long shaky breath.

  Please understand what I’m doing.

  Weston snapped his hand up, grabbing Rose by the neck and forcing her chin up. For a second, wide brown eyes met his.

  “Go,” he commanded, voice low. “My room.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  He released her throat.

  Rose turned and crawled out.

  Dad made her crawl?

  Weston turned to his father, rage making him shake.

  Elroy shook his head. “I know you’re angry, Weston.”

  “Don’t touch her. Ever again.”

  Elroy’s expression hardened. “Don’t push me, son.”

  Elroy had always seemed huge—a major force, as powerful and untouchable as the sun. But Elroy Cloud wasn’t a particularly physically imposing man. Weston was a hair taller than he was, and more than thirty years younger. He could take his father in a fight.

  Elroy smiled slowly. “Have you been to see your sister lately?”

  Huh? What did Tabby have to do with this?

  Elroy stood and brushed at the front of his slacks. “You can have Rose for now, but I will continue to train her. I’m preparing her to be a good wife to Devon and Juliette. I expect you to respect that. If you don’t, I will strike your name from the list of allowed visitors.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Elroy raised his brows, and then walked away. Weston turned to watch him go. When Elroy was nearly at the door, Weston spoke.

  “Did you know, Dad?”

  Elroy half turned. “Know what?”

  “How I felt about her?”

  “Your mother is convinced that you love her, and she you. That you’re childhood sweethearts. But I know you’re too smart to do something so stupid as to fall for a pawn.”

  “A pawn?”

  “There are players and there are pieces.”

  “And she’s a pawn but I’m a player?” Weston spit out the question.

  Elroy laughed. “No, son. You don’t even know what the game board looks like. You’re a piece—a rook, maybe even a knight. Your mother, Barton, and I are players. But she’s a pawn, and not your pawn.”

  Chapter Four

  Weston caught Rose as she started to slide to the floor. He grabbed her face in his hands as they both hit their knees.

  “Rose,” he whispered, and laid his forehead against hers. “Rose?”

  She clenched fistfuls of his shirt. “I can’t. I can’t hold it in.”

  “Let it out.”

  Rose pressed her face against his neck and screamed.

  “Rose, Rose. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He let out a slow breath. “I’m here, Brown Eyes. I’m here now.”

  Weston pressed his cheek to the crown of her head and held her body tight to his. Deja vu washed over him. This wasn’t the first time he’d held her like this. She was shaking so hard that he worried she would fly apart if he let her go.

  But he was finally holding her again.

  He’d dreamed of, prayed for, this moment.

  When she’d first woken up, he’d made the choice to drug her back to sleep. He’d had things to take care of, and though he desperately wanted to, he couldn’t talk to her, hold her, care for her, right then.

  She’d seemed so detached, so cold when she woke this morning. Intellectually, he knew she was possibly still in shock and definitely grieving Caden’s death. Emotionally it had ripped at him to see that terrible blank look on her face.

  And when she’d called him “Sir”…

  Weston squeezed his eyes closed. The first time in over a decade he’d seen the only woman he’d ever loved, and he’d had to kidnap her, drug her, tie her up, and then cuff her to a bed. On top of that she was grieving.

  As was he.

  His little brother was dead. Dead because Weston hadn’t been good enough or fast enough to save him.

  Rose continued to sob and scream through clenched teeth, her breath hot and wet against his collarbone. There was pain in those screams. He’d screamed like that when his bones had broken, muscles torn, and flesh burned. Rose was in just as much pain.

  He watched the morning shadows change and lengthen as he held her. His bad leg protested being on the floor this long, but he wouldn’t move. He would hold her for as long as she needed to be held.

  As long as she’d let him.
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  Weston had no illusions that once Rose had expelled some of her feelings, she wasn’t going to have a few things to say to him.

  He’d practiced his side of the conversation thousands of times. But when he’d imagined this moment, Caden had been alive.

  Rose stopped screaming. Now silent sobs and uneven breaths shook her torso.

  The shadows tracked lazily and steadily across the floor. Weston clamped down on the part of him that was shouting this was wasted time, that they needed to move, because there were too many pieces in play, and his little cottage in the countryside was no longer the haven it had been for nearly five years.

  Rose stopped crying.

  The shadows vanished, the sun high overhead. The air coming in the open windows was warm. Weston eased his tight hold on Rose, keeping his arms around her, but not clenching her against his chest.

  Rose sat up.

  Without looking at him, she eased off his lap, first kneeling on the floor, then standing, bracing one arm on the wall as she did so.

  Weston reached over and unfastened the remaining ankle restraint. Rose turned on the balls of her feet and walked away. The cottage wasn’t large—sitting room, kitchen, study, bedroom, and bathroom. He assumed she needed the bathroom.

  The few times she’d woken before this morning he’d taken her to use the toilet, supporting her as she stumbled, eyes half closed. He didn’t know if she’d remember the way, or if she’d have to find it, but one way or another that’s probably where she was headed.

  Weston slid both hands under his right thigh, just above the knee, and pulled up, grimacing as his leg bent. He clambered to his feet, neither graceful nor quick, but he was up. Rubbing absently at the damaged skin on the side of his neck, he limped over to the large chair in the sitting room.

  As many times as he’d practiced this conversation, he still tensed at the sound of Rose’s footsteps returning.

  Rose paused in the doorway. She was slender and fit, her dark hair cut in a sleek style, though right now it was tousled, and a few wet strands clung to her cheeks and forehead—she must have washed her face.

  Her eyes were large and brown, though reddened from crying. One night long ago—a lifetime ago, before the fateful night of the caning—he’d video chatted her, drunk on the cheap beer that was a college staple, and had made his equally drunk friends help him sing Brown-Eyed Girl to her.