The Ritual

She walks up the stairs to board her father’s private jet, and I grab the bag out of the passenger seat before getting out of my car. Throwing it over my shoulder, I make my way onto the plane, shaking off the rain that’s covered me, looking around. Her father has a jumbo private double-decker jet that can sit up to fifty people. It’s got white carpet with white leather seats along with brown wood and gold trim—it looks every bit of the millions of dollars it cost him.

“Oh, hello, sir.” A bleach-blonde flight attendant who can’t be older than twenty-one greets me with a smile. Her brown eyes look me up and down. “I didn’t know we had another guest. Would you like a towel to dry off?”

“Where is she?” I ask, ignoring her and getting to the point.

“The back suite, sir,” she answers, her eyes falling to my limp dick inside my jeans.

“Ask her if she would like some champagne,” I order.

She nods and walks to the back of the plane, pushing open a door. I hear the blonde ask, “Would you like a pre-flight drink, ma’am? We’ve got some champagne.”

“Yes, please.” I hear Blake’s sweet voice. Almost song like. She’s quite proud of herself. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees me.

“Of course.” She closes the door and comes back to me.

I pop open a bottle of champagne and pour it into a flute. Then I remove the clear vial out of my pocket and dump all the contents into the drink. Taking a knife, I stir it around and then wipe it off on my already wet jeans. Picking it up, I hold it out for the blonde to take.

She looks at me wide-eyed. They drop to the flute, and she swallows nervously, running her hands down her tight black pencil skirt.

“Problem?” I ask.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Uh, no, sir.” Reaching out, she takes it from my hand and goes back to the bedroom. Leaving the door open, I hear their exchange. “Here you go, Miss Anderson.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She closes the door and walks back over to me, nervously tucking an imaginary piece of hair behind her ear.

“You’re fired,” I tell her.

“What?” Her wide eyes meet mine. “But …”

“Get your stuff and get the fuck off this plane.” I lean into her and hear her inhale sharply. “Or I’ll throw you out at fifty thousand feet.”

Pulling away, she grabs a purse and all but runs off the jet before the door closes.

I pull my cell out of my back pocket and send a text to Phil.

Me: I just fired your flight attendant. I’ll hire someone else who is more capable of doing their job. And by the way, here are the new coordinates to give to your pilot. Gunner and I are crashing the girls’ trip.

Then I turn it off before pocketing it once again. The blonde bimbo has no fucking clue who I am, yet she watched me drug Blake’s drink and then served it to her. For all she knows, I’m taking her to another country and selling her into sex slavery for one fucking dollar or a million dollars.

That was a test, and she failed.

One of the things I learned as a Lord is if you give someone enough rope they always hang themselves.

I make it to the back of the room. Turning the knob, I open the door slowly to make sure she doesn’t spot me right off the bat.

Blakely stands at the end of the bed that is pushed up against the right wall. To the left is a desk and next to it is another door to the private bathroom. She has her back to me while she digs through a black and white Dior bag. My eyes go to the empty champagne flute on the desk.

“We need to have a discussion about you taking drinks from strangers.”

She jumps, spinning around, and the action makes her dress fly up, showing me her bubble ass in the process. Placing her hand on her chest, she gasps. “Jesus, Ryat! What the fuck are you doing here?” Her blue eyes scan the large space as if I didn’t come alone. “How did you find me?”

Entering the room, I close the door behind me and lean up against it, blocking her only exit. Even though she’ll be unconscious in a matter of minutes. “You know, I’m offended on how little credit you give me.”

She snorts. “Please …” Stepping forward, she stumbles but rights herself before falling, regaining her balance. Her eyes shoot to mine.

“Feeling okay?” I ask, not sounding the least bit concerned.

Her hand goes to her head, and my eyes drop to her bare legs. “I’m assuming you wore that dress for me. Since I’d never let you leave the house wearing it.” It dips low in the front, showing me her round perfect fucking tits. I just want to yank it down and suck on them. Mark them with my handprints. She loves when I slap them. Gets her so wet. Another reason it needs to be burned.