Delicate Revenge: Breaking Belles

The Elders still had on their silver robes, along with all the other members, who stood around solemnly. But there was one mahogany chair set up and, a few feet away from it, what looked like a long massage table. And that was it. The nervous pit at the center of my stomach grew as Emmett led me forward.

“Climb up, on your back,” an Elder instructed me once we got to the massage table. Emmett let go of my hand, and I felt all alone as I did as I was told. I didn’t like it though. I knew the Trials were supposed to get more intense as we went along, and I wasn’t liking the feel of any of this. At all.

Still, I tried to keep my cool as Emmett sat down in the mahogany chair across from me.

It wasn’t until a tattooed guy came out with a stool and a box of instruments he started setting up—including a tattoo gun—that I really started freaking out.

I sat up and shook my head.

“Lie back down,” Emmett ordered low, his eyes shooting daggers at me.

I lifted my hands up, my head still shaking back and forth involuntarily. “Uh uh. I don’t do needles.”

Emmett stood, and I could see how pissed he was. He strode over to me and pressed his hand on the center of my sternum as if to push me back down, but I smacked his hand away from me. I didn’t miss the murmur that started among the Elders, but Emmett wasn’t the only one who could get pissed.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

Emmett’s eyes were usually dark, but they went pitch-black at my refusal. He leaned down, and his voice was ice-cold. “You’re fucking embarrassing me.”

“Oh, God forbid,” I scoffed under my breath.

His hand came up, and he grabbed me under my chin, forcing my face up to his. “I don’t know where this bratty behavior is coming from, but you’ll stop it right this second. You’ll take this tattoo without another fucking word, and you’ll thank them for it afterward.”

I wanted to claw his eyes out. Where had the gentle man gone who wanted to protect me—and hurt me, yes, but only in ways that brought me pleasure? He was gone, and in his place was this sadistic bastard who only cared about what it looked like to the people watching on.

Put on a good show, no matter what you actually feel. Bury it all deep down. Who cared if you inside was rotten to its core? On the outside, we’d look beautiful, like we had it all together.

We’d be perfect.

“I fucking hate you.”

He pulled back as if stung, which was just goddamned rich. I shook my head, shut my eyes, and lay down like the good little dolly all of them were paying for.

I’d get through this—somehow. I hated needles. I actually hated physical pain. The fact that Emmett made me like any of the things he did to me was testament to the spell I’d let him weave over me.

Well, that was all over and done with. Right now, tonight, with the first buzz and prick of the needle into the sensitive skin of my hip. I tensed, and my body jerked as the needle pressed against my hipbone. I struggled not to cry out. Jesus fuck, that hurt.

But did I think them literally tattooing their goddamned price tag on me would feel any other way? I kept my eyes shut even as tears leaked down my cheeks. The only satisfaction I took was in hoping my perfect mascara bled black.

11

EMMETT

“There’s consequences for your behavior tonight,” I said between clenched teeth. It was taking everything in me to keep my composure.

“Fuck you and your consequences.” Bellamy stormed into our room and kicked off her shoes. “And I’m sick of your kinky dictates. Telling me where to kneel, when to suck, when to come. Enough.”

“Bellamy—” I hoped she picked up the warning in my voice, because I was dangerously close to snapping and saying or doing something I’d regret.

She simply glared at me instead. “I can’t believe you allowed tonight to happen!” She looked down at her hip. “I have a tattoo on my skin forever! Forever!”

“It was a Trial, Bellamy,” I said, feeling rage build inside me, even though I was inhaling and exhaling slowly in search of my inner peace. “And you embarrassed us both.”

She turned away from me and huffed. “Embarrassed? Are you kidding me? You’re worried about how we appeared rather than—” She examined her tattoo again. “—the fact that we are marked for life! I don’t know why you’re acting like your behavior tonight is acceptable.”

“What did you expect?” I asked as I walked over to the dresser that held a bottle of scotch and some crystal glasses. I needed a drink more than I ever had in my life right now. “Should I have babied you and stroked your delicate little hand while you went through a Trial that you wanted to be part of? Should I have called you ‘sweetie’ and treated you like a princess like you’ve spent your entire life?”