Page 37 of Bite Me

“Within reason.”

“What’s the point of this?”

“It’s camaraderie. All in good fun. Everyone in this room had to wear this costume . . . None has looked so damn good.” Luther sips his beer, getting drunker by the minute.

“Luther wore it best, I’d say,” Verity says, taking a drink of wine, staining the glass with her dark green lipstick. She looks so different here. In the kitchen, I never see her hair down like it is now, in raven-black waves.

An unnerving feeling trickles down my spine. For some reason, I look at Dacre, as if he cares. As if he’ll save me from this somehow, when this stupid humiliation ritual was probably his idea.

“I’ll show you the gallery of all who came before later.” Luther winks at me.

“There’s a framed picture of Luther’s ass,” Verity says.

“No one said I had to wear underwear with the dress.” Luther chuckles.

“Do a lap.” The sternness in Dacre’s voice startles me.

“A lap?”

“Around the table. Walk a lap.”

His eyes darken as he cocks his head, waiting for me to follow his command. I swallow the lump in my throat and focus on placing one foot in front of the other. Everyone is watching, whispering too low for me to hear.

“Faster!” Luther calls.

Is this what these people do for fun?

When I return, Dacre offers me a glass of some type of pink liquor, and I grind my teeth together to stop myself from saying something stupid. Everyone in the culinary club does this, so I should be able to get through it with no problem.

Dacre wants a reaction out of me, and I won’t give it.

“Drink it all at once,” he says.

I am the one who thought it would be a great idea to get drunk tonight. Maybe it will make the night go by faster. It burns as it goes down, and I check the bottom of the glass. A faint sparkle lingers on the glass.

“Good girl,” he says, turning toward the table, and my back stiffens. “No one else asks her to drink or eat anything. Everything happens in this room under my supervision, no exceptions.”

Verity scoffs. “That’s no fun. I had to sit through thirty minutes of Luther’s mystery food concoctions.”

“I don’t care.” Dacre sits back in his chair and tips his drink back, staring directly at me.

It’s one night, Emma. And once the night is over, I will be officially in the culinary club and on my way to being a five-star chef. After all the long nights of volunteering and soldiering through the days with little sleep, this is cake.

I smile, placing my hands behind my back. “At your service.”

I almost regret Dacre’s no-drink rule because my buzz is gone now that I’ve served them all dinner. I filled their cups, brought out their food, brought them dessert, and cleaned up the table. The grandfather clock in the corner tells me it’s been an hour.

I’m not sure how long I have to do this, but I can’t imagine it’s till sunrise.

Verity and Luther are so drunk that they forget about me sometimes, busy with their long, rambling stories. I try to be quiet, but technically, anyone in the culinary club is able to ask me to do anything. So far, I’ve had to hop on one leg for a minute (yes, in heels), file and paint someone’s nails, and then stand on a chair and sing a little song. All of which is virtually painless, aside from the blisters on the back of my heels.

Dacre hasn’t said a word to me. He just watches, silently eating his food and eyeing my every move. I can’t tell whether it’s unnerving or comforting. Somehow, his attention is better than being invisible.

“Emma!” Verity calls, and I reluctantly take my place next to her.

“I spilled some wine. Do you think you can clean it for me?”

There are a few drops under my feet, bubbling up on the hardwood floor.