Page 81 of Fatal Scheme

“Let’s go, you devious bloodhounds,” Tyson calls, interrupting our moment, and holding his hand out for Carter to take.

“I can’t go into the Plaza looking like this,” she argues, motioning toward her blood-stained dress, and equally filthy face, her tanned skin marked in a beautiful shade of crimson.

“There’s a discreet elevator for suite holders, baby girl. Come on,” he urges, and after a few beats, she listens, knowing that even if he’s unleashed his own beast, he always has her best interest at the forefront of his mind.

Even as we all pile into the service elevator, Tyson’s wild eyes exude pure rage, the kind that he usually can repress, but I have a feeling the disappearing, mixed with a front row seat to the torture, has pushed him too far over the edge.

Normally, I’m all in for whatever he has in store for Carter and I, but tonight, I’ll be keeping a close eye on him, not letting his demons overpower the rational side of himself that I can trust when in control.

Carter stands with her back against the wall, hands pinned to the metal bar, just as he ordered, and although she looks lonely, the exhilaration in her eyes is just as present.

She loves this shit, and I can balance the urge to keep her comfortable, versus the parts of her that want this rough treatment more than she’d ever admit out loud.

It’s unusually quiet, the three of us always talking, joking around, or kissing Carter while we have a few down moments, but the silence has materialized into tension, so much so that I can feel it in my bones.

“Strip and wait for us in the bedroom, Carter,” Tyson says as the elevator dings, opening up right into our suite, and she immediately follows his orders. “Keep the heels on.”

She stops for a quick second, resuming her pace, likely with a smirk on her face as she rounds the corner, disappearing from sight.

“I swear, if you take it too far, I won’t hesitate to knock you out,” I warn, stepping in front of him, effectively blocking him from any attempt at escaping this conversation.

“I’d never hurt her,” he says, but his words don’t meet his eyes, the cold, unforgiving look sending a shiver down my spine, proving that I’m right to trust my instinct on this.

“Really? It doesn’t seem like the you that I know is in control. Your darkness is showing, Ty,” I attempt to point out, coming from a place of understanding, but he brushes past me, not interested in talking this out.

Keeping my eyes trained on him, I watch as he pours a drink, slugging back the brown liquor without hesitation, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping that for Carter’s sake, he can hold himself together.

“I’m in control, okay? I would never, ever hurt that girl, no matter what she does to me. I thought we fucking lost her today, and if I can scare her straight, just a little bit, in order to keep that from happening again, I will.” He doesn’t turn around, look me in the eye, or say another word, leaving it at that while he walks toward the bedroom.

“Baby girl. You better be waiting for us,” he calls out, a menacing tone in his voice, and I decide to trust his words, knowing that Carter has more power over him than anyone else has ever come close to.

Following a few steps behind, I nearly trip over my own feet as our girl is kneeling on all fours in the middle of the bed, in nothing but those sparkly black heels, paired with a sinister smile on her face.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe, earning a side-eye glare from Tyson, but I don’t pay him any mind, not when my Principessina is displayed right in front of me, looking like my own personal taste of Hell on Earth.

He doesn’t say a word, ripping the belt from his dress pants in a swift motion, folding it in half and holding the end and buckle in one hand.

She jumps at the sound, her dark curls falling to her face, but never breaking position as her chest rises and falls, the curiosity coursing through her veins like adrenaline.

“Pick a number,” he commands, standing in front of her with the belt, towering over her petite body like a human giant, but she doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Four,” she says softly, the confidence in her voice only adding to the moment, and Tyson feels it, his shoulders stiffening as he tries to stay in control.

If it were me, I’d already have folded, caving in to those beautiful eyes and giving her whatever the hell she asked for, but Tyson is a different animal when he’s playing this way.

First, he has to punish her for scaring him, for going rogue on us in the restaurant, and he won’t stop until he’s satisfied with her apology.

He only nods, taking her chin between his fingers and pressing a quick kiss to her lips, the first form of affection he’s shown.

“I want you to count each one out loud, understand?”

“Yes, Tyson,” she answers, shifting a little as she braces for impact, and I too, feel the muscles in my body tighten, unable to look away from the beautiful trainwreck happening right before my eyes.

In a matter of seconds, he slaps the leather across her ass, rubbing the place where the belt left a welt, and she digs her nails into the comforter, attempting to remain emotionless.

“One,” she whines, dropping her head as he winds up again, and her body flinches right before impact.

Her sharp inhale, along with the slap of her skin, is the only sound in this room, but I’m not sure how much of this I can take, it feels too much like a way of asserting dominance, and crossing the line with violence.