Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jasmine

From the little I know of The Underworld, I half expect to climb out of the car and find myself in front of an old Victorian mansion. Something that hints at the inner goings on within its walls.

It’s nothing of the sort.

I look up, craning my neck to take in the sleek building that climbs to touch the sky. It’s almost as if this Hades takes his mythology more serious than most. He may rule The Underworld, but he’s built his very own Mount Olympus. Tink’s words from earlier come back to me. If I truly want out of this trap with Jafar, Hades may be my only option.

I close my eyes for the space of a breath, striving for clarity, striving to think. But Jafar presses his hand to the small of my back and any hope of rational thought flits away into the night. He guides me to the front door. I see no one, but it clicks unlocked the moment his hand touches it.

We enter a small lobby with a desk and two rows of elevators. It’s all pale gray walls, darker gray marble floors, and stainless steel of the desk. Stark. A little cold. I shiver. “This whole place is The Underworld?”

“No.”

The touch of his hand moves me to the left bank of elevators. We ride up to the thirtieth floor and step out. The color scheme is more of the same here. Gray walls, black floor, a white desk that holds one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. He wears a white button-down shirt that sets off his dark skin and his black hair is cut close to his head. He looks up and his eyes warm at the sight of Jafar. “Welcome back. Is there anything particular you’re looking for tonight?”

I remember myself at last moment and drop my gaze to the floor. Jafar’s thumb rubs a small circle again my back, as if he sees and acknowledges that I’m obeying. Or perhaps I’m looking too far into things. His voice is certainly unaffected when he speaks to this man.

“A drink, a show. Maybe a room later.”

“Perfect.” I watch him type something into his tablet. “Enjoy your stay.”

“I always do.” Charm emanates from him, and the man smiles in a dazed sort of way that I sympathize with. Jafar doesn’t bother to charm me. Or maybe he knows I have no interest in the smooth lie he can create with his voice and smile.

I’ve had more than enough lies to last me a lifetime.

We walk through the large black door and into another world.

Oh, it doesn’t overtly look like another world at first. A circular bar surrounds a sculpture I can’t quite wrap my mind around. Deep booths line both walls, bathed in shadows from the intimate lighting of the room. It seems rather mundane, until I finally get a good look at the sculpture and stop short.

It’s an orgy.

I frown, trying to count limbs, to match them to people, but I give up at seven. I want to move closer, to see it in all its glorious detail, but Jafar makes a low noise before I take my first step. Right. Obedience. I am not allowed to wander about with wide eyes. It’s not wise, even if there weren’t his rules to consider. A lamb in the woods is as good as dead, and if this place is populated with people like Jafar, then that’s exactly what I am.

Prey.

Jafar steers me toward the bar. There are other people around, but with my eyes down I only get the impression of suits and a few flashes of bold color in the dresses. No one is wearing red, and I feel like a drop of blood in a pool of sharks with the way attention shifts to me and narrows. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but the feeling of so many eyes watching my every breath has me shivering.

“Sit.”

I carefully perch on the chair next to the bar. Jafar remains standing and drapes his arm over the back of my chair. Casually possessive in a way that might irk me if we were alone, but that I appreciate in this room.

I crave experience. I want to throw myself into the world with delight and fury and grasp all the things denied to me up to this point. Why am I sitting here, shaking like a leaf before the summer storms? I close my eyes and try to breathe through it, but the fluttering feeling in my chest morphs into fear. True fear.

Jafar’s hand closes around the back of my neck. Not harsh this time, but a grip tight enough to hold me in this moment. “Breathe, baby girl. They’re just looking.”

I shiver again. I can’t help it. Even though it’s wiser to stay silent, to cling to the few cards I have left, words spill from my lips. “I don’t understand this.”

“You were locked up a long time.”

I open my eyes to glare. “I’m still locked up.”

“Yes,” he answers simply, without the least bit of shame.

“What can I get you?”

He glances at the bartender, a Hispanic woman with her hair in a high ponytail who wears what seems to be the uniform in this place—a white button-up and perfectly tailored slacks. “Scotch for me. Whiskey for her.”

He knows my drink. How could he possibly know my drink? One of the many restrictions my father put on me was limiting my access to any kind of food or drink he deemed unhealthy. Alcohol and fried food topped the list. I couldn’t get access to the kitchen without someone reporting on me, but over the years, I would pocket different bottles to try out. Whiskey became a personal favorite.

I look at him, searching for something I already know he won’t give freely. Jafar remains an enigma to me, but I can’t help grasping at these little details he drops. Proof that he wants me as more than a simple trophy of war.

Or perhaps I’m reaching because I crave companionship so desperately, I’m willing to bend over backwards to paint him in a flattering light.

The bartender deposits our drinks and moves around the corner. Jafar still has his hand on the back of my neck, but I don’t have the strength to tell him to release me. Not when his touch is the only thing holding the panic at bay. I can feel it there, bleating in terror just out of reach.

“Drink.” He watches me lift the glass with shaking hands and drain half of it. The whiskey burns my throat, but I welcome the fuzzy warmth it will bring. I go for another drink, but he touches the top of the glass, stopping the movement. It’s a gentle touch. I could ignore his clear order and drink more.

I set the glass back on the bar. “I wasn’t finished.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

I blink. “I’m not sure. I was nervous about tonight.”

He nods as if I’ve revealed more than I meant to. “I don’t want you shit-housed, Jasmine. That was enough to take the edge off.”

“But—”

He pushes my glass out of reach. “You can have more later—after you eat something.”

I narrow my eyes, but it’s difficult to be furious with him when the whiskey has already fuzzed the edges. I’m not drunk. Nowhere near drunk. But I don’t feel in danger of fleeing any more.

“Jafar.”

His hand on my neck keeps me from turning, but he rotates me to face the woman behind us. I get a glimpse of purple and bare feet out of the corner of my eye, but nothing else. When he answers her, he’s the coldly polite man I first met five years ago. “Megaera.”

“Hades wants a look at your spoils of war.” Amusement filters into her dry tone. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

“Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s exquisite.”

They’re talking about me as if I’m not here, or as if I have no more agency than the chair I’m perched on. I want to snap back, to snarl that I’m a person with my own thoughts on things and not a pretty little thing.

Except I promised to obey.

I take a slow, silent breath. I can do this.

“May I?”

Jafar rotates my chair to face the room and uses his hold on me to nudge me to stand. “By all means.” He gives me a small squeeze and drops his hand, though he remains close enough that I imagine I can feel the heat coming from his body. A small anchor I cling to as I try not to shake.

A single soft finger presses against my chin, lifting my face. I look at her. I can’t help it. They call me exquisite, but this woman is something else entirely. She wears a purple dress that’s almost Grecian, but I suppose that’s to be expected with the theme of this place and the man who rules it. She’s all sharp features that aren’t in the realm of traditionally pretty, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that leaves flutters in my stomach. Lower.

Blue eyes study my face in pieces. Eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips. She strokes my chin almost absently and I can’t stop my shiver. The woman—Meg—laughs. “You’re right, Jafar. She’s exquisite. Are you going to share?”

I can’t move, held captive by her touch, her gaze. But I hear Jafar’s amusement rise to match hers. “It appears my baby girl’s not averse to the idea.”

“Baby girl.” Meg smiles, the expression just as sharp as the woman herself. “I look forward to playing with you when your Daddy gives permission.”

Playing with you.

I can’t stop shivering. I shouldn’t want that, to be shared, should I? I have no idea. My fantasies are only in theory at this point, except for the ones Jafar and I have played out together. Have I touched myself to the thought of more than one pair of hands on my body? Yes. Oh, yes.

But the thought of doing it now? Tonight?

“That’s enough.”

Meg drops her hand and steps back. If anything, the interest in her eyes has increased from this little exchange. “Don’t keep him waiting long.” She turns. I can’t help watching her walk away, can’t quite seem to pull my gaze away.

“She has that effect on people.”

I twist to look at Jafar, my emotions ranging from desire to disbelief. “You’ll share me.”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “It’s open for negotiation.”

“You told her that you’d share me.”

“Come here.” He waits for me to obey, to step between his thighs, to set his hands on my hips. “You want her.”

“I—”

“The truth, baby girl.”

I almost look back in the direction Meg walked before I catch myself. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s beautiful when she sucks cock, too.” A small smile pulls at the edges of his lips. “And with a whip in her hands. Meg has many facets.”

He speaks with a kind of knowledge that suggests they have some sort of history. He’s had sex with her, has had his cock in her mouth. Jealousy spikes, joining the lust and confusion making me woozy. “You’ve fucked her.”

Jafar studies me long enough that I have to fight the urge to squirm. “Yes, I’ve fucked her.” He leans down until his lips brush my ear. “And now she wants to fuck you. Meg has a thing for ropes and denied orgasms. If I give her permission, she’d tie you up and lick that pretty pussy until you’re begging her to let you come. And she won’t do it. She’ll take you to the edge over and over again, until your pleasure is just as sharp as any pain.” His fingers skate down my hips to the top of the slits on either side of my dress, until he wraps a hand around each of my thighs. “I’ll watch, and when you’re at the breaking point, she’ll untie you and you’ll crawl to me. If you ask very, very nicely, I’ll fuck you while Meg licks that sensitive little clit of yours. A reward for being a good girl.”

“I …”

He dips his hands down farther, his thumbs dangerously close to my pussy. “You’re wet, baby girl. Do you know why?”

Is there a correct answer to his question? I have no idea. “No?”

“Because you want what I just described. You think you shouldn’t, but you do.” He returns his hands to my hips and I can’t stop the protesting sound that flutters in my throat. Jafar raises a single eyebrow. “Not tonight. I’m not in the mood to share you yet. But when I am?” Another of those shrugs that mean everything and nothing. “Maybe I’ll let Meg have her fun. Or maybe I’ll order you to suck Hook’s dick while I fuck you. The options are endless, baby girl. Fucking endless.” He pushes slowly to his feet. “Trust me to take care of you. It’s as simple as that.”

As simple as that.

I might laugh if I could find the breath to inhale. Every experience I’ve had with Jafar has proven time and time again that I can’t trust him. Not true trust. Do I believe he’ll hurt my body in a way I don’t want? No. I crave his touch and I crave the power games we play out.

But trust him with my heart? My soul?

I’d have to be the biggest fool in the universe to hand those parts over to him. To hand anything to him that I don’t absolutely have to. I have so little power in this world. If holding back means I maintain a little of it?

I can’t afford to do anything else.