The Sacrifice: A Dark Revenge Romance
The Sacrifice: Chapter 23

I fell asleep last night after Tyson left me in the bedroom wanting more after that kiss. I was so turned on and my pussy was dripping for him. But he turned me down. I know why. He was mad at me, which is crazy because I was the one who started the fight. I was supposed to make him suffer, not the other way around.

I don’t even remember passing out in bed, but I woke up this morning all alone and was excited to change my hair color only to realize I have no car and no way to get it done. So his answer was probably just to fuck with me. He’s not going to take me to get it done.

He spent the entire day in his office, and I slept most of it away. I only got to fix myself something to eat and then went back to bed. Now it’s another night and another shift at Blackout.

I exit the bathroom and walk into the bedroom, where I see several boxes on the bed wrapped with white ribbon. Tyson stands at the foot of the bed with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his gray slacks.

I pull the towel tighter around myself as nervousness sets in. He hasn’t spoken to me all day. I was mad at him and ignored the fact he wanted me in his office before my shift. Then I also avoided his text. I shut off my phone and pretended it had died. But I knew better. He’d retaliate. I felt good about it last night, but now I’m on high alert. I’ve been waiting for him to attack all day. “I need to get dressed for my shift.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Come here.” He ignores me.

Knowing that I can’t do the same to him, I walk over to stand in front of my husband and let go of the towel. My hands slap my bare thighs as my arms fall to my sides. It’s crazy how comfortable I am at him seeing me naked now. Another choice I didn’t have but am now used to.

He grabs a pair of black fishnet tights. These are different from the ones I usually wear. They don’t have the rhinestones on them. “Sit on the end of the bed. I’m going to dress you.”

This is new, but I expect Tyson to be this way—unpredictable. I sit down and lift my right foot off the floor. He kneels, sliding the rough material over one foot and then the other. He slowly moves them up and over my calves. Standing, he pulls me to my feet and continues pulling them up over my thighs, and when he makes it to my ass, I hiss in a breath. It’s still sensitive. He keeps pulling them up and over my stomach. They’re high-waisted and come up all the way to my belly button. I realize he didn’t let me put any underwear on first. I never wear fishnets without them. I have a feeling they’ll be rough against my pussy as I run around the club working, and that’s what he wants—all my attention between my legs.

He opens up one of the smaller boxes and removes a pair of black leather booty shorts. I place my hands on his shoulder while he helps me into them as well.

Turning, he zips them up the back, and I glance at my ass in the mirror on top of the dresser. Half my ass cheeks hang out of the bottom. They too are high-waisted—more than the ones I usually wear—and if you look close enough, you can see the belt marks on my ass.

He opens another box, and it’s a black silk corset. “Grab the dresser,” he orders, and I reach out, gripping the edge, wondering why my uniform isn’t what we normally wear.

He bends down and has me step into it, pulling it up carefully so as not to tangle the black nylon strings. Once he gets it in place, he starts tightening it. So much that it makes me whimper. “I won’t be able to breathe,” I say, flattening my hand across my stomach while he jerks my body back and forth as he laces it up.

Again, he ignores me.

Once done, he goes to another box and pulls out a pair of black Dior heels. They’re gorgeous. Platform style with at least a six-inch skinny heel. Bending down, he lifts one foot at a time, sliding them on.

“Tyson.” I grip his shoulders once they’re in place. “I can’t work in these all night.” Is he punishing me for last night? For ignoring him? God, I’d gladly bend over, remove my clothes, and let him spank my ass instead of having to serve in these tonight. But that’s the point of a punishment.

Standing, he goes over to the dresser and grabs what looks like black leather cuffs.

“What are those?” I ask him, confused.

He kneels once again, and I look down to watch him wrap the black cuff around my ankle, fastening the buckle in place. Then takes the skinny black leather strap underneath my shoes where the top of the arch meets the heel. He fastens it to the black leather cuff that is attached and wraps around my ankle.

My heart starts to pick up when he pulls a silver lock out of his pocket and slides through both straps where they meet on the outside of either ankle, securing the heels to my feet. “Tyson, I can’t—”

He stands, baby-blue eyes staring down at me and cutting my words off. “Tonight, you will willingly crawl to me, little darling.” I whimper, understanding what he means. “How long until you do, depends on you.”

He removes his cell and then undoes the choker from around my neck. Opening up the last box, he steps behind me where I can’t see what he’s doing. But seconds later, he wraps a thicker black leather choker around my neck. It forces my neck up and comes to a point at the top of my chest between my breasts, covering my entire neck is covered. I feel him fasten it and lock it as well. He lets my hair fall down to cover the back.

Placing his hands on my upper arms, he meets my eyes in the mirror. “I’ll see you soon.” He gently kisses my cheek and then exits the bedroom.

By the time I make it down to the club, my feet are already killing me. My calves burn, and my neck is sore. It’s hard to turn it from side to side. How the hell does he expect me to work like this?

He doesn’t. That’s the point. He wants me to abandon my shift and crawl to him in his office.

“Someone’s in trouble.” Bethany laughs, looking me up and down.

She’s dressed in a black leather catsuit, but I notice she’s wearing platforms. Looking around, I see Beau dressed in black leather pants, a mesh black top, and cuffs around his wrists. It’s a theme night. BDSM. I knew about it. I overheard Starla talking about it last night, but thought it was for the customers, not the employees.

“You’ve already got two tables, Lake,” Beau informs me. His eyes drop to my tits. This corset has them shoved up to my fucking neck. My chin can practically rest on them. Then add the collar I’m wearing. They definitely can’t be missed. “VIP is going to be crazy tonight,” he tells me.

Bethany was about to walk away with her tray, but she pauses. “I have VIP,” she states.

“No.” He nods to me. “Lake does.” He places a glass of what looks like a mixed drink next to my tray and nods behind me. “Table twenty asked for this. He hasn’t paid for it yet.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Bethany slams her tray down on the edge of the bar. “I do.”

He rolls his eyes and rips the schedule off the back wall, placing it down in front of us. I bite my bottom lip. Sure, as fuck. Tyson must have changed it sometime today and gavin me VIP.

“What the fuck, Lake?” she snaps, turning her angry eyes on me. She looks like she wants to hit me with her tray.

“I didn’t ask for it,” I growl back at her. Pissed at not only Tyson but now her too. She makes it sound like I have to double-cross her. I’m not after anyone in this club, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask to marry her boss that she obviously has a sexual past with.

“No, you just fucked for it.” She reaches out, grabs the glass of mixed drink, and takes a step back from me, dumping the contents onto my legs.

I gasp, jumping back as it runs down my calves, and into my high heels that are cuffed to my ankles. “What the fuck, Bethany!” I shout.

She slams the empty glass on the counter and smiles at me. “Have a good night. We’re going to be slammed.” Then she tosses her hair over her shoulder and storms off with a fucking smile on her face.

I wiggle my toes, feeling the drink at the bottom of my heels. My feet already sliding, shoving my toes to the end. The heels have a high arch, making the alcohol puddle inside. I pick one foot up at a time, kicking the heel to my ass, trying to tip it upside down to let the drink run out. It works but some remains. So I grab some bar napkins and start shoving them into the side of the heels, trying to soak up whatever I can.

“What can I do?” Beau asks me with a sigh.

“Get me a new fucking drink,” I snap, picking up my tray. I turn, heading to VIP, and realize why Tyson gave it to me. It’s elevated up off the main floor. I have to go up and down ten stairs. Each fucking time. In these heels. That are now wet. I already want to cry.

Goddamn him.

Tyson was right. I’ll be crawling to him tonight. And it won’t take me long.

TYSON

I sit at my desk when the door opens. I look up to see Lake enter, wobbling like Bambi, and I sit back in my chair as she shuts the door and leans back against it. I refrain from smiling.

Tears silently run down her pretty face. She’s been crying for a few minutes because her makeup is already ruined. She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she drops to her hands and knees, a cry ripping from her parted lips. I don’t know if it’s from relief or pain. The way the collar is made, she can’t avert her eyes in shame. She has to look up at me while she slowly crawls across my office floor to my desk. I stay where I’m at, enjoying the small victory.

She comes around my desk and looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips.

I lean forward and run my thumb over her lip before pulling it down to show me her perfectly glowing white teeth.

You don’t get more royalty than her in my world. A queen of sorts forced to marry the riff-raff—a man who gave up his high-ranking title to slum it with the peasants.

“Was that so hard?” I ask, and she whimpers. “You’ll learn that your pride will get you in trouble, darling.”

“Pl-ease?” she chokes out.

“Turn around, remove your shorts and put your ass up in the air. Face on the floor.”

Her face falls. “Ty—”

“Go back to work, Lake.” I dismiss her at her refusal to do as I say. Turning to my computer, I start responding to an email I have when I hear her softly crying. Looking out of the corner of my eye, I see her turning her back to me. She pushes her shorts down her legs, places the side of her tear-streaked face on the floor, and spreads her legs, placing her ass and cunt up in the air.

I turn my chair once again to face her while she sits impatiently. She rocks her hips back and forth, trying to get comfortable. Nothing will work. This is a punishment.

Reaching out, I push my fingers through the holes of her fishnets and run two fingers over her cunt. “Do you enjoy pain, Lake?” I ask. I’m met with silence. “Because you’re wet.” To prove my point, I plunge them into her pussy, and she rocks back against them. “You will learn that I will always win, Lake. No matter if I have to cheat.”

I unlock both of the locks and remove the shackles from around her ankles. Then I pull the heel off, and she cries out in relief. I hold up the shoe, turning it upside down, and liquid runs out of it. I frown. “Why is your shoe wet?”

She remains facedown, and I pull the other one off. Same thing.

“Lake?” I bark her name.

“I knocked my water off the bar and spilled it on my heels,” she softly answers.

I lift the shoe to my nose and sniff. It smells like Red Bull. Why is she lying? “Turn around and face me. Stay on your knees.”

Lifting herself off the floor, she does as I say and looks up at me. I reach out and cup her tear-streaked face. “Last time. Why are they wet?”

She blinks her watery lashes, and whispers, “I spilled my water…”

“Get up, put your shorts back on, and sit on the couch,” I command, cutting her off. She’s not telling the truth.

Getting to her feet, she slides on her shorts and manages to walk over to the leather couch and plops down, her arms wrapping around her chest, but her chin is lifted high due to the collar still in place.

I go back to my computer and pull up the security footage.

I rewind it until I see my wife coming up to the side of the bar. I watch her, Beau, and Bethany exchange some words. Looks like they’re arguing. He shows them the schedule, and I smile.

Then Bethany grabs the drink on the counter and tosses it onto my wife’s legs. The smile drops off my face. Bethany storms off, and I watch Lake try to get the drink out of her heels unsuccessfully.

Turning it off, I sit back in my seat, looking back over at Lake. She sits there as tears silently run down her pretty face. I thought she was crying when she entered my office because of her pride. It had nothing to do with that. It was because she’d been walking around with wet high heels on.

Glancing at the clock on my computer, I see she’s been working for over an hour. It had to have been painful. I mean, the point was for it to be painful, but not like that. I wanted to force my hand. Show her that I was in charge here. But not like this. I control my wife, not anyone else.

I pick up my office phone and push five for the bar. Beau answers and the sound of the bass filters through the phone. “Yes, sir?” he calls out.

“Send Bethany up here,” I order.

“On it.” He hangs up and I sit back in my seat, staring at the heels on my desk.

“Tyson.” Lake jumps to her feet, her face scrunching at the pain she feels, knowing exactly what I’m about to do.

“Sit down, Lake,” I order.

“But—”

“Sit. Down,” I bark out, pissed off. Not at her but the situation. She is my wife. Mine to own. I can do with her as I please, not some little bitch who thinks she owns this place.

Lake falls into her seat and closes her eyes, letting out a deep sigh as my door opens. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Bethany enters with a naughty smile on her face. As if this is a booty call. It drops off the moment she sees Lake sitting on the couch.

“I’m going to give you one chance—”

“You little bitch. You snitched on me!” she yells, turning on Lake, interrupting me.

My wife jumps to her bare feet once more. “I didn’t say shit.”

“Enough!” I shout, and the room falls silent. “This is your one chance, Bethany, to tell me what happened.” I stand, placing my hands in the pockets of my slacks.

She lets out a huff and crosses her arms over her chest, silence follows.

I nod in understanding. “Sit on the couch, Bethany.” She takes in a nervous breath before doing as she’s told. “Lake, come here.”

I turn, giving them both my back to pick up what I need off my desk and then turn to see my wife standing in front of me. “Bethany will wear these tonight.” I hold out the shoes and cuffs to my wife. “Put them on her.”

Her wide eyes stare up into mine as her shaky hands take them. “Tyson,” she whispers. “Please don’t.” Her voice trembles as she begs me not to make her do this.

I don’t give a fuck.

She sniffs, taking them from me, and I can’t help but reach out and rub my thumb along her cheek, smearing the black mascara that has run down her pretty doll-like face. “You’ve been given an order, little darling.”

Her shoulders fall, and she turns to a pissed-off Bethany who sits on the couch. She reaches out, snatches them from her hand, and puts them on, slamming her feet down on the floor. My wife kneels at her feet and places the cuffs on. Just like I did hers. I smile at the fact that I don’t even have to tell her to place them on tightly.

Once done, my wife stands and turns to face me. I walk over to her. “Go upstairs and wait for me.”

She turns and exits the room, more than happy to obey that command.

“Ty—”

I turn and face Bethany who now stands in front of me.

“It was an accident,” she says, her eyes desperately pleading with me. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ignoring her, I go over to my mini fridge that I keep in my office and open it up. I unscrew the top of a bottle of water. I step into her, and her breathing picks up as I lean down, making sure to pour the water directly into the heels until it’s spilling over the closed toe.

I stand, tossing the empty water bottle across the room. Reaching out, I grip her neck and slam her back into the nearest wall. “This is your only warning. Leave my wife alone. Do you understand me?”

“Tyson—”

Gripping it tighter, I pull her from the wall and slam her back into it. “Don’t fucking touch her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even look at her. Do you understand?” I’m shouting in her face.

Tears run down her cheeks, and her lips are parted as she tries to suck in a breath. Stepping back, I let go of her, and she falls to her knees, gasping for air.

I ignore her and walk over to my desk where I sit down, putting my attention on my computer. “If that is something you can’t do, then you can quit right now,” I offer.

It takes her a second to get to her feet, and she makes her way to the front of my desk. Sniffing, she speaks, “I understand, sir.”

Looking up at her, I say, “You will keep your section and add the VIP.” She whimpers, knowing what I’m doing. “After closing, come up to my office, and I’ll remove the cuffs.” Dismissing her once again, she turns to leave my office. “Oh, Bethany. You’ll be buying my wife a new pair of shoes with the tips you make.” My wife isn’t going to be wearing a pair of designer heels that have had alcohol spilled on them.

Nodding, she opens the door and exits my office.

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