Theron releases his hold on my throat, and I gasp for air, but my muscles have stopped cooperating. I fall into a useless heap on the floor, my need for oxygen greater than anything else. I can’t even fight him as he drags me over to a leather bench and starts to rip at my clothes.

A solitary tear slides down my cheek as I shake my head violently, but as I do, the room spins, and I nearly pass out again.

“You don’t have to do this,” I croak.

Theron discards my shirt, and then moves onto my pants, dragging them down over my hips along with my thong, leaving me completely bare. His knuckle caresses the length of my back as I try to get up again, and then he slams me back down with the weight of his palm. It knocks the wind out of me, and again, blackness threatens the edges of my vision.

“I know I don’t have to, Mercedes.” He leans down, his voice dark silk against my ear. “But I want to. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

Her Rebellion

The Rite Trilogy Book 2

About This Book

I am a Sovereign Son. A king within The Society.

With a look I send men to their knees.

Yet she stands tall against me, taunting me with her rebellion.

But we all have rules we must live by.

Even me.

And I have broken the most sacred.

I took her to my bed.

I claimed that which did not belong to me.

And now that the beast within has had a taste, it wants more.

1

Judge

I check my watch when the knock comes on my study door. Miriam is prompt, as I expect. “Enter.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asks, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I did. Come in and close the door.”

“It’s late, sir. I was—”

“This won’t take long.”

She nods, closes the door, and comes to stand before the desk. I’ve set one chair there. A low wooden one. Uncomfortable. Small.

“Sit, Miriam.”

She sits, arranges her usual black dress over her knees, and finally meets my gaze.

I set the paperweight on the center of the desk and watch her stunned reaction. The only sound is a tiny intake of breath as color leaches from her face.

“She didn’t lie, did she?” I ask, somehow calm even though what I want to do is the opposite of that. It’s violence. Pure and simple.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” She folds her legs one way, then the other. Then she stands. “I’m tired. My shift is over. Perhaps we can—”

“Fucking. Sit.”

She lowers herself, her knees trembling.

“You’ve been feeding my mother information.”

“Your mother? No, sir. I work for you.”