Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 21: Shadows Of Reverie.

Lord Maximus leisurely lit a cannabis stick, his eyes filled with intrigue. Just then, Dr. Martini entered, exuding an air of seduction.

Placing her hands on the table, Lord Maximus motioned for the guards to leave. As they departed, she whispered, "Thank you for the respite, I'm back now." The atmosphere grew steamy, their intentions hanging in the air.

Lord Maximus couldn't help but bite his lips as he responded, "You're back, and looking stunning as ever. How have those thighs been treating you?"

Her smile grew wider as she retorted, "I'm fully healed now, but promise me you'll never hurt me that way again." She nodded in disagreement, challenging his declaration.

"Martini, love may be pain, but I won't let you suffer alone," he declared, his voice filled with determination.

***

"Let her go, no, please, she's innocent!" My desperate cries echoed through the air as she tumbled from the cliff's edge. Panic seized me, rendering my surroundings a blur, everyone fading into obscurity.

"I'm no prince! Leave me be, nooooo!" I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my breaths shallow and erratic. My eyes darted to the wall clock, confirming it was still early morning.

I surveyed my room, trying to shake off the haunting remnants of the dream. It lingered in my mind, an enigmatic and recurring vision. What did it mean this time? The variations of this dream have always puzzled me.

Abrupt knocks disrupted the stillness, jolting me upright from the bed. Anticipating breakfast, I opened the door, expecting a tray of food, but instead, I found Hardin standing there. His stern gaze demanded my immediate attention. With an authoritative tone, he instructed me to follow him.

My heart raced as we traversed the corridor toward the elevator. The journey down seemed to drag on, each step filling me with a growing sense of unease.

As the elevator doors parted and we ventured deeper into the building, a faint cacophony of indistinct voices and muffled thuds permeated the air.

Dread crept over me, a chilling realization that Lord Maximus might not uphold his promises. The unknown loomed, stirring fear within me—would he punish me? Was my life in danger? Uncertainty hung heavy, for both of us harbored secrets begging to be unraveled.

Hardin and I stood in the room, shame weighing heavily on me as I couldn't muster the courage to meet their gazes.

"Good morning, esteemed members of the Shaque," Hardin's voice cut through the silence, crackling with authority.

He continued, "Allow me to introduce Zayn Orson, a newcomer, now part of the Shaque. Lord Maximus wishes for your acceptance as he will soon be an integral part of our bloodline."

I tentatively lifted my head, nerves coursing through me. Hoping for a glimmer of sympathy, I met their eyes. Instead, a silent, resolute affirmation greeted Hardin's words, each member nodding dutifully in response. Their demeanor, void of emotion, added to the weight of my apprehension.

Hardin gently tapped my shoulder, silently urging me to acknowledge them, and I complied with a hesitant wave. As we made our exit, the weight of their stares lingered, and I felt an uncomfortable unease wash over me.

My attire—a black trouser paired with an oversized blue shirt—was nothing remarkable amidst their extraordinary outfits. Hardin, as always, appeared immaculately dressed in corporate attire, while I stood out as the odd one among them.

We stepped into another room, instantly struck by the chilled atmosphere. Its walls adorned with intricate paintings and tattoo art, the space exuded an air of mystery.

The captivating melody filling the room evoked a familiar sense of nostalgia; it was the same tune played every Friday back at the orphanage.

A lady, draped in long hair, sat perched on a chair with her back turned toward the room. As Hardin approached, he gently tapped her and called out, "Mog!"

She pivoted to face us, a warm smile gracing her lips as she paused the music. Her scrutinizing gaze met mine, squinting slightly, yet her smile persisted. In that moment, her smile became a spark of hope—something I hadn't encountered since stepping foot into this imposing building.

With a welcoming gesture, she rose from her seat and guided us to another spot in the room, motioning for us to take our seats. "Welcome, please, have a seat," her soft voice lingered in the air as we settled, and she positioned herself across from us, placing her phone delicately on the table between us.

I found it hard to divert my gaze from her; there was something fierce yet gentle about her, exuded through that captivating smile. Her hair, with its thick texture, was unlike anything I had seen before.

YOUR COMMENTS MATTERS.