Lured into Lies by Melanie Martins
Chapter 26
Dieren, December 4, 2020
Emma Hasenfratz
It’s a despicable, weird feeling. You know, loving someone so much that you literally have to let them go and do your best to just accept reality. I knew with Petra I’d always be the bestie, the confidante, the Maid of Honor—although I did very little in this department except coming with her for two nights to the Breitner House—but damn, it hurts. It hurts when you love someone who will never love you in the same way. And I hate myself to have let that happen—I let her break my heart without her even knowing it. And now I have to suffer in silence as a consequence of my own carelessness. Yara has been a great distraction, though, I have to admit. Spending time away with her has helped me to soothe the pain and to prepare myself mentally for tomorrow. While it might be Roy who will walk Petra down the aisle, I feel like he’s way more prepared to give her away than me.
I look at myself once more in the mirror, adjusting my bangs and red lipstick. The sound of my iPhone starts echoing around my bedroom, and I smile, knowing it’s time to go. I grab my purse and my phone and head downstairs in a hurry to get outside. I cross the entryway, and as I crack the door open, the freezing air of winter smacks my face and chills my bones so strongly that I shiver. But my attention quickly switches to the bitch who stands in front of her red Ferrari 812 GTS, her arms crossed over her chest, as she waits for me. Did she ever think about ditching the black equestrian boots and the white breeches, though? Somehow, I think not. It’s gonna be interesting seeing her wearing a dress tomorrow. Well, at least it’s easier to take off.
“Good evening, Ms. Hasenfratz,” she says, and that voice, though, there’s something in it that makes me smirk. It seduces you, it lures you, and I can only beg fore more.
“Yara,” I greet nonchalantly even though I’m doing a happy dance in my head.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Yeah, because that’s true. “I need a place to get wasted.” And to forget that Petra is getting married tomorrow, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Good. That’s exactly where I’m taking you.” She opens me the door like usual, and I get inside. The problem with this car is how low the seats are. Jeez! Glad I’m not wearing heels.
Once we get out of her mom’s estate, Yara keeps herself pretty focused on the road, without saying so much as a word.
“We’re going to Amsterdam?” I ask to break the silence that has settled between us.
“Nope,” she says, keeping her eyes on the road as she turns left.
My brows raise up in surprise because this is where we usually go. “Where are we going then?”
“To a private property far away.”
“Far away?” I repeat, barely believing it. “Like how far away?”
The curiosity in my tone twists her lips into a big grin. “Just an hour drive.” She then thinks better of it and says, “Maybe thirty minutes if there is not much traffic.”
Not even after she finishes her sentence though, there’s a traffic light in front of us, turning red. She heaves a sigh in annoyance as she stops the car waiting for the light to turn green again. Yet there’s literally no one around. The road is totally empty, same with the perpendicular one. If she was wearing a dress or a skirt, I could finger her while she waited, but alas, I have to keep my hands to myself and only use my eyes as they linger on her beautiful figure. Her chest rises and falls as she waits; she tightens her grip on the wheel, her gaze set on the road ahead, and when that light finally turns green, she puts the pedal to the metal, making the engine roar like crazy. The car nearly flies off the road, yanking me back on my seat. Fuck! I grab the handle to steady myself while she keeps pressing on the accelerator. What a showoff she is. The sound of the engine tearing keeps filling my ears, and while I’m getting slightly anxious at the speed she is going, Yara seems to be pretty chill beside me. I try to check on the dashboard, but that shit is in kilometers and not miles, and I have no idea what two-hundred forty an hour means. All I know is that if the cops catch up, we are done for.
“Don’t you think you are going slightly too fast? I mean, in my humble opinion.”
Yara doesn’t even blink as her dark-brown gaze remains steadily on the road. “It’s alright,” she answers without even checking the state I’m in. She might be used to this shit, but not me, so I just take a deep breath in and out and brace myself for the roundabout that is ahead. I can’t see how she will slow down in time and turn around. So I shut my eyes tight, getting ready for the worst.
The car turns very tightly around, and my body slides to one side and then to the other, following the motion of the car.
“Are you okay?” My eyes might be closed, but I can hear the amusement thick in her tone.
“Totally fine.” I don’t even dare to open them though.
“Twenty more minutes and we should arrive.”
Oh shit. Twenty more minutes like this? Goddamnit!
I focus on breathing in and out like I’m in a meditation session, and all I can hope for is that she knows what she’s doing.
Fortunately, not even ten minutes in, the car slows down, and I heave a sigh of relief because it’s finally at a decent speed.
“Radar ahead, please slow down.”
Is it Siri talking?I open my eyes to check and see the warning flashing on the screen. “That’s cool. You can also know where the cops are?”
“Yes, this app gives me live updates.”
And since I can talk and see her, I say, “Do you mind not going that fast?”
Her lips form a sexy twist, and she finally turns to give a quick look at me. “Why? You scared?”
“I just don’t want to throw up upon arrival,” I say instead. “My stomach is in knots.”
“Alright, then.”
And I smile victoriously at her answer. Looking out of the window, I realize we are in the middle of nowhere, maybe in the countryside or so, yet not even a single house can be seen on the horizon. There is only land coated with snow for miles and miles on each side of the narrow road. After fifteen more minutes of snow and darkness, we finally see the gates to a manor. My pussy tingles in excitement.
A security agent walks up with a lantern, and Yara just lifts her left hand, showing him her wrist. The man gives her a nod in acknowledgment, and a few moments later, the gates start opening. Well, I’m not sure what those tattoos are all about, but they seem to be some sort of mark easily recognizable for those in the know.
As she parks in the country yard, I realize the entire parking lot is filled up with cars like hers—Ferraris, Bentleys, McLarens… Then we get out of the car, and I can barely keep up with my growing excitement. I’ve got the feeling this is gonna be the wildest night of my life.
I follow her to the massive carved wood double-doors where she knocks three times, waits a bit more, then knocks three times again. Someone opens it from the other side, and as we get in, I suck in a gasp as I find a hostess, or at least it seems to be a she, dressed in a long black cloak with a full Venetian mask on—the mask is all white, the lips red, and the eyes ornamented by gold. The two persons that stand by the door are dressed exactly the same but with a mask that depicts the nose and lips with opposing facial expressions.
I glance around, pacing slowly on the chess marble floor as I take in my surroundings—there are only a few lamps on the walls that bring a feeble mellow light to the vestibule, then behind the hostess stands another door, which might be one to give access to the house. In front of me stands a wooden table, with an antique brass bowl at the center, a bowie knife with the handle ornamented in gold, and a white satin napkin.
“What is that for?” I ask Yara.
“You have to pay your entrance fee.”
“Oh, and how much is it?”
I’m about to take my wallet when I hear Yara saying, “Three drops of blood.”
I freeze on the spot before chuckling at her serious tone. “Yeah, right…” But Yara and those faceless people don’t seem to be joking. And all of a sudden my heart sinks. “Are you serious?” I ask, my expression now also dropping. “I really need to cut myself?”
“We can always go back to Amsterdam.”
“Fuck…” Of all the parties I have been to, never in my life have I had to pay with my own blood. This is beyond sick, and my heart is pulling because I’m really in the middle of nowhere. On one hand, fuck yeah, I want to get in and see what the fuss is all about, but on the other, having a cut on my left hand before the wedding isn’t ideal.
I heave a sigh looking at the bowie knife and the napkin beside it. Well, I guess that explains why they are there.
Looking at Yara, I ask, “And I imagine the blood must be dropped in the brass bowl?”
“Correct,” she answers.
“And you?” I ask, my eyes still on her. “Do you have to pay an entrance fee?”
Yara gives me a full smile. “I’m a member. Without me, you wouldn’t even be here.”
I take some heavy breaths, swallowing the lodge in my throat and slowly take the knife, removing the sheath.
“I recommend you just do a small cut on a fingertip.”
“Um, do you mind doing it for me?” I sound petrified because I am. Cutting myself is not something I have done before, so I have zero experience in the matter.
Yara heaves a sigh in annoyance as she takes the knife, grabs my left hand, and I look to the other side as she… “Gosh!” I curse under my breath, my eyes shutting tight as the sting of the cut emerges, she extends my hand above the bowl and squeezes the flesh so that the three drops fall into it.
My heart is racing at the whole thing, and I can still barely process what just happened. Then she takes the napkin and presses on the cut. “Done.”
I release a deep breath in relief; the worst part finally behind, I keep pressing the napkin on my wound.
The hostess with the Venetian mask shows us the way toward the other door, which she pulls wide open, and I wonder if the other guests are all dressed like her or like us.
After stepping on the other side, a sensual house music echoes around the main hall turned into what seems to be a dance floor—there are people dancing over there, and it’s dark like a nightclub, with red lights flickering all around. It seems like the people are dressed normally, some with Venetian masks, others without. Then I notice a waitress wearing a long black cloak with a full Venetian mask on standing beside us and holding a tray with two glasses. I mean, two chalice cups. Yara takes both glasses, giving me one.
“What is it?” I ask, after trying to smell the cocktail.
“The night is gonna be long, drink it.”
We clink our chalice cups, and I follow Yara, who drinks it all at once.
“So?” She looks at me with some curiosity in her gaze as I swallow it through. I try to find what the flavors are, yet I can’t really pinpoint, but one thing is sure—it’s weird, and it tastes a bit like metal.
“Um, it’s alright. But what is it?”
Yet Yara just smiles at me in return. “It’s better you don’t know.” Then she starts walking through the corridor, and I follow her closely behind, ruminating why she doesn’t want to tell me what I just drank.
“Oh fuck,” I utter, now finally getting it. “Don’t tell me it’s what I think it is.”
“It’s not that disgusting, is it?” Yara might find it quite amusing, but I’m still in shock at the revelation. “It seems like you actually enjoyed it.”
“You’re joking, right?” I try to find the answer in her gaze, and it seems like a negative one.
“For a girl who likes to try new things, you get scared pretty easily,” she keeps teasing, quite entertained.
“I didn’t know trying new things will include… that.”
“It only had a few drops, don’t worry. And it’s entirely pure, not contaminated even a little.” I have no idea what the difference is, but I don’t feel particularly better knowing I drank a cocktail containing human blood. We stand in front of a door, and Yara takes a golden key from her inner coat pocket, inserts it in the locker and twists to unlock the door. She then opens it wide, inviting me in.
The room is huge, and it even has a plunge pool in the center. It features a boudoir decor with rich tones of reds accented with sparkling golds and touches of ebony. The walls are covered in velvet flocked damask wallpaper, and sheer curtains hangs on the windows with heavy drapes. Large ornate gold mirrors and antique furniture fill the room, including a draped canopy bed. Victorian style floor lamps and a chandelier provide a soft orange glow to the place. My eyes alight on the low table with a few candles lit, a basket of fruit, two flutes, and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. This could easily be a room in the Moulin Rouge during the Belle Epoque.
“You like it?”
“It feels like the Moulin Rouge or something,” I say, still taking in my surroundings.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she says, moving closer to me.
I turn and look at her. She has now removed her black coat, and I notice how she is sporting an all white outfit except for her boots and belt. “I love it, yeah.” Then I wonder if I can open the bottle of Dom Perignon, but before I can take it from the bucket, Yara does it for me. So I just sit on the red velvet sofa, make myself comfortable, and admire her beautiful silhouette opening the bottle.
“Why have you never taken me here before? It’s much better than the places we went to in Amsterdam.”
Her lips curve up at my statement. “Because I wanted to keep the best part for the last.” She then pops the cork of the bottle, which flies somewhere in the room, and starts filling our glasses with the bubbly. “Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with the entrance fee.”
“It was a scary experience for sure.” She then gives me a glass, and I stand up so that we can do a toast.
“A lot of people wouldn’t have passed the test,” she says.
I blink twice at her words. “That was a test?”
“In a way, it is—it’s a way to see how bad you want to get in.”
“Yeah, I’m too curious to not take the dip.” Yara keeps observing me attentively, her lips curving to the side. “So? Um, what should we toast to?”
She raises her glass and says, “Well, to you, Emma.”
* * *
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” I ask, just above a whisper. My voice is getting sleepy as it must be around two a.m. by now, but I couldn’t care less. I keep curling my fingers through her long dark-brown hair, while watching her considering me. It’s the first time we are lying in bed together, and the first time we can have some real pillow talk. Here, under the mellow light of the lamp, she’s no longer the stern polo player who enjoys disciplining me; here, she’s just Yara, the crazy woman that makes every night I spend with her more addictive than the previous one.
“There’s so much you don’t know…” She chuckles at me, and I notice how beautiful she gets when she laughs. “It’d be easier the other way around.”
“Alright…” I bite my bottom lip trying to find the best words to put on. “If I ask you something, can you give me a straight answer?”
She doesn’t reply immediately; instead she says, “I can at least try.”
Looking her in the eye, I proceed. “Are you a member of a satanic cult or something?”
The question makes her break into laugher, and yeah, I kinda expected this type of reaction.
“You’re so cute,” she says before dropping her gaze down to my lips and kissing them. “I love that about you.”
I might be cute, but not naive. So I wait for her to give me an answer to my question, but after a few more seconds silently waiting, Yara doesn’t say a word. “So?”
A smirk arises on her face. “What if I tell you I am?”
And my lips do exactly the same. “That would explain a lot.” Then glancing down at her two wrists, I say, “Like those tattoos…”
“Only members wear them,” she explains.
“Is there a way I can get them too?”
My question doesn’t surprise her, and I’m glad it didn’t. “Maybe…” She pauses, gauging my reaction. “There’s an initiation ceremony every year in Venice. I can take you there if you want.”
“Do I get those tattoos there?” I ask, without containing the excitement in my tone.
“Nope, only when you reach a certain level.”
“Oh…” And my excitement vanishes just as fast. “And what do I have to do at the initiation?”
Her lips twist into a big smile, and she greases my cheek with her finger. “Nothing you haven’t done before.”
And as I get slightly lost in her warmth, I lean in to press my lips on hers. Afterward, some silence ensues as I keep looking her in the eye, a bit mesmerized by how beautiful she is. “I’ve never met a woman like you,” I find myself saying with some admiration in my voice.
She rolls her eyes, snickering in total disbelief. “Now that’s the drugs talking.”
“No, I swear. I felt the same at our first polo session.” Then I heave a sigh at my own stupidity for praising her like that. It probably sounded cheesy as fuck. Which reminds me that no matter how many nights we spend together, there’s no future between us. No matter how good the sex is, no matter how close we are. And while I’m pretty happy with what we have, I can’t help but wonder something. “Why are the women I like either married or about to get married?”
The question was mostly to myself, but Yara answers it anyway. “Maybe it’s the idea that they are inaccessible that attracts you.”
I cock my head to side, considering her. “That’s a viable reason,” I admit as I meet her gaze for a second. “But honestly, you are something. Elliot is a fucking lucky man.”
“He knows that,” she mumbles before turning to reach her pack of cigarettes on the nightstand.
“How did you meet him?” I find myself asking, wanting to get to know more about that side of her.
She takes a cigarette from her pack, sits against the headboard of the bed, and before putting it between her lips, she says, “We’re not gonna talk about that.”
“Why not?”
I notice she has a new lighter, which she brings up to light her cigarette. She then pulls a bit of smoke into her mouth, before blowing it out. “I never discuss my private life with my subs.”
My jaw drop at her last word. “Oh, so I’m officially your sub?”
“Would you like that?” she asks, looking me in the eye before giving another intake. “I can get you a real collar and everything.”
I chuckle at the suggestion. “Are you serious right now?”
“Why not?” she asks, her eyes still on me. “Wouldn’t you like it?”
I never thought about this before, so turning my gaze away, I say, “I, um, I need time to think about it.”
“Are you scared?” There’s a hint of amusement in her question. I want to tell her the opposite, but the truth is she is right and she knows it. She fucking knows how to read people’s mind, and I’m not an exception. “What are you scared of, Ms. Hasenfratz?”
“You know what,” I tell her, my eyes focused on the darkness ahead.
“Mm… You’re scared to get attached, aren’t you?” s
he taunts me, before leaning on top of me, her lips hovering on mine, and she softly pulls my bottom lip with her teeth. “And catch feelings?”
“Yeah…” I let my word trail off as I keep looking at her. “You’re a fucking bitch sometimes, but I’m only human.”
“So is this our last time?” Her question freezes me on the spot. Hell, no!
“You want to stop?” I ask, blinking twice in confusion.
“I don’t, but you are scared to keep going, aren’t you?”
Her question hangs in the air as I think about it more seriously. “It’s not that, but getting collared is some symbolic shit, no?”
“A bit.” There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But it’s not like I’m making you exclusive to me.” She then pauses, observing me attentively. “It’s more for you to keep as a… souvenir from me.”
“Oh,” I mutter, and playing along, I say, “I didn’t buy any souvenirs from Amsterdam, so I guess a collar will do.”
She laughs at my sarcastic answer, yet she really seems decided to go ahead with it. “I’m sure you’ll look amazing in it.”
“When am I gonna receive it?”
“Tomorrow evening,” she says simply.
“What?” Now I’m the one gasping in disbelief. “But it’s the wedding tomorrow.”
“It is,” she replies without an ounce of bother. “And we have the whole evening by ourselves.” She takes another puff of her cigarette, reveling in my uneasiness with her plan for tomorrow. “Plus we’ll be doing it in a castle. It’s pretty romantic, isn’t it?”
“But, like, your husband will be there…” I can’t contain the nervousness in my tone.
“Oh, relax, by six p.m. he’ll be wasted and playing poker with his friends,” she replies. “What are you so worried about?”
“You’re crazy,” I tell her, even though she probably already knows it. “Even crazier than I.” And as I take her cigarette to give it a puff, I can’t help but say, “I hope I’ll be like you at your age.”
“You’ll be even better.” To my surprise, she then squeezes my lips between her fingers and slams my mouth on hers.