“Get everyone to meet me in the office,” Drex tells the guy, then he turns toward me as the muscled-up creep gives me one last wicked grin before walking away.
I shudder, but I know I don’t have to worry about anything. I’m Drex’s, and he’s made it clear he won’t be sharing me.
“Head up to my room. Don’t come back down. Just wait on me to get done.”
I tilt my head, studying his serious face.
“Everyone’s going to be in the office, so I should be fine, shouldn’t I?”
He almost seems amused by that question.
“When I told him to get everyone, I meant everyone important. So this place will be crawling with people who don’t know you. Most of these guys are from different charters. Pop is probably on his way by now, and his crew will be here, too. Just stay upstairs.”
I nod, suddenly feeling uneasy, but my stomach growls, which draws a frown from Drex.
“I’ll send Axle up with some food. He’ll be finished with this shit before I am.”
He slides his hand down my back, steering me toward the stairs. I try to ignore all the curious eyes and catcalls that emerge behind us. I only catch a glimpse of Mr. Muscle staring at me as he speaks to Mack.
I hate Mack.
Drex slaps my ass, startling me, but he chuckles as he walks away. I practically sprint up to the room.
As soon as I’m inside, I breathe a little easier. Then I lock the door so I can keep breathing easier. It’s obvious Drex doesn’t want me in on the conversations.
It doesn’t take but a few minutes before the music is blaring downstairs. I peek out the door, curious when I hear a lot of loud cheering and roaring applause.
My stomach tilts when I see some of the strippers dancing into the opening below, including Elise, who was straddling Drex earlier. I feel like I’m watching life go on from a bird’s nest. But this isn’t the life I envisioned for myself.
The men all seem happy to have the women coming in and dancing on them. Sarah is serving everyone drinks, and no one is messing with her.
I shut the door again, lock it—of course—and I lean against it while staring at the wall across from me. Drex gave me a phone, but I haven’t used it yet. I don’t want them hearing me talk to my mom, and it alerts them every time I make a call.
Or so they say.
I’d rather not risk it and draw attention to her.
Drex will probably be downstairs for a while, so it might be a good idea to go to sleep. If he wants me bad enough, he can wake me. But I have a feeling he might finish what he started with Elise, and I’d rather not be awake for that.
Ice runs through my veins as a thought crosses my mind. What if… What if he wants a threesome?
I’m going to be sick.
A knock sounds at the door, distracting me before I can vomit. I’m not experienced enough for this. Why did I think I could handle being someone’s sex slave?
Expecting Axle and a tray of food I won’t be able to eat, I open the door, but my eyes widen in surprise when I see the muscled meathead instead.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, smirking while the devil dances in his eyes. I stumble backwards when he pushes inside the room, seeming eerily calm and composed.
He’s not carrying a tray of food, that’s for damn sure.
“Well, well, well. We were offered a toy from the Hell Breathers and I’m just finding out?”
I quickly put the length of the room between us, and my heart hammers in my ears when I hear the click of the door shutting behind him.
I swallow against the lump in my throat before shakily telling him, “I’m Drex’s. Not the club’s.”
It’s a futile declaration, because he doesn’t seem the least bit deterred.
“No,” he drawls. “You were given to Herrin. He gifted you to Drex. And we all share shit unless it’s our old lady. You, little girl, are Drex’s toy. Not his woman. He won’t mind, I assure you.”
He moves, and I suddenly feel my back against the wall, alerting me to the fact I’ve run out of room to retreat.
“He’s told everyone not to touch me. I’m his, damn it! I’m not a toy.”
I’m a fucking toy, and he knows it, because he smirks to silently tell me as much.
“He’ll be pissed,” I prattle on, not ready to go down without a fight. I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching me. I won’t… I won’t survive this if it happens. I’ll be as damaged and broken as I feared in the beginning.
“He’ll get over it,” the meathead says before diving toward me.
I scream, praying it can be heard over the music as I dart across the bed, hoping I reach the door before he catches me. But a strong, rough hand clamps around my ankle, jerking me back before I can make it to the other side.