Page 62

“Surprise me.” I grin.

Rio’s brow lifts slightly. His hand slides along my thigh, just under the hem of my skirt, his fingers warm against my skin.

“Should you be drinking on the job?” he asks, and nods at Jack in approval. I’m sure he’s teasing me.

Brox steps closer from behind me, his mouth near my ear. “Bad idea, cupcake.”

“Why?” I ask, tilting my head just enough to see him.

“You shouldn’t drink and fuck,” he says quietly. “That’s all. But suit yourself.”

The bartender places the glass before me, deep-hued and luminous beneath the lights. I take a sip. The drink goes down easier than it should. The taste lingers, sweet in a way that coats instead of clears. My pulse ticks faster. I lower the glass slowly.

I shift on the stool, my body buzzing awake as Rio finishes his whisky and sets the glass down.

“See you later, princess,” he says softly, his lips warm against my forehead.

“Don’t work too hard,” Brox adds with a grin, kissing my cheek.

I’m starting to like who we’re becoming.

They leave together, moving back into the crowd, their presence parting people without effort. Warmth gathers low in me as I watch them disappear.

I look around, searching for familiar faces. Other pets. Anyone I know, so I can steady myself. I’ve never had the urge to drink on my own.

The second sip barely reaches my throat before my body reacts. This is one strong drink. Heat spreads too fast, blooming low in my stomach and climbing my chest. The noise around me dulls, making me spaced out, distracted. I swallow and try to steady my breathing, but my thoughts slip out of neat order.

I haven’t felt like this before. But I also haven’t drunk cocktails before. And, I got no instructions for tonight. No escort to the Black Chamber. Normally, they’d tell me what’s expected of me. Where to go. How long I’ll be needed for. But tonight, there’s nothing. Just a strange conversation in the elevator.

I take another few sips, and the feeling in my body intensifies, building inside me, leaving me hyperaware of my dress brushing against my skin, every sound I hear, every flicker of light on me. My limbs feel loose, unanchored, and my focus drifts no matter how hard I try to rein it back in. My body had learned the Boarpit way of life. It adapted. The air rewired me. Now a simple drink takes me back to my high.

Steady on my heels, with straight spine, and raised chin, I must be doing a good job. I smile, the subtle fog at the edges of my focus keeps reminding me of the Black Chamber air. I lift the glass again and drink.

The club is getting more crowded. It’s subtle at first, the noise changes, laughter grows louder, heavier. I glance towards the door, and see bikers coming in together. Thirty, at least. Leather vests, wide shoulders, boots that look more suited to barracks than a dance floor. They move together, unconcerned with the attention they draw.

Everything about them says trouble, and I’m directly in their way. It doesn’t take long for one of them to decide that. A few of them talk and they laugh, low and rough, the lot of them already drifting in my direction.

I keep my posture straight. I remind myself where I am. I’m not afraid, but the fact that this cocktail loosened something inside me I don’t fully trust is a problem. And my body is just beginning to zing.

One of them comes up behind me. I don’t hear him until his hand settles on my shoulder–heavy, claiming, and he leans in close so that his rough stubble scratches my ear.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

Another biker joins him and stands on the other side of me, crowding my space. His calloused hand brushes against mine as he grabs the cocktail off my hand.

“You’re looking mighty fine tonight,” he growls while sniffing my cocktail.

“That’s my drink, asshole.” I search for the bartender for help, but he’s busy on the other side of the bar.

I scan the room for a sign, for anything that tells me this is being watched. Nothing. I swallow hard, suddenly aware of my breath—too shallow, too quick. A wave of dizziness rolls through me, followed by a strange looseness in my limbs, like my muscles are a half-step behind my thoughts.

The first biker doesn’t wait, he spins me around so that I’m pinned against the bar countertop by his hard chest. His hazel eyes burn into mine as he trails his fingers across my collarbone. He’s towering over me, in fact, all of them are, and bigger, especially with those leather jackets.

“You like being manhandled like this, don’t you?” he whispers darkly.

My body betrays me. I let out a small, helpless sound, twisting uncomfortably under his touch. I don’t... I shouldn’t be getting aroused from this. It terrifies me how much I like being pinned. But these men, they… they’re not… we’re not in the Black Chamber. Rio and Brox would not like this.

The second biker steps in closer, nudging his friend aside so that he can get a better view of my body quaking under their combined assault. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me firmly against his rock-hard abs, making it clear who’s in charge now.