Page 16

Right. Silly me. He’s playing a game. Giving me away is a tremendous honor—everyone knows that. This is another way for Roman to show his power—his control. By giving away the one thing he treasures, it shows him in a benevolent light.

I bite my tongue. I want to scratch his eyes out of his skull for making me some consolation prize.

“Keep your hands where I can see them. She’s an innocent, yes?”

I silently scoff. Innocent is a stretch. I’ve seen the horrors in our life, and it has kicked the innocence out of my soul and left me in the dark.

The stranger, Ben, sighs tiredly. Well, this isn’t my idea of fun either. I don’t want some man’s hands on me.

He pulls me into a small spot, away from my brother and the leering men. Thank Dio he picked a place where I can see Cherry. We have a deal, but I still worry about her safety. I worry about all the girls downstairs.

Ben twirls me, expert feet swaying along, taking care not to stub my toes. It’s the first time anyone has shown that level of care—Freddie can’t dance two steps without crushing my foot.

The music irritates my ears as we spin, but the simple movements relax me. Dancing has always been my happy place, and this man moves as if he’s built from smoke—light as air, careful not to linger. Out of the corner of my eye, the guards move and make subtle hand gestures.

Cazzo! Not now!

Ben tilts his head as if he’s going to speak behind the mask, but I place a finger on it.

The candles go out, extinguished by a cold gust. He tenses under my hands and pulls me closer, instinctively protecting me.

A spotlight flickers to life in the middle of the room. Under it are two women, in strips of leather and matching masks. And very little else.

This is normal for my brother—new acts he’s introduced to his club. They’re forced to perform for our entertainment. Not with dancing, no. But in sexual acts.

The energy shifts. Everything grows heavy, hotter. People move, hungry gazes dropping onto the pair. Sweat dots my brow, and my breath puffs from my lips.

I swallow, sick. I need to get out of here. It’s one thing to enjoy an act if they consent, but these women cannot.

“C’mon,” Ben whispers in my ear, arm still firmly around my back. He pulls me toward an alcove, and his body cuts off the scene, killing the nausea.

His cologne surrounds me. Lemon verbena, sage, a hint of spice, and I inhale deeper. It’s so much better than the room—cleaner, and much more pleasant than Freddie’s. Pressing my nose to his chest, I sniff again, and a laugh rumbles against my face.

“Like my cologne, Sunshine?”

I snap back, mouth parted. I’m making a fool of myself! Who sniffs a stranger?

At my silence, his finger drifts over my mask, nail scratching at the beads. “Sunshine. Seems fitting. You’re a ray of light in this despondent room,” he says wistfully. “A pure goddess made in the sun's image. As bright as starlight.” He shakes away the daze, scoffing in disgust. “You ruined my chance tonight.”

Glaring, I cross my arms. His chance? I live here, under these conditions, and I will not have some pretty, reckless boy come into my home and fuck up my life.

With his little stunt, I could’ve been locked away forever. Forced to endure more isolation. More restrictions. He’s lucky I didn’t carve his heart from his chest.

“What? Afraid to talk?”

I scowl, glancing away. I’m not afraid of him.

“No matter.” He leans close. “Do you know how hard it is to get that special concoction? The woman who makes it doesn’t do these things for free.”

Am I supposed to care?

He snorts at me, shaking his head. A server comes by, and he grabs two glasses. When he hands me one, I stare at it, confused.

No one has ever given me a drink before.

“Champagne. Did you want something different?” He looks around, but I stop him, bubbles sloshing over the sides.

“What, Sunshine? First time drinking?” He adjusts the mask and gulps elegantly. I lick my bottom lip, watching his throat bob. “I’ve been sneaking Irish whiskey since I was a kid. It’s horrible. This is better.”