Chapter 93

MADDISON

Mr. Fennick is punctual, showing up at five o’clock sharp. The club isn’t open yet, but this is usually when I’d start my shift and head his way.

He strides down the long corridor toward me in the powder room. I’m in the middle of applying my makeup and curling my hair.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and feel a wave of self-loathing. The hush that falls over the other girls and the sound of his shoes tapping against the floor signal his approach.

I sneak a glance at him as he nears. For some reason, I find myself praying for mercy, even though it’s never been granted before.

My father once joked that I should pray to the devil instead, given my luck.

“Mr. Fennick.” I acknowledge him as soon as he stops behind me.

His eyes gleam wickedly as he reaches for the curling iron. “We won’t be needing this for tonight,” he informs me.

He reaches over me, grabs my brush from the table, and runs it through the curls I had just painstakingly created. As he brushes them out, he watches me with a look of amusement.

I try to deny the implications of his actions, but when he starts braiding my hair, I can’t ignore the fact that I’ll be the one accompanying him to his private room tonight.

“I presume you know your fate for this evening?” he asks, a sly smile on his face.

The girls beside me try to focus on their mirrors instead of us. Their hands have stopped moving, their makeup brushes frozen midair, but Mr. Fennick doesn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, breaking their trance.

“Come on then, my pet,” he commands gruffly, yanking me off the chair so quickly that I barely have time to plant my bare feet on the ground to follow him.

I’m wearing nothing but a black dress and lace underwear. I haven’t put on my stockings yet, and I’m not wearing any jewelry as he might have preferred, but he seems too eager to have me follow him down to the next level.

He leads me through the hallway, through a door, and down another flight of stairs. There are only two rooms on this lowest floor.

One is Mr. Fennick’s bedroom, and the other is his playroom. We head straight for the playroom—the one place in this entire building I’d rather avoid, yet somehow, I always find myself drawn to it.

I can’t quite understand my feelings toward this room. The air inside is cool, thanks to the air conditioning. Three other men are already there.

Each one a regular client who enjoys my…services. “Sanctum has missed their little pet,” Mr. Fennick announces as the soundproof door closes behind us.

The soft click of the lock sends a shiver down my spine. My eyes are downcast, looking at the floor in submission, just as I suspect all four of them want.

I kneel before the three men. This is what they like—to tower over me as I sit on the floor.

My hands rest beside me on the floor. Mr. Fennick speaks from behind me, his words filling the room with a mix of dread and anticipation.

“We’ve missed your body, Hope. Missed your mouth, your pussy—and most definitely your ass,” he chuckles, and the others join in.

Mr. Bennet is the first to agree, his deep, low voice resonating in the room. “Where have you been, gorgeous?” he asks.

I don’t respond; I don’t even lift my eyes from the floor. I haven’t been given permission to speak, and I know the consequences of speaking out of turn.

Instead, they all laugh, and the next man speaks. “You’ve trained this one too well, Fennick,” Mr. Lettingdon says, lifting my chin to meet his gaze.

His dark brown eyes sparkle with excitement as he mouths three words I don’t bother to lip-read. ~I’ve missed you.~

“I wonder, how many of us can you take at once?” Mr. Pierce asks, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him.

Mr. Fennick steps up behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders as he takes control of the situation. “Why don’t we make this fun? A game of poker, the winner of each round gets to take turns with Hope here while the others play on?”

They all laugh, but Mr. Pierce grumbles. “I guess I’ll aim to be the loser then. I want to be the last one to touch you tonight,” he murmurs to me.

I swallow the lump in my throat, staying silent as everyone gathers around the corner table. They’ve already started drinking and playing; cards divided into four piles, tumblers filled with amber liquid and ice cubes.

I stay where they left me, on the floor, watching them through half-closed eyes as they laugh and play their game, laying down cards and moving chips.

I don’t know much about poker, but I can tell the stakes are high, and the pot is worth a lot. But I don’t think it’s money they’re playing for tonight; it’s their turn with me.

Mr. Pierce mentioned earlier that the loser of the night might end up with the best prize. But I don’t know what Mr. Fennick has planned.

Maybe the night will last longer than the final hand of cards. The first round is won by Mr. Lettingdon. His hands clap together in greedy anticipation as he looks my way.

The others roll their eyes at him as he stands and walks toward me, already unbuttoning his pants. “Stand up, Hope!” he orders me.

I obey, knowing he doesn’t like it when I resist; he wants me compliant, lying beneath him as he takes me, hard and deep.

He hikes up my dress, tugs at my black lace thong, tearing it so it hangs uselessly from my hips. “Climb on the bed, face them. Make sure you give them a good show, Little Puppet,” he commands, pushing me roughly.

They all turn to watch as I land on my hands and knees, my backside exposed for Mr. Lettingdon. I swallow hard as he spits, using it as a makeshift lubricant.

My muscles tense in anticipation of his intrusion, but so does my stomach, and it’s not from fear as you might expect, but from a quiet apprehension of finally being myself again.

“Remember to feel every inch,” he instructs as he enters me. I grit my teeth, a muscle in my jaw twitching as I cry out in pain.

Three similar chuckles echo around us, and my cheeks flush with the familiar realization that I want this—and I enjoy it.

“I enjoy playing the damsel in distress, pretending to be violated.”