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Fuck.
The entire room goes quiet. All eyes are on the large screen, showing Aspen on her knees in front of me while I slowly fuck her mouth.
I’m frozen in place as I watch the video replaying the scene I remember just fine on my own. Aspen’s whimpers come through the speakers, followed by sounds of gagging and grunting as I fuck her harder.
“Fuck, yes, make her choke on it.” Matteo’s voice fills the space.”I can’t wait to fuck her next.”
“I’m next after,” Nash calls out before Marcel groans, “Fuck, you guys.”
My stomach churns, and for a moment, I think I’m actually gonna throw up. Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I look at Aspen beside me. Just like me, she is frozen in place, too shocked to move.
Her mouth is hanging open, like a fish out of water. Her eyes are wide and glued to the screen, almost as if she is hypnotized.
“Aspen,” I whisper, but in the silent crowd, it feels more like a shout.
Her gaze flickers to me, and I feel like someone punched me in the fucking heart. Her baby blues are filled with so much despair and pain, it’s hard to look at her.
I’ve hurt her before, pushed her more than I should have, but she always stood up to me with fire in her eyes. Not this time. That usual fire is gone—not even a spark remains. All that reflects at me is the pain only a guttural betrayal can leave behind.
“I hate you,” she grits through her teeth, and for the first time, I actually believe her.
27
ASPEN
The sound of me gagging while Quinton fucks my face booms from the speakers, haunting me as I try my hardest to get out of here and away from this never-ending nightmare I’m trapped in.
Glares that held curiosity earlier are now filled with disgust. Snide comments about me being a rat turn into calling me a whore and slut as I pass them on my way out.
I want to cover my ears and hum just so I can drown them out, but if I don’t hold up this fucking dress, I’m going to be on my ass in no time. Is that why he made me wear this? Is it all part of his fucked-up plan to destroy me?
Of course, it is. I’m so fucking stupid to fall for this. To believe anything he says.
I finally make it out of the ballroom and into the corridor leading underground when I hear footsteps behind me.
My vision blurs, tears running down my face rapidly as I desperately try to get away from him. I move faster, though I know better than to run in these heels. As if the night couldn’t get any worse, my heel gets caught on a crack in the concrete floor, and I fall forward.
My knees hit the unforgiving ground and pain shoots up my legs. The urge to curl up in a ball and wallow in my own pity is strong, but my aversion to letting them win is stronger.
I push myself off the floor when a set of hands grab me to help me up. I immediately shake them off.
“I don’t need your help!” I spit, certain that Quinton came after me, but surprisingly, it’s not his face I see when I spin around.
“You might not need it, but why refuse when it makes things easier?” Vito asks.
“Because in my experience, even the smallest amount of help comes with a price.” I run my palms down my dress, straightening the fabric as much as I can.
“That’s true for most of the people around here. I simply wanted to help you. I don’t want anything in return.” His voice is calm, sounding genuinely sincere.
I want to believe him. The thought of another friend in this hell beckons me like a moth to a flame. Quinton warned me to stay away from Vito, but why?
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I admit. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t really trust anyone these days.”
“I’d say you have valid reasons after seeing that video.”
I wince at his words. The reminder that everyone saw me sucking Quinton’s dick. The memory fills my veins with anger and shame. Anger toward Q and his friends for what they have done, and shame for myself because I keep letting Quinton treat me this way. I let him in, let him slip through the cracks when I should build my walls higher. I let him comfort me when I should only count on myself.
“Don’t do that,” Vito says in an almost warning tone.
“Don’t do what?”
“Feel humiliated. You’re not the one who did this.”
“It’s easy to say, but I can’t help how I feel.”
“Ah, yes. Pesky feelings don’t always go in the direction you want them to.” Vito gives me a solace smile, and I wonder if we are still talking about the same thing. The way he is looking at me right now with puppy dog eyes makes me think he has some feelings on his own he can’t control.
