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Thick double doors open as we approach. Low jazz music pours out of hidden speakers as we walk through the entryway and into the club proper. It’s a man’s wet dream in here. Nude, luscious girls everywhere wearing nothing but high heels and silly, frilly aprons. We call them hostesses as a euphemism. Smiling and looking sexy, they saunter from table to table, taking drink orders, or bending over and spreading themselves wide so guys can get an eyeful of the goods.
Because this is their job. Sure, they serve drinks and make small talk. But they’re here to serve in a different way altogether. The women are at our disposal, trained to do anything and everything we want, and all of it with a sweet smile.
As I’m marched in, a few of the girls turn to look, curiosity on those beautiful faces as their big breasts heave.
Yeah, how the mighty have fallen.
But I don’t give a fuck. I’d do it all over again if it meant rescuing Trina.
“Damn, is that Gray Knight?” I hear some asshole say in a hushed voice.
“Shit! I thought he was one of the top dogs, totally untouchable.”
Someone else grunts. “He must have fucked up bad.”
I hold my head high, unwilling to even look at these fucking losers. The guards escort me through the bar and into a private room in the back, leaving the hushed voices of gossip behind.
As another thick set of double doors swing shut, silence descending. There’s no music. No sound of giggling girls or clinking glasses. It’s a windowless room, but bright from the giant chandelier strung from the ceiling. This place looks like a traditional receiving room for a king, what with the ornate rugs and priceless artworks lining the walls. Three chairs sit high up in front of a long table, forcing any guests to crane their heads upwards.
What a bullshit power play. But when a billionaire breaks the rules, this is just where we come. And as much as I hate to be in this position right now, I understand the system.
I take a deep breath, ready to take my punishment, whatever it is. Just then, I notice a familiar form.
“Trina!”
I jerk towards her but my captors immediately yank me back so hard the cuffs dig painfully into my skin. But the hard plastic doesn’t mean anything. All that matters is my Trina, and that she’s here. I can barely believe my eyes. What the hell are they playing at?
This time, she’s got clothes on, or at least a robe. Tears streak her face and her chin’s trembling softly. But when I say her name, she looks up, beautiful caramel eyes going wide.
“Grayson?” she asks in a whisper. “Oh god, is it you?”
At her words, my heart knocks powerfully under my half-open shirt.
“I’m okay, baby,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just sit tight, I’ll get us out of here.”
But we’re interrupted. “Well, isn’t this sweet?” Thaddeus Drummond, one of the guys in the three chairs, sneers down at us. I ignore him, rage seething in my form already. He jerks his head toward Trina. “Bring her to the front.”
The goons rush to do his bidding, dragging Trina so that she’s standing right next to me in front of the tribunal. A feeling of relief settles into my bones. God, it’s good to have her close again.
Drummond’s a fucking asshole, just like the two men sitting on either side of him. He’s a huge motherfucker, wearing the best clothes money can buy. His dark eyes are like granite against tanned skin, his mouth curled into a sneer. And lo and behold, beside him sits Costas again, his white blond hair gleaming and cool in the lights. I know the third guy too. Dark hair, cold eyes, broad chest—Shawn Woods, an internet billionaire. The tribunal gazes down at us with cold, assessing gazes.
My girl trembles, her eyes going glassy. But then she lifts that small chin and straightens her narrow shoulders, my heart breaking when I see those gestures. She’s so beautiful, bold, and brave, and I’m the one who did this to her.
Christ, I don’t want to let her down. I can’t. Not again.
“I love you, sweetheart,” I rasp, unable to contain the words anymore. “With everything I am.”
She turns shocked eyes to me, her lips opening to speak, but we’re interrupted.
“You two are pathetic,” Drummond grunts, rolling his eyes. “A real pair of fucking lovebirds.” He snorts then. “We have rules for a reason, Knight. And you fucking broke every single one.”
“All of them,” Shawn Woods echoes, stone-eyed.
Not everything. If I get to keep Trina safe from the shit I put into motion, then that’s enough for me. Nothing else matters.
“What, nothing to say?” Costas speaks up for the first time, brows raised. “You know how serious this is, Knight.” His words don’t come as a surprise. Despite the fact that he helped me out earlier, ultimately, his alliance is with the Club. I can tell that his heart isn’t in punishing me, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s tied to the Billionaires Club, just like I am—or was, at least.
