Chapter 1 #2
He called the school, cut off my cards, arranged for me to be “escorted” to New York by one of his friends, a shifter with too many teeth and a wife who smiled like a barracuda.
I never saw Jess after that. I don’t know if he tried to find me.
I liked to think he did, but I liked to think a lot of things that weren’t true.
I remembered the call from my little sister Brie, the only person who still cared what happened to me.
She’d whispered, “Dad’s losing it. He said if you ever try to come back, he’ll—” but she never finished the sentence.
Brie was sixteen, soft as cream cheese and just as breakable.
I’d promised her I wouldn’t make waves. I’d promised her I’d survive.
MATE. My wolf wasn’t letting it go.
Then I was at home on summer break after two years at Julliard.
My father was on a rampage. He’d apparently been up to something illegal.
A Ponzi scheme, from the sounds of things.
I was so hopeful they would send his ass to prison and we’d be free of him.
But apparently he’d found a money man in the form of the Morgantown Alpha, Waylon Steiner.
I had just come through the living room and come face to face with the Alpha.
I knew from the look on his face that I was in trouble.
An hour later, my father called me into his office.
He told me he’d worked out a deal with Mr. Steiner.
I was to leave Julliard immediately and go to work for the Alpha, dancing in his club.
After three years, my father’s debt would be paid.
I lost it, screamed at the men that I would not.
I was no whore. My father slapped me so hard my teeth rattled.
Waylon grabbed my father and told him he’d never touch me again.
What a joke. Like he was my savior. Then Waylon told me it would be me or my sister.
And here I am three years later. I wish dancing were the only thing that were required of me.
I blinked, and time snapped back. My hands had stopped shaking, but the sick cold in my chest lingered.
I put on fresh lipstick, adjusted the straps of my top, and braced myself for the inevitable.
Either Jess would find me, or he wouldn’t.
Either way, I was going to finish my shift and keep my head down.
Angel poked her head in again. “You sure you’re good? Waylon wants to see you after your next set.”
I swallowed the bile in my throat. “Yeah. I’m good.”
She closed the door, and I stared at my reflection, searching for any trace of the girl who used to have dreams. I found only the ghost of her. I tried to smile, but my eyes were still wrong.
On my way out, I forced myself to look at the crowd. Thank the Goddess, he was gone.
The dressing room was empty except for me and a pile of half-shed lingerie.
I scrubbed my face in the little metal sink and fished out the old concealer stick from my purse, erasing what was left of my tears.
No point in crying now. If Waylon saw I’d been upset, he’d have questions, and I never had answers he liked.
I didn’t hear the door open. I only smelled the cigarettes and the sharp, medicinal tang of Waylon’s aftershave, the one he ordered special from London and wore like a threat. By the time I looked up, he was inside, and the door clicked shut behind him, no knock, no warning.
That was always his move—walk in, never ask, never announce. Just appear and let you feel the gravity of his presence. His eyes found me in the mirror, and I dropped my gaze, reflexive as a kicked dog.
“You making me proud tonight?” he said, voice slick and dead at the center.
“Yes, sir,” I said, but it came out so thin I doubted he even heard it.
He stood behind me, so close I could see his reflection ghosting over my shoulder.
He wore an Italian suit, the blue silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the anchor tattoo on his collarbone, his blonde hair twisted back like some fallen angel from a magazine ad.
He ran his hand over my ass, slow, proprietary.
“You had a rough start, I hear,” he said, smile not touching his eyes. “You need to get your head right.”
I gripped the edge of the counter and nodded. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He pressed his lips to my ear, just hard enough to remind me of the teeth beneath. “You’re going to the VIP room. Right now.”
My body reacted before my mind did. I stood and straightened my skirt, but my vision whited out at the edges. The familiar numbness crept down my arms and legs—my brain’s way of padding me against the blow that always came after.
Waylon yanked open the door and watched as I slipped past, his hand low on my back, steering. I barely felt the club as I walked through it: neon streaking across the floor, music so loud it blurred into a single high scream, the mix of sweat and cleaning fluid and rotgut tequila.
Waylon led me through the heavy curtain into the back hallway, to the only private room with a real lock.
He always kept it cold, and I shivered, goosebumps crawling over my bare arms and legs.
The pole in the center gleamed under black light, the only bright thing in a cave of velvet and ruined dreams.
He shut the door behind us and twisted the lock. For a heartbeat I thought maybe he’d talk first, like last time, but he just sank into the leather couch and fixed me with that dead shark stare.
“You were off tonight, my little slave,” he said. “You embarrass me in front of my guests?”
“No, sir,” I said, careful not to let my chin rise.
He stretched out his legs, leather shoes crossed at the ankle, and folded his hands like a judge. “You’re going to make it up to me now. I want you on that pole. Naked. Then you’re going to crawl to me, take my cock out, and swallow it. All of it. You do it right and I’ll forgive your little mood.”
I swallowed, but my mouth was dry as sand.
“Yes, Alpha,” I whispered.
My wolf thrashed inside, howling rage, but she was caged.
I moved to the pole and peeled off my top, letting it fall to the carpet.
My bottoms followed. I was cold, trembling, but Waylon’s gaze never left my skin.
I spun, slow, the way he liked, arching my back and letting my hair fall loose.
He’d trained me for this—how to move, how to make it look like surrender when all you felt was terror.
After two turns, he snapped his fingers.
“Crawl.”
I dropped to my hands and knees, the rug biting into my skin, and crawled the length of the room. I could see his cock straining against his pants, but he didn’t touch himself, just waited for me to do it. When I reached his feet, I looked up. His face was flushed with a mean kind of pleasure.
He undid his zipper, slow, and let his large cock free. He was always rough at the start—one hand in my hair, pushing me down till my lips mashed against the base. I gagged, but held on, doing my best to breathe through my nose and ignore the panic that wanted to make me bolt.
He rocked my head on him, steady, saying nothing, not even breathing loud. The only sound was the wet click of my mouth and the soft beat of the music being piped into the room.
“Take it all the way down your throat little slave. Swallow my cock. I want my cum down your throat and then all over your tits.” He growled.
My wolf yowled. I felt her claw at my insides, begging for escape, but I shoved her down. This was how you survived. You did what you were told and hoped it ended fast. He pushed his dick further down my throat. I wanted to grab at his thighs so he’d pull back but I didn’t dare.
“Get ready, girl. Yeah, that’s good. I like to see your throat bulge as you swallow me down. You have finally learned how to give a decent blowjob.” His laugh was cruel, and I felt like I was suffocating.
He came with a grunt, jetting down my throat. He finally pulled out, his hand pumping his cock as jets of his cum still shot out across my face and chest. I coughed, but didn’t dare wipe my mouth. I kept my eyes on the floor. He leaned back, sated, his pants still unzipped.
“I don’t know what you were thinking about tonight, but you better clear your head, slave.” He tangled a hand in my hair and jerked my head up. “You make me a lot of money, Harper,” he said. “If you ever think about running, you know what I’ll do to your sister.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Now clean your cum covered self up my little slut. I won’t send anyone else to you tonight. I’ll have Rage drive you home, and I’ll check on you when I get in. Remember slave, you are always being watched.”
My head was still looking at my hands in my lap as cum dripped down to them. “I know, sir.” And I did. My tiny apartment in Waylon’s building was covered in surveillance cameras. I had no privacy.
He stood straightening his cuffs. “Next time you’re on stage, I better see you smile, Harper. That’s why they pay you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left without another word. I sat there naked and cold, the taste of him thick in my mouth, and tried not to cry.
I knew Jess and his friend had left. I looked for him when I made my way back to my dressing room.
I was glad he’d gone. I hadn’t wanted him to see what I’d really become.
But deep down inside, I hoped he’d come back for me.