Chapter 007 The Main Event
Two weeks. Two weeks since they took me, since the last time I saw Jade’s face. Two weeks of this place eating me from the inside out.
I sat on the cracked vinyl bench in the wings, thighs stuck to it from spilled drinks and sweat. The bass thumped through the floorboards, a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. My third set of the night was coming up. The crowd out there was thick, hungry, the kind of packed that made the air feel wet. I could smell them through the curtain—cheap cologne, beer breath, desperation.
My wolf was quiet tonight. Curled up in the back of my skull like a dog that knows the boot is coming. She used to snarl every time Krueger walked past. Now she just watched.
Rage came down the hallway dragging a girl by her upper arm. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Human. No scent of shifter on her at all. Just terror, sharp and acrid, cutting through the club stink. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor as she tried to plant her feet.
“Let me GO!” she yelled, voice cracking. She kicked backward, heel catching Rage in the shin. He didn’t even flinch. Just tightened his grip until her fingers went white.
“Shut it,” he growled, shoving her toward the dressing room door. She scratched at his forearm, nails leaving red lines. He slapped her once, open-handed, the crack loud even over the music. Her head snapped sideways. Blood bloomed at the corner of her mouth.
Vespa stepped out of the shadows, black vial already uncorked in her hand. She smiled like someone’s favorite aunt. “See you on stage, honey… if you last that long.”
The girl lunged, mouth open to scream again. Vespa pressed the vial under her nose. A quick chant—words too fast to catch—and the girl’s eyes rolled. Her body sagged. Vespa caught her before she hit the floor, taped her mouth with a strip of duct tape she pulled from her pocket like it was nothing. Rage hauled the limp body the rest of the way into the dressing room.
I looked down at my hands. They weren’t shaking. That was the worst part. They should have been shaking.
The stage manager barked my name. I stood up. Walked out under the lights. Did the set on autopilot—hips, spin, drop, smile like my life depended on it. Because it did.
When I came off, the new girl was already on. They’d dressed her in one of the spare costumes—cheap red satin two sizes too small. She moved like a marionette with half the strings cut. Arms too loose, eyes vacant. The men loved it. Threw bills. Whistled. One reached up and grabbed her ankle. She didn’t even flinch.
I stood in the hallway and watched through the gap in the curtain. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it back down. My wolf lifted her head for the first time all night, hackles bristling. Not at the girl. At me. At how I just stood there.
Darlene found me like that. Her heels clicked slow, deliberate. She smelled like sage and something metallic, like old blood baked into cloth.
“Drink this,” she said, holding out a small glass vial. The liquid inside was dark green, thick.
I backed up until the wall hit my shoulder blades. “No.”
She tilted her head. “Drink.”
My arm lifted on its own. Fingers closed around the vial. I watched it happen like it was someone else’s hand. The glass touched my lips. Bitter herbs flooded my tongue, burning all the way down. My knees buckled. Darlene caught my elbow, steadying me like a mother guiding a toddler.
“Good girl,” she murmured. “Lucky night, Sloane. Tonight, you’re the main event.”
The potion spread through me like warm syrup. Thoughts slowed. Panic dulled to a distant hum. My body felt floaty, obedient. I hated it. I hated how much I needed the numbness.
She steered me to the mirror. Handed me the outfit—black leather straps that barely qualified as clothing. I changed without being told. The leather was cold against my skin. My wolf whined, low and mournful, but even she couldn’t fight the magic.
Darlene checked the buckles, adjusted a strap across my hip. “Perfect.” She pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open with a soft ding.
The ride up was silent except for my heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Drugged.
Second floor. Private suite. The door was heavy, soundproof. Darlene knocked once. Krueger opened it.
He looked me over, slow smile spreading. “There’s my favorite slave.”
Behind him, the demon sat on the leather couch like he owned the building. Which, knowing Krueger’s deals, he probably did. Vorgath. Nearly seven feet tall, slate-gray skin stretched tight over muscle. Vertical red eyes. Fangs that showed when he spoke. Black claws tapping the armrest. Braided black hair threaded with gold rings through his nose.
The room smelled like him—brimstone and something sweet-rotten, like fruit left too long in the sun.
Krueger closed the door behind me. Locked it.
“Strip,” he said.
My hands moved. Buckles undone. Leather peeled away. I stood naked under the low lights. The air was cold on my skin. Goosebumps rose.
Vorgath leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Dance.”
There was a pole in the corner. I walked to it. Wrapped my legs. Spun slow. The metal was icy against my palms. My body moved through the routine I’d done a thousand times. Muscle memory. The potion made it easy. Too easy.
Krueger sat beside the demon, drink in hand. “See how well she’s trained? Took months to break that spirit.”
Vorgath’s red eyes tracked every movement. “Scars are nice. Tells a story.”
I kept spinning. Inside, I screamed. My wolf clawed at the inside of my ribs, frantic, but the potion held her down too.
“Crawl,” Vorgath said.
I dropped to my knees. Crawled across the carpet. Stopped between his spread thighs.
He unzipped slowly. The cock that sprang free was gray-black, thick, ribbed along the underside. Spiral shape. Double row of metal piercings glinting. It smelled like smoke and musk.
“Worship it.”
My mouth opened. I took him in. The piercings dragged against my tongue. He tasted like ash and salt. His clawed hand settled on the back of my head, guiding. Not gentle.
Krueger watched, stroking himself through his pants. “Yes, get my cock good and wet, slave. You’re going to need it.”
Vorgath pulled me off with a wet pop. Lifted me like I weighed nothing. Slammed me down onto his lap. The spiral head pushed in, stretching, burning. Those ribs and piercings dragged inside me with every thrust. He pistoned hard, fast. My body rocked. The potion kept me loose, open, even as pain flared.
He leaned close, fangs grazing my ear. “I smell it. Your cunt likes this.”
Shame flooded me, hot and sick. Because he wasn’t wrong. My body betrayed me, slick and clenching around the invasion. My wolf howled in fury, but the sound never left my throat.
Krueger stood, pants open. He jerked himself fast, eyes locked on my face. When Vorgath growled and came—hot, thick pulses deep inside—Krueger followed, painting my face and chest. The slap came right after, sharp across my cheek.
“Slow,” Krueger sneered. “You’re nothing. Just a hole for men better than you.”
Vorgath lifted me off him like discarding trash. Semen ran down my thighs. He tucked himself away, already bored. “Perhaps next time.”
They left together, laughing about shipment schedules. The door clicked shut.
I sat there a minute. Maybe longer. The potion was wearing off. Feeling came back in waves—ache between my legs, sting on my cheek, sticky mess cooling on my skin.
I stood. Walked to the private bathroom. Turned the shower scalding. Scrubbed until my skin was raw. The water ran pink, then clear. I watched it swirl down the drain.
Dressed in the spare robe hanging on the door. Soft terrycloth. Almost gentle. Almost.
Elevator down. The mirror on the back wall showed me what they’d left behind—bruised cheek, swollen lips, eyes too old for my face.
But under the exhaustion, something flickered.
Jade.
If he came—if he really came—I’d burn this place to the ground. I’d watch every beam fall. I’d dance in the ashes.
The doors opened on the backstage hallway. Music still thumped. The new girl was probably still on stage, moving like a ghost.
I stepped out. My wolf lifted her head again. This time, she didn’t whine.
She waited.