Chapter 12
Gabriella
Now
Make sure they know what they’re doing, Gabby. If they fail me, you’ve failed me. You don’t want that again, do you?
I shook my head, like that might be enough to dislodge his voice.
It wasn’t.
It never was.
All I could do was plaster a fake smile on my lips and pretend that I wasn’t dying inside.
“Okay, ladies,” I called, clapping my hands together to get their attention.
They all turned their scared, tired eyes towards me, looking at me with something akin to hope.
Like I had answers. Like I wasn’t just another woman who learned how to endure.
“We know what today is. It’s the monthly rally for the Riders.
That means members from up and down the country will be coming here to participate. And it’s your job to keep them happy.”
Keep them happy…
The words sat heavy on my tongue. We all knew what that meant. I fucking hated that I had a part in this. That these ladies saw me as some sort of mistress. I had even heard some of them whisper that I was a trafficker. And, I guess, they weren’t wrong.
Not one of them was here because they wanted to be. These women were desperate, they had fallen on hard times. They were familiar with the club either because they had bought drugs from one of the runners, or they were one of the working girls on the streets.
Nico had selected each and every one of them, knowing there would be no one looking for them if things went wrong tonight. And there was a high chance that things would go wrong.
I’d heard the women whispering about me. About what happened behind the closed doors of Nico’s bedroom. About the girls who never left, and how I never intervened.
And they all knew they could be the next girl on that bed. The next girl to never return.
And I would be the witness.
I was as much to blame as Nico for the fate they were about to endure. The difference between me and Nico didn’t mean much from where they were standing. But I couldn’t help them. Kindness gets noticed here. And anything that gets noticed gets punished.
I knew that better than most, and I still had the scars—both physical and mental—to prove it.
“What will we need to do?” one of the women called out to me.
“Whatever is asked of you,” I replied, forcing a happy tone to my voice.
A few of them shifted. One shook her head, just slightly, like she was trying to deny what she’d already understood. One of them—young, too young—kept watching me like she was trying to memorise something. Like if she studied me hard enough, she might figure out how to survive this.
Nico usually had something on each of these women. Whether it be withholding their supply. Whether it be threatening to leak information to their families, or simply “demoting” them on the streets—it was common knowledge that some areas in the Rider territory were safer to work than others.
It didn’t matter what the reason was. It only mattered that they were here, and they all knew they had to do what was asked, or else things would be infinitely worse.
I kept my voice steady, even when theirs shook. Because, like it or not, this was my job now.
“It is an honour to be picked by one of the patched members. To begin with, all you will need to do is dress the part. Make sure your outfit, your hair, and your makeup is maintained to the highest standard. Stay away from any alcohol. Make eye contact, cater to their needs. Eventually,” I swallowed heavily, a dozen memories flashing behind my eyes—hands, voices, the weight of being held in place.
“Eventually one of them will take the lead, and they’ll show you what they want from you.”
“And what if—”
“You never say no,” I spoke up, interrupting whoever had attempted to speak.
“There may be things happening tonight that make you uncomfortable. That push you to your limits. But you do not say no. Remove that word from your vocabulary. You can recover from whatever they do. Dead women cannot. Make that your mantra, repeat it to yourself.” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“And what will you be doing?” one of the women spat at me, her lips curling in disgust.
“I will be by Nico’s side. Where I belong,” I said, the lie smooth and practiced, meeting her eyes and hoping that she understood. Hoping that she recognised that I was as lost here as they were. That my choices were taken just as theirs were.
The threat of Nico hung heavy behind every word I spoke. He didn’t need to be in the room. He never did. He was in every decision I made.
He had seen to that—carefully, deliberately, piece by piece.
I drew in a slow breath, letting my gaze move over them again. Counting. Assessing. The same way I had been taught.
“Pair up,” I instructed, gesturing towards the open space. “You’ll practice approach first. Nothing else matters if you get that wrong.”
There was hesitation. Of course there was. No one wanted to move first. No one wanted to be seen trying.
“No one notices the quiet ones,” I added, softer this time. “And the quiet ones don’t get picked. And those who don’t get picked… don’t get to stay.” I emphasised the last word, hoping they understood the meaning behind it.
They could think me cruel. They could think me heartless. But, in my own way, in the only way I could, I was giving them armour. Something to protect themselves with.
Sticking within my boundaries, of course.
The cameras in this room ensured I kept within the rules.
I don’t know what caused the change. Whether it be my words, or something in my gaze or… who knew. But it worked. They sifted, pairing off, following my commands with tense shoulder and unsure movements.
They were like prey, learning how to walk into a predator’s den without flinching.
And God help them if they failed.
God help you, too, Gabby. You know the price of failure…
I shook my head again, not wanting to revisit those moments.
I stepped forward, circling the women slowly.
“Posture,” I corrected, tapping lightly against one girl’s shoulder until she straightened. “You don’t shrink. You don’t look scared. Even if you are.”
Even if you are.
My fingers lingered there a second too long before I pulled them back, curling them into my palm.
“Again.”
They tried. Failed. Tried again.
I watched one of them attempt a smile—too wide, too forced, eyes glassy with panic.
“No,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Not like that.”
She froze.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my tone to soften.
“Relax your mouth. Let it come naturally. They can tell when you’re faking it.”
He could always tell.
The memory hit before I could stop it, breaking through all the barriers I had erected to keep them at bay.
A hand gripping my jaw. Hard enough to bruise. Forcing my face into something more pleasing. Something more acceptable.
“If you’re going to lie to them, at least make it believable.”
My breathing picked up. My palms grew sweaty. When the room started to spin, I knew I was on the brink of losing control. Of blowing this. I swallowed it down, straightening my spine, forcing composure into my body.
“Watch me,” I said.
I forced the expression onto my face—soft and inviting, seemingly completely effortless. The version of me that didn’t exist anywhere outside of rooms like this.
Because this is the room I had been trained in. Just like each of them. But I hadn’t had the luxury of a mentor. I had learned on the job and paid a heavy price for my failures.
“Eye contact,” I continued, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “But don’t challenge them. There’s a difference. You hold it just long enough to make them feel seen… then you look away first.”
Control. Always control.
Even when you have none.
I moved between them again, adjusting hands, tilting chins, repositioning bodies like they were mannequins instead of people.
“Hands matter,” I said. “Keep them visible. Soft. Not clenched. These men are always looking for danger. For trouble. Don’t give them any reason to think you’re inviting those things in.”
One girl’s fingers were trembling, and I stilled them gently, shaking my head at her.
“They don’t like shaking,” I murmured. “It makes them think you’ll break.”
And if they think you’ll break… they push until you do.
I stepped back before I could think about that too much.
“Walk.” They hesitated again. “Walk,” I repeated. “I need to make sure your walk is correct. Light. Dainty. If you stomp around the place, they will zero in on you.”
This time they obeyed with slow, careful steps, each movement measured and steady.
But they still weren’t quite right.
I watched the way their bodies moved—too rigid, too aware. Like they were trying to escape their own skin.
I knew that feeling well.
I lived in it.
“And when they touch you—”
The words caught for half a second. Just a half. But it was enough to have the women stilling, hearing the hesitation.
My ribs ached suddenly, a dull, familiar throb that never really went away. Not since that night… not since Nico had arrived…
I shifted my weight subtly, masking the memory, shoving it back into the box I swore I would never open.
I let my hand drift to the edge of the table beside me, like I was just leaning rather than steadying myself, needing to feel something solid beneath my fingers, something real.
Needing to not feel as though the world was falling from beneath my feet.
“When they touch you, you don’t pull away,” I finished, my voice strong. I wouldn’t allow it to shake. My fear would manifest ten times over in them. I knew what they would think—if I was scared, what the fuck did they have to look forward to?
“You don’t flinch. You don’t tense. You let it happen.”
Because fighting makes it worse.
Because resisting makes it last longer.
Because saying no—
I cut that thought off before it could finish.
One of the girls stopped walking, her sob ringing out into the room. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice sounding terrified.
Everything seemed to stop all at once, and each pair of eyes flicked in my direction. Waiting for me to say something. Waiting for me to acknowledge the fear.
Hoping I could do something about it.
Hope was the cruellest fucking thing in here. None of us had it, and yet we were all reaching out for it.
I met her eyes, seeing how terrified she was. Seeing how she was on the brink of madness. And I did all I knew how.
I hit her with the truth.
“Well then,” I said, holding her gaze. “You die.”
Gasps erupted around me, but what else could I do?
I had once thought about it. I had once entertained the notion of dragging the women out of here, consequences be damned.
But then the blinking red light of the camera would catch my attention. And I see it.
Not the fear. Not the women. I’d see him.
The way he would smile. The way he would tilt his head like he was amused. The way he would toy with people before he executed them.
He’d make an example out of her if she didn’t comply. There was no point sugar coating it. And he’d do it in front of them all.
The rally would still go ahead, just with one less woman to please the men. The more women, the less work each of them had to do. The sooner they realised they were a team, the easier this would be on them.
And then, when the rally was over, he’d come to me. And either my body would pay the price, or, if he really wanted to prove a point, he’d bring out his leverage.
My mother.
“The sooner you all realise your old life is over, the happier you will be. You have each been chosen as a club bunny for a reason. You can make the most of it, or you can die at their hands. The choice is yours.”
Faces around me crumpled, and I felt something in my chest crack alongside them.
But I didn’t move. I didn’t offer any comfort. Didn’t soften for them.
And it was then that I saw realisation dawn on some of them.
You don’t survive a place like this by asking questions. You survive it by learning which ones not to ask, and doing as you’re told.