Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Placing my forearms back on the railing, I watch her make her way through the crowd and back to Sarah. Blake nods a few times, and then they get new drinks.
“Aren’t you two the cutest couple?”
I look over to my right to see Ty has joined me. “She has initiation tomorrow night. Here.”
“What do you need me to do?” he asks without hesitation.
“Keep an eye out for her.”
He nods. “Of course. Just text me when it’s going down, and I’ll make sure I have all eyes on her at all times.”
Pushing off the railing, I reach out my right hand. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” He pulls me in for a man hug and slaps my back. “Come by my office before you call it a night. I’m expecting a phone call that might have an answer to your Matt problem.” Before I can respond to that, he walks back toward his office. And I start to feel sorry for Ty. For what he had and lost. I can’t imagine what he went through. I saw his rage. His anger controlled him for a very long time until he realized he could get his revenge. And he will—soon.
We always do. That’s what we’re trained for.
BLAKELY
GUNNER FOUND US on the dance floor and took my friend away from me, so I took that as my hint that I was done too. I make my way to the top of the stairs to see Ryat still standing in the same spot he has for the past three hours. Just watching me. And I’m hoping he doesn’t kill those two men who came to talk to Sarah and me. They really were nice and just striking up a conversation. They’d never been here and needed directions to the nearest hotel after they left Blackout.
“Come on.” He takes my hand.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he doesn’t head to the apartment that we are currently calling home.
“I have to talk to Ty,” he answers vaguely. Coming to an end of the hallway, he punches in a code on the keypad with his free hand and pushes the now unlocked door open.
Ryat enters and pulls me inside. I freeze when I see a woman slumped down onto a couch. A man straddles her legs on his knees, his dick in her mouth while his hands pin hers to the top of the cushion with one of his while the other is gripping the hair at her crown.
Her eyes meet mine, and she starts mumbling nonsense around his pierced dick. I look away, turning my body into Ryat, who stands next to me unfazed like I am.
What in the fuck?
Why didn’t Ryat knock?
The man picks up his pace, and I hear her start to gag. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder and watch him face fuck her roughly until he shoves it all the way down her throat and growls when he comes.
Pulling away quickly, he slaps his hand over her mouth and orders, “Swallow.” She looks up at him, blinking rapidly while tears run down her face, smearing her makeup. She tries to shake her head, but he prevents it and adds, “If you don’t, you’ll be licking it up.”
I look away again, my face heating with his words. Fuck, I’m drunk and horny. Why are we in here?
“Good girl,” I hear him praise her, and she whimpers.
I know, girl. I get it. Why do we crave that? To be praised for something that others would find degrading. I’d do some sick and twisted shit for Ryat if I knew he’d praise me for it. I want to please Ryat all the time. And when he tells me good girl, it’s like everything I actually did meant something to him.
“Now, go back to work,” the man demands, and I hear him zip up his pants.
The girl runs past me in a blur and out the door.
“Ryat,” the guy greets him excitedly. “That’s the second time you’ve caught me with my pants down lately.” He chuckles.
Second time? Dear Lord, I thought it was bad he didn’t knock this time. When will he learn his lesson?
“Guess I should start knocking,” he jokes, and I refrain from rolling my eyes at him.
“Well, you know I love an audience.”
That makes sense. I turn around and straighten my shoulders, and the guy now sits behind his desk. His black boots are propped up on the surface, and his arms are behind his head, fingers intertwined with a relaxed and carefree look on his face. He’s got facial hair, but it’s not overdone—more like a five o’clock shadow following the curve of his sharp jawline. His black hair— thick and unkempt—looks like he hasn’t cut it in a while. I wonder if he has it that way on purpose or just doesn’t care. His baby-blue eyes are on mine, and he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed that I was embarrassed by what we walked in on.