What the fuck was she doing in here? Anita hadn’t even worked a month yet, and hadn’t been moved to waitress. She was a goddamned infant, and Tennessee had the nerve to allow her in The Tasting Room already. And on a night like tonight? I was spitting mad and seeing red. If it weren’t for the fact that Tennessee ran a tight ship and kept all the girls in line, and Spiked Roses had truly benefitted since hiring him, I would have fired his ass right there on the spot. Goddamn idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?

But here Anita was, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Removing her from the room would draw attention, and it also appeared that Tennessee didn’t have the same number of women attending as he usually did for the other tastings. But considering the theme, I didn’t blame the women one bit. It was a night that would push most boundaries.

Which was why Anita Kyle—our freakin’ baby—didn’t need to be here. She was just starting to learn how to walk in our world at Spiked Roses. Now she was about to enter a full on sprint for her life.

There were ten men in the room tonight, and for some unknown reason, it drove me crazy picturing Anita with any one of them. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t fucking ready. Why in the hell did Tennessee not see that?

I grabbed a glass of whiskey and walked over toward the window, making myself inconspicuous near the long velvet red curtains, observing the room. The men were in tuxedos, exuding wealth from their pores. The women were draped in silks and satins, exuding desperation and need for something better, something more exciting, something different than what they currently had.

Some of these men were real pricks, and my anger sizzled beneath the surface just knowing they were in the room. My hope was that one of the Spiked Roses owners would find Anita interesting and contract her, rather than some of these men stalking around the room, hunting their prey. Maybe I could convince Harley or Victor to contract her. Feed them some line about having to sample the goods or something. At least then I would know that Anita wouldn’t end up with the likes of some of these dicks. We had mobsters, killers, and men I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of the table from, mingling about. For some reason, this tasting seemed to bring out the darkest of souls.

Tennessee walked over to me. He shouldn’t have. I was not approachable, but I also didn’t expect Tennessee to see that. I was the one who read people. And right now, I could read in the eyes of many that they all saw Anita.

She intrigued them.

Fresh blood in the water.

“You look pissed, Kenneth.”

“Why in the hell would you allow the new girl to be at this tasting? It’s too much.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to, but she insisted. And frankly, I think there is some darkness in that girl’s soul. Didn’t you tell me she likes the thorns? This might be right up her alley.”

“No.”

Tennessee looked at me confused. “Do you want me to escort her out?”

I looked over at where she stood, in a long silk black dress—The Tasting Room attire for the event. She leaned up against the vintage wine barrels that we used as tables for the room and sipped from a flute of champagne. Her hands were shaking, but I could see that she was trying to conceal that fact. She kept nibbling her lip and glancing at the double doors as if she was planning her escape.

Yes, she should run. She should run as fast as she could.

I wondered if she felt like the red walls were closing in on her? If the large black vases with spikes jutting out of the glass tempted her to use one for a weapon? Did she want to kick off her pumps and run barefoot along the marble floor so she could flee faster than anyone could catch her? Was this elegant room lit by a large crystal chandelier her dark and dank cell? Did she see the nightmare lurking behind all the red roses?

Her weight shifted from one black heel to the other. Though she stood there with a soft smile on her face, making eye contact with the men who walked around, I could see her body wanted to flee. She was screaming from the inside. I could hear her silent pleas. I could hear them so clearly.

Just as I was about to tell Tennessee to get her the fuck out of there, a man walked up to her.

“Who is that?” I asked Tennessee, trying hard to identify the man wearing the tuxedo.

“Marco Nunez. Head of the Nunez family. They run a large gun ring out of Rome, Venice and New York. He’s in New Orleans for a few weeks, but tonight is his first time at Spiked Roses. He’s using a guest pass to sample us out.”

“How did he get the invite for this tasting?”

“He’s an acquaintance of Harley Crow.”

Of course he was. Harley knew all the assholes.

Marco’s hand touched Anita’s and I wanted to chop it off from his wrist. He was talking to her with a sinister smile, and I could see that whatever he was saying was making Anita even more nervous. Her eyes showed fear, and the way her chest moved revealed she was breathing rapidly. She was a deer caught in the headlights. And now that Marco was over there, touching her, I couldn’t send Harley or Victor to her anyway. Not unless Marco left the wine barrel where they stood. As of right now—per the tasting rules—Marco had claim on her. No one else could cut in unless Marco left to go sample someone else.

Please, motherfucker, go sample someone else.

“Does Anita know the details of the contract? Does she know the term of the contract is for two weeks? Two fucking weeks?” I asked between clenched teeth, fighting the urge to storm over there and break up the little party. Marco wasn’t doing anything wrong or breaking The Tasting Room rules, but I wanted to fucking kill the man. My gut warned me, and my gut was never wrong. But I couldn’t exactly go over there and pull Anita away. I had the club to think about and the other members. A scene of any sort wouldn’t be appropriate or good for business. Especially when the man was doing nothing different than every other man in the room. He was just sampling the goods so to speak.

“Yes. I went over it, and then also gave each of the women the contract to read for themselves before entering. She didn’t as much as blink or hesitate. If I’d sensed she felt she had to do this and was scared shitless, I wouldn’t have allowed it. But, Kenneth, I’m telling you, she wanted to. You wouldn’t think from looking at her, but that girl has some darker tastes.”

I watched, studied Marco’s every move. The bastard wanted her. I could see it in his eyes. If he for even a second walked away to even have a piss, I would swoop in and contract her myself. This wasn’t right. I could feel it. I could see it. I knew it.

Tennessee walked away, leaving me as I stewed and stalked my prey. One move away, and I would strike. One fucking move.

But he never did. He remained.

And then it happened. He motioned for Tennessee to walk over to the wine barrel with the contract. They were about to sign the fucking contract. Tennessee glanced over my way for a split second, but there was nothing I could do. He then glanced at Anita who swallowed hard and glanced at the double red doors one last time before offering a half-hearted smile to Marco and nodded. Marco pulled out a pen from the inside pocket of his tux and signed the contract, then handed the pen to Anita.

She took it with shaky hands. Why the fuck could no one see her hands were shaking?

She signed.

She signed the fucking contract.

Tennessee pulled out a small dagger that we used in The Tasting Room for that special macabre touch, and pricked both Marco’s and Anita’s index finger. And just like that, as both parties stamped their bloody finger next to their signatures… Anita Kyle was bought.

* * *

I walked into his study, preparing myself for what was going to happen. Marco had a business call he had to make when we arrived in his southern plantation house. A house that reminded me of Gone With The Wind, but one that would house vampires. I pictured the paranormal living in these halls. Evil lurked everywhere. I could feel it.

Marco had been a bastard for making me wait. Wait and think. Wait and fear what would come.

Wait.

But now my fate was set. I didn’t know exactly what was in store, but if I went in expecting a nightmare, I would at least have a shield of some sort. Eyes wide open, even though I wanted to squeeze them shut.

I had always been like that even as a child. I remembered that outside my window a shingle broke loose from the ramshackle of our roof. I hadn’t known it at the time, however, so at night when the desert wind howled across the flat landscape, that damn shingle would bang and scrape on the glass. Being young, my imagination would run wild. Was it a monster? A witch with her bony fingers running along the glass as she cast an evil spell on me? Was it a killer with a clown mask getting ready to kill and torture my tiny body? Whatever it was, it was enough to put me in a panic each night the wind picked up. But I never pulled the covers over my head. I never cried out and called for my pappy or meemaw. I would look at that window and try to figure it out. Face the nightmare head on. I wanted to see my demon. If death was coming, then I wanted to see the blackness of his eyes first.

So, when I knocked on the door and heard Marco’s voice telling me to enter, I was prepared for the worst thing imaginable. He wasn’t going to fuck me. That much was for sure, and that was all I knew because the contract said he couldn’t.

No vaginal penetration by the penis.

I had read those words over and over to be sure. But so many other things were on the table that he could do. That he would do. He was going to want it rough. To make me cry. There would be no kindness. He had signed on to buy an animal.

I was that animal.

He wanted me to be his prey so he could play predator. It was all an act.

Yes, all an act.

If I kept telling myself that this was all an act, then I would survive this. Like a horror movie. It wasn’t real. All make believe. All actors and fake blood. Yes, I had to keep telling myself that.

When I crossed the threshold of the room, I took account of the scene of my own horror flick. Books lined the shelves all around. They even had one of those moving ladders so you could reach the very top. By the huge fireplace sat oversized leather chairs separated by a chess set with intricately carved pieces. Oriental rugs were spread across cherry wood floors, with the largest rug sitting beneath a huge desk. One of those kinds of desks you see in the movies that the rich people always owned. Like the mobsters, or the presidents. The desk was huge. Massive. If it weren’t for what I knew was about to happen in this room, I would have loved it. It smelled of rich tobacco, which oddly reminded me of my pappy’s pipe. Though he smoked nothing that was rich.

“Come in and close the door behind you,” Marco said from behind his desk. He sat on a large leather office chair that reminded me of a king perched on his throne. “Remove your dress, but keep your heels on. I want to see the long, toned curve of your legs.”

I did as he asked, shedding my dress and my undergarments without taking the time to focus on what I was actually doing, and slowly made my way to where he sat, inches from his desk. There were chairs in front of him, but I didn’t dare sit without being told to do so. I was naked and waited for his next command. I knew the only way I would survive these two weeks was by doing exactly as the man asked and desired. I had to check my pride and spine at the door. Hell, I’d checked it the minute I’d pricked my finger and stamped my blood next to my signature.

He got up from his chair, placed his hand on my bare shoulder and pushed me down to my knees. “I like my women broken.”

I stared but said nothing in return.

“I like my women to come to me an empty shell so that I can fill them with all my fucked up darkness.”

Again, I remained silent, but I also didn’t feel he wanted a response.

“Have you ever been beaten?” he asked simply as if that were a normal question to ask.

“No.”

“Have you ever been choked? Pissed on? Locked in a cage?”

“No.”

“Fucked so hard in the ass you have no choice but to scream?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He towered over where I knelt at his feet.

“Is that what you plan to do to me tonight?” I asked in a soft voice. I had to prepare. Steady my terrified soul. I hadn’t even processed what the next two weeks had in store. I had to survive tonight first.

Focus on the end game. Focus on the money. Focus on all it could give Virgie, and all it could give me. I would not be trailer trash any longer. I would not be hungry. I would never need again. Focus. Focus. Focus.

I could do this. I could do this.

I could fucking do this.

“Yes,” he answered frankly. “Though I may not beat you if you do everything I ask, and follow each of my commands the first time. I hate repeating myself.”

I fiddled with my hands in my lap, but I did not cry. I did not plead. I wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of seeing how afraid I was. Though maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to see my tears and lick them off my face. Maybe by the time the night was over, I would be sobbing and begging for pity.

I could do this. I could do this.

Fuck, what had I done?

I looked up into his pitch black eyes, blanketed with thick lashes. I couldn’t read him. Stone. He was pure stone. He walked over to a window and stared out of it for several long, agonizing moments. Marco’s lack of emotion unnerved me. He seemed angry, though I was giving him no reason to be so.

His action of staring out the window unnerved me. His back was to me. I could escape if I really wanted to. There was enough distance between us. I should get up and leave. I shouldn’t go through with this. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I staying? My brain, reason, and common sense were all battling it out.

How long would I kneel here?

Should I run? I could sense it was going to begin.

He was going to begin. What would he do?

I could feel hell rolling in like a thick fog. It bristled against my nerves. It was coming. It was coming.

Marco stormed over to where I kneeled and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me off the ground and throwing me against the wall. Pictures fell from where they hung, shattering glass all around me.

I gasped, but did not scream. I whimpered, but did not cry. I shook but did not crumple.

He pressed his mouth to mine, thrusting his tobacco-tasting tongue past my lips, tempting me to bite, to shove, to struggle against such an intimate touch. I was prepared to be sexually tormented and treated like an animal, but not a kiss. Don’t fucking kiss me!

He grabbed my breast and broke away from the kiss so I could watch his lecherous expression. He pinched my nipple hard, and waited—staring at me. Was he waiting for a cry, a scream, something I was not willing to give? His pupils dilated and his mouth opened slightly revealing his yellow-stained teeth. He pinched my nipple even harder, showing his determination to hear my cry of pain. He wanted me to hurt. He wanted to hear it, see it.

Feeling as if I were losing this battle, I finally cried out, hating the sound of my weakness.

Satisfied, Marco lowered his hand and pressed his finger into my pussy without any warning at all. My lack of wetness made the invasion painful, and when he forced my legs wider, I cried out again in response. I wasn’t going to survive this. I would lose my fucking mind.

I was a fool for doing this.

I was a fucking fool.

Thrusting his finger up inside me as deeply as he could, he growled, “You should be fucking terrified of what I am going to do to you.” He thrust again, and then again. Each thrust harder than the last. The smell of him, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the way his spittle hit my cheek as he spoke, all brought bile to the back of my throat.

How could I have thought I would maybe even like this? I wanted to walk along the edge of darkness laced with pain, but this was just disgusting. Nothing about this had any erotic element. I was nothing more than a piece of garbage discarded in a decomposing junkyard, and the smell was suffocating.

I cried out loudly—no longer caring about my dignity—with each aggressive movement of his revolting hand. When would this end?

Two weeks.

I would die before the night was over let alone survive two weeks. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this.

I had signed the devil’s contract and stamped it with my blood. I had no one to blame but myself.

With his other hand, Marco grabbed my throat and began to squeeze. “I could kill you right now. If it weren’t for that contract stating no permanent harm could come to you… I could kill you with my bare hands.”

With rage in his eyes, he flipped me around to face the wall.

I cried, I whimpered, but I did not beg. No words could come even if I wanted to. Disgust swallowed me up whole.

He slapped my ass hard, forcing a squeal of pain to burst from my lips.

Taking a hold of my hair again, yanking hard at the scalp, he swatted my ass fiercely again, and then again. Normally, I liked to be spanked. I liked the delightful sting of each erotic swat. But this was different. His palm was like the branding iron marking me forever. Marking me with this nightmare. Destroying me. Ruining any chance of having sexual desire again.

He continued to spank my ass with a brutal force. How his hand could have so much painful strength, I did not know.

I would not win this battle. I was afraid of this man, and he would know it by the time the night was over if he didn’t already see it in my eyes, hear it in my cries. I thought I would be strong, but I failed.

But I held on to one fact. He wanted to break me. And yes, I was broken, but I had been broken long before him. I was nothing more than a million crushed opaque pieces in pitch blackness, and there truly wasn’t enough in me to break any further.

Though he would try. I knew he would try.

Hating myself more with each spank of my ass, I couldn’t take it anymore. And just as I was about to scream for mercy, he shoved me down to the ground, looming over me. “Look at me,” he shouted. “You are mine now. I own you. You are my slave, my pet, my animal to do with as I please. Do you understand that?”

I stared up at him, desperate to cover my naked body from his glare. I was done. No more. I couldn’t take this anymore. I was a complete fool to think I could do this. No money was worth this sick humiliation.

“Answer me,” he demanded. “Do you understand that I can do to you whatever I want?”

Shaking with fear and fury blended, I answered, “Yes.”

Fuck! Why did I say that?

My tiny naked frame lay crumpled on the floor, still pressed up against the wall, yet I didn’t scream no. I didn’t demand he stop. There was no safe word from my lips. It was in that contract. I could use it. I believe it was red. Yes, red. All I had to do was scream red and this was all over. Scream red, you goddamn idiot.

But I didn’t.

He slapped me across the face once, then again. Bending down, he grabbed me by the neck and squeezed, staring into my eyes. What was this? Who was this man? Would he kill me? Was this contract just a way to trick me into his house so he could murder me? Was he a serial killer?

Luckily, he released me as I struggled for breath. But it wasn’t over. No, it was far from over.

Marco unzipped his pants. The time had come. He was going to fuck me with more than just his finger. But he couldn’t. Not in my pussy. Shit. It was either my mouth or my ass. I couldn’t decide what would be worse.

I broke my stare into his ruthless eyes to look at his cock… if that is what you would even call it. The saggy flesh was semi-hard. Thin. Small. His balls were almost larger than his dick. Pathetic excuse for a man.

Now was the time. He was going to fuck me in the mouth or ass, and I knew it. I could do this. I could do this. He just better not fucking kiss me again. But if he wanted to shove that flaccid body part into me for a few minutes of grunting and thrusting, I could survive. I would just close my eyes, zone out, and survive.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t pounce. He didn’t mount me like a mangy mutt. Instead, he took hold of his dick and peed. The liquid splashed down on my exposed body, covering me in his waste. The golden stream flowed out as I struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. Marco Nunez was pissing on me! His repulsive piss showered against my once clean and creamy-white flesh, tainting my purity of never having such an act done to me with his toxic pollution.

The wetness coated my flesh, dripped from my nipples like pus from a wound, and dampened the tiny little curls on my mound. He continued to pee on me with an evil smile, humiliating me, shaming me, splashing me with the worst smelling liquid imaginable. I sat immobilized by the shocking darkness of my situation.

I wanted to puke.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to kill him.

Big droplets of my misery cascaded down my face—getting into my mouth—as the last of his piss rained down on me.

Fuck yes; Marco had won this battle.

Fuck yes; there was more to break inside my broken soul.

But I would not allow this again. Never again. When I got up and cleaned this waste from my body, I would leave. I would escape. I would take his fucking money and run from this monster and never look back.

I was silently screaming red. Red. Red. Red.

Marco just didn’t know it. But he would. When I was long gone with his money, he would know. I would flee before he even saw it coming.

Red, motherfucker. Red.