Page 49 of Reclaimed

The instructions were simple enough, wait here until one of the players calls for us. Then crawl to whichever deranged pretentious asshole summoned us, tolerate being fondled, and return back to the ‘kennel’, as Harris so affectionately calls it, when they’re done with us.

If it wasn’t for the fury searing through my veins and the hard floor digging into my palms and knees, I’d be sure this was some horrifyingly twisted nightmare. But no, this degrading as fuck spectacle is my reality now– or it will be if I don’t find a way out.

I’d rather choke to death on some old fuck’s cock than let crawling on command become a daily custom.

Every few minutes, my gaze drifts around the room, etching every last detail into my frontal cortex as I search for some way out. White lines disappear from polished silver trays beneath their noses, hands dipping into ornate crystal bowls with a variety of colored pills that are washed down with another stiff drink. These men are all fucked up in more ways than they arrived, so surely I have a decent shot at getting away if I can find an opening.

A whistle cuts through the air, apprehension taking hold as all of us Assets turn wearily toward the source, waiting with horrified anticipation of who’s going to be called.

“You!” one of the men shouts, pointing at me. “Pinky pie.”

Of fucking course.

I hear a few faint sighs of relief from the others, metal leashes clinking as their posture slackens. We’re all wearing collars of different hues to identify us, and mine just so happens to be my least favorite color– Pepto Bismol pink.

I didn’t think there was anything worse than being stripped of your name and reduced to a number, but silly me, there is.

I don’t immediately move. The pad of my thumb traces over the crest of my thigh in a square as I breathe slowly, trying to steady my ratcheting pulse. Kenzie bumps her hip into mine, my gaze flickering to her as she mouths, ‘go’.

I suppose she knows the consequences of non-compliance better than I do, since she’s been with this Guardian before.

Swallowing my shame, I shift down from the platform, palms splaying and kneecaps grinding against the hardwood floor as I start to crawl.

The guy who summoned me slaps his leg and whistles again, signaling for me to hurry up.

Keep it up and I’ll piss on your shoes or bite your leg.

He discards his drink as I make it to his side and rock back on my heels. A grin spreads across his face, his eyes glazed. He reaches down, fingers sinking into my hair as he ruffles it.

“Good girl,” he croons. “Hop up here.”

He pats his leg in invitation, and I swallow back my vitriol and climb into his lap, trying not to sit against the hard bulge in his pants. My body wants to jerk violently away as his hands grip onto my hips, forcing me down against his erection.

His breath is hot and reeks of gin as it fans over my skin, his hands exploring every exposed inch of me.

There’s a tray of cocaine on the table in front of him with five neat lines cut across it. He leans forward, taking one, then turns and offers the rolled bill to me.

I shake my head, which is apparently the wrong move. His whole face changes, screwing up in anger. He reaches for the leash attached to my collar, jerking down on it.

“Take a line, bitch. Now.”

My teeth sink into the fleshy inside of my cheek, every muscle in my body going rigid as the leather collar cuts into the column of my neck.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes, his expression darkening as he yanks even harder on my leash, forcing my face onto the tray.

Dropping the leash, his hand moves to the back of my head, keeping my face pressed against the tray. I writhe beneath him, holding my breath as red-hot tears prick behind my eyes. He leans forward, the edge of the poker table digging into my ribs as he puts more of his weight onto my head. Pain radiates from my nose– bruised, broken, bleeding, I don’t know. Black spots tinge my vision as his other hand reaches for his empty glass. His legs open mine, the smooth base of the glass pressing harshly against my center.

“Make your choice,” he says mockingly. “Either way something’s going inside.” He rocks the glass against my entrance. “Tick, tock.”

I swear I hear glass starting to crack and I gasp, air rushing violently into my lungs on a desperate inhale as coke goes up my nose. Agony blazes through me like molten lava, tears streaming down my face as he twists it from side to side, laughing. My mouth falls open with a sob, the powder bitter as it hits my tongue.

“There we go,” he cackles, abandoning the glass and yanking the leash back to force me upright.

I cough and choke, my vision blurring, face numbing as he reaches out to grab my chin. “How does that feel, my disobedient little pet?” he asks, eyes glittering as he tilts his head, tongue lapping coke residue from my cheek.

His mouth slides to mine, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip, asking for permission I won’t give. His hand slides to the crystal ash tray, wisps of smoke trailing from a cigar before he holds the smoldering end flush against my stomach, My mouth pops open from pain, his tongue sweeping rapidly around my mouth. I bite down on instinct, jaw locking, not letting go.

He shouts, trying to pull back, but I don’t let go. The metallic taste of his blood fills my mouth, a sense of victory spearing through me.