“Give it a minute,” the second one smirks.
“Bet he won’t be complaining when he’s on his knees.”
My stomach churns.
“Go fuck yourself,” I shoot back.
Wrong move.
Another punch comes fast. This time he slaps me across my face with his massive hands.
A sharp crack across my face that sends my head snapping to the side.
Pain blooms instantly.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch. If you wasn’t up for sale, I’d keep you for myself and do whatever I fucking want with you. Because that's the only thing you are good for – servicing a real man like me. Now do as you’re told before a shot your sissy ass,” the guard growls.
“And get dressed.”
My cheek throbs.
My jaw tight.
I don’t say anything else.
Because I know better.
Slowly, I turn toward the outfit laid out on the chair.
And for a second—
I just stare.
It’s… not what I expected.
At all.
The fabric catches the light immediately.
Deep black. Slick. Almost liquid-looking.
I reach out slowly, my fingers brushing over it.
Silk. Or something close to it. Soft. Cold at first touch, then warming against my skin.
It’s a fitted top—tight, structured, with a plunging neckline that dips lower than anything I’ve ever worn. The fabric clings in a way that’s… deliberate.
Designed to show. Everything.
The pants are just as fitted.
High-waisted, hugging every line of my body, tapering down to the ankles.
And then—
My eyes drop.
Heels.
