Page 97 of Princes of Carnage

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low just for me. “But I don’t see a way out. Either he fucks you, or I do.”

My stomach flips over, my heart beating double-time as if it’s trying to break out of my chest and flee without me. I think of that woman we saw getting fucked on that stage and my stomach flips over itself with nerves. I hate that I’m about to be in her position.

But it’s not even a question of who I would pick.

“You,” I whisper back.

Atlas holds my gaze for a long second, his eyes burning behind his mask. Then he nods. He spins me around and pulls me tight against his chest, his strong arms banding around me as we both face the three men and the crowd we’ve drawn.

“She’s mine,” he repeats in a firm voice. His voice rumbles against my back, sending little vibrations through me. “I brought her here, and I claim her. No one touches her but me.”

“Fine,” Caleb says, smirking. His hungry eyes are still on me, but then he flicks his gaze up to Atlas. “At least you have to share this way, if no one else can taste her.”

“Not a bad consolation prize,” Atlas agrees, and I know he’s just playing along with the rules of this place, but the sound of it makes my skin crawl.

The man named Gio gestures to the stage nearby, and I turn my head to see that it’s empty now. Sometime during our aborted conversation with the bartender and the confrontation with these three assholes, the couple from before must have finished up and left the space bare for someone else to take their place.

Me and Atlas, apparently.

My gaze lingers on the stage for a moment, taking it in more fully now that I know I’m about to be standing on it. It’s set up so that different scenarios could be played out for everyone’s viewing pleasure. There’s a St. Andrew’s Cross and the bench that the first woman on the stage was bent over, but there’s also a bed, made up with richly toned sheets, clearly meant to be used.

My heart thuds hard in my chest, and my mouth is suddenly so dry. Everything in me wants to flee, but I know I can’t. Not if we want any hope of getting answers from Vincent. Not if we want to get out of here alive.

Atlas takes my hand and leads me across the space. The crowd parts for us, more and more people turning to watch as he precedes me up the few stairs to the stage. Almost immediately, every eye in the room is on us. Some people whisper to each other, and some don’t even bother with whispering. They’re all watching hungrily, knowing that they’re about to get a new show.

Caleb, Gio, and the man whose name I never learned all make sure to find seats closest to the stage, murmuring lewd comments among themselves. I’m not sure if they mean for me to hear what they’re saying or not, but I catch a few snippets, and it’s enough to make my already roiling stomach churn violently.

Somehow, even with everyone watching, Atlas still moves with a hunter’s grace, his steps smooth and even. Next to him, I feel completely stiff, all locked up. My shoulders are up around my ears, and I keep dropping my gaze down to the polished wood of the stage so I don’t have to look at all the people looking at me.

In theory, I understand why people would be into this—from either side of it. Being watched could be a turn on for someone, knowing that everyone in the crowd is staring at them, wishing they could be a part of it. And obviously voyeurism has its place in most kink scenes.

But this has never been something I was into. I’ve wanted it rough and dirty or wanted to be chased, but I’ve never had the fantasy of having sex in front of an entire roomful of lascivious strangers.

It’s different, for someone to make me vulnerable when it’s just us. To pin me down and make me take everything they want me to take. To make me beg and scream for them. To reduce me to a panting, whimpering mess. Different from being… entertainment.

Fuck. I don’t think I can do this.

A panicky, trapped feeling bubbles up in my chest. The room tilts on its axis a little, seeming to spin around me. It’s all too fucking much. The lights are blinding up here, brighter than anywhere else in the club. I feel hot one second and then cold the next, and my heart is galloping so fast that I can’t even distinguish the individual beats anymore, just a painful ache between my ribs.

I try to remember why I’m here, the whole point of all of this—the need to keep my people safe—but the logic of that is being drowned out by everything else.

Atlas steps closer, concern passing over his handsome features. He moves in front of me and catches my face in his hands, cradling my jaw with his callused palms. Him standing this close to me with his hands like that blocks my view of the crowd for just a moment, and some of the tightness in my chest lets up.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs. “Say the word, and I’ll find you another way out of here.”

I blink, my heart stuttering to a stop for a second before picking back up. There’s a note in his voice that tells me he means it. That if I said no, he would take on every person in this room just to try to get me out safely—even though there’s no fucking way he’d survive the attempt. Not with how many guards there are, and with the way the men who grabbed me seemed to be spoiling for a fight.

But even still, Atlas would try.

Because that’s what he does, isn’t it? I think, swallowing hard as I stare up at him. He’s the protector. The enforcer. The bodyguard.

Not for me, though. He’s all of those things for Carnage and his two best friends, the men he loves like brothers. I have no doubt in my mind that he’d risk his life to keep them safe, no matter what the threat was. That he’d do anything to protect them.

Yet here he is, offering to do the same for me.

“No.” My voice is quiet, barely more than a croak, and I shake my head a little in case he didn’t hear me. There’s a little more strength behind my words as I repeat, “No. It’s too risky. I can do this. We… we can do this.”

Atlas sucks in a breath, his nostrils flaring just slightly. Then he nods.

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