Page 46 of Ruthless Reign

It’s a long list, starting with the asshole in front of me.

“Show us your tits,” he yells. “I want to imagine the shade of your nipples will turn when I suck on them.”

My muscles coil tight as Liza’s cheeks turn crimson and she stiffens. I circle the man that dares insult her and keep him within lunging distance.

On stage, Paulina whispers something to Liza. I’m going to guess it’s a word of encouragement because, with a small nod from Liza, the older woman unhooks her bra.

Fuck. Liza is going to bare all for these undeserving assholes. She hesitates—holding her bra in place, not ready to expose herself—but the moment is short-lived. Slowly, she allows the bra to fall forward, and her perky tits spring free with a little bounce.

Heat flares inside me. I didn't realize it was possible to feel such opposing emotions at once. On one hand, my dick aches. Her tits are perfect—the perfect size, the perfect color, the perfect shape—as I knew that they would be. But on the other hand, having to share the view with the assholes in this room inspires violence. They don't deserve to breathe the same air as her, no less gaze upon her naked body.

The room breaks out in hollers and catcalls, and I snap, reaching for the Sig in my waistband, only to remember I left it at home, knowing I wouldn’t be allowed in Sanctuary packing heat.

No bother. I’ve killed using my bare hands many times before. And I’m going to start with the motherfucker in front of me.

He’s the loudest, the most demanding, and the most crude. He looks like your average finance douche, with a tightly pressed suit, a bad combover, and an air of smug entitlement. I’ll take great joy in watching this mudak bleed out.

“Take it all off,” the fucker yells. “Show us your pussy already. We don’t have all night ... unless we buy you.”

Liza can't hide her fear or intimidation at this point, but the crowd doesn’t care. They’re feeding off of it. It turns these sick fucks on. They want her misery; they want to see her cry.

Even now, as her arms wrap around her slender waist and her nipples pucker in the cold air, it only serves to raise the bidding higher. She’s already doubled her money, and the bidding is still going strong between two men in particular. They’re both wasting their breaths.

“I’m going win that bitch, and when I do, I’m going to fuck all of her holes raw,” Combover slurs to his friend, rubbing his hands together. “She’ll be so far from a virgin when I’m done with her that she’ll only be good for the whorehouse.”

Something dark and dangerous crawls through my veins, and I can’t hold back any longer. I had planned to keep the violence behind closed doors, but this man just signed his death warrant. It’s time to put this shit to bed.

I reach for an empty champagne glass discarded on one of the tables. The crowd’s raucous noise masks the sound of my next move. Gripping the stem tightly, I smash the glass against the edge of the table. It shatters, leaving a perfectly jagged edge.

A low burn smolders in my gut, growing hotter with each second as I wait for the right moment to strike.

“Come on, little Russian doll, show us the pink between your thi?—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as I plunge the glass into his neck. Satisfaction roars through my system as he falls to the ground, crying out in agony.

I kneel beside him. If I had the opportunity, his death would be much more drawn out and painful, but given the public venue, I keep it simple.

“This is what you get for being a sick fuck,” I hiss into his ear as I twist the glass shard. Blood pours from his neck like a spout.

With one final look at his broken form, I stand, sensing the shock ripple through the crowd. The room collectively holds its breath.

Good. Let this serve as a warning to the others. The Donnelleys won’t be thrilled that I openly shanked one of their clients, but I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to them. A gift basket of AK-47s perhaps. But right now, the only thing I care about is that Liza is spared this guy’s abuse.

She squints into the crowd, a horrified expression growing on her face. Not that she can see anything down here, but she can hear the chaos unfolding, maybe even smell the metallic tang of blood in the air. The color drains from her face, and she looks ready to bolt.

There’s nowhere for her to run. Nowhere for her to hide. No matter where she goes, I’ll find her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LIZA

“Come on, little Russian doll, show us the pink between your thi?—”

He doesn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Instead, the sound that comes from him can only be described as agony. It’s part gurgle, part cry, but all pain, and then the thud of something—or someone—hitting the ground.

Just like that, everything seems to stop. The auctioneer goes silent, as does the crowd, with only panicked murmurs rippling through the room.

I squint into the audience to see what’s going on, but I can only make out vague shapes. No one moves despite the sense of terror eclipsing the room.

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