Page 11 of Ryker

My cheeks blaze with heat. We’re all on the meat market acting like we can’t get good dick elsewhere, and putting on a show for a bunch of men who would pay us for the pleasure, regardless.

Still, my motives for wanting to be the Butterfly have nothing to do with good dick.

But my interest in Ryker Hudson has just reached a new level. If no one’s had him before, why did he act like I could if I won?

Wait. Did he act like that, or did I make it up in one of my many fantasies I had last night while masturbating to the visual of that man’s hand around my throat?

The door opens again and Dmitri, dressed in a black tux, announces, “It’s time, ladies. Follow me.”

All the women hurry to line up at the door and leave, squealing and laughing with excitement.

This is so weird and fucked up.

Dmitri holds the door and glowers at me. “You coming, Tara?”

“Give me a minute?”

He frowns. “One minute, sugar. Then you lose the opportunity.”

Nodding, I watch him close the door and hurry to get my head in the game. At no point, since I made that deal with Ryker Hudson last night, did I think he’d rig this competition. If he had, I would have been disappointed because this club’s reputation hinges on its owner’s fealty and honor.

It’s why I chose it.

It’s also why I’ll pick Mr. Hudson to be my Dom when I win.

So, if that man wants bold, I’ll give it to him.

???

Ryker

As the women practically flutter down the hall, I notice I’m one short. No way. Did Tara back out?

Instead of relief, disappointment shoves into my chest. Christ, what’s that say about me?

Dmitri shakes his head, whispering, “Tara asked for one more minute.”

I’m sure it killed him to give it to her because it’s against his rules. Excitement floods my veins knowing she’s probably up to something. Again, I have no idea what this says about me. “Think she bought the bait?”

“No clue.”

We split off once we’re in the main room and I head to the stage used for larger exhibition scenes, while Dmitri and my other men take up their posts around the perimeter of the room.

Men and women murmur in their seats. The excitement is tangible. I wish I could bottle and sell it.

My hands grow clammy as I take the microphone and walk across to center stage. The entire club settles into silence, all my members waiting with bated breath for the ceremony to start. It’s times like this I question how morally grey I really am.

I’m about to usher eleven women onto this stage, parade them around, and start bids as if they’re cattle at the farmer’s fair.

At least they volunteered.

And if I catch wind that any are here against their will, I’ll blacklist their partner, beat the fuck out of them, and put the woman in touch with a counselor. Because if she was coerced into selling her body, God only knows what else she’s been pressured into doing outside my club.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” I stroll across the stage, the spotlights making me break out in a fucking sweat. “Before we begin tonight, I want to thank all of you, especially our potential Butterflies, for allowing the Monarch the honor of entertaining you.”

A round of applause roars throughout the room.

“As you know, we anonymously donate every dime spent on these auctions to a charity of my choosing. This year’s funds will go to Safe Access, an organization that helps women and children out of abusive homes.”

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