Page 22 of Claimed By Rage

“I amnotgetting pregnant!” My heartswoopsnonetheless, clinging to the idea no matter how foolish it is. I should have never brought this up in the first place, but my mouth ran ahead of my brain. “Rage just—the things he said—” My frown runs deep. “I amneverhaving children withanyof you. There! Decision made.” I slam my heels back on the floor and wince at the sting in my knees.

Rebel chuckles to himself as I walk away, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

Asshole.

I wander the room in a daze, all too conscious of the eyes following my every move. It isn’t just the fact that I can feelRebel and Rage’s stares, it’s everyone else’s. The room has a thousand eyes, and at least half of them are trained on me. A shudder runs down my spine and bile rises to the back of my throat.

If I vomit, will Rage get pissed that my body rejected his seed?

It’s tempting to shove my finger down my throat just to spite him.

When I glance up from the fuzzy spot in the distance that I’ve been moving toward, I catch Rage’s dazzling smile as he talks to someone else. He might be holding a conversation with them with his lips, but his eyes are having an entirely different discussion with me.

They scream,you have nowhere to hide.

Yeah, fat fucking chance. I strut past the obnoxiously brightrestroomssign and march ahead of the line, daring the ladies waiting to stop me. When they don’t, I laugh. I guess getting face-fucked hasonebenefit for the night.

I splash water in my face and stare at my reflection for a long time. Long enough that at least five women come and go, each one making a point to look me up and down as they fix their lipstick or wash their hands. If my friend Lilith were here, she’d have stormed into the bathroom behind me and demanded to know what the hell I was doing, letting a man force himself on me like that.

But Lilith isn’t here, or else she would have stopped thesexual assaultfrom happening in the first place. The phrase churns my stomach hard enough that I bolt past a woman on her way to the stall and expel every last ounce from my gut into the bowl. I groan as it flushes automatically. I’d get on my knees and hug the rim, but one, that’s super fucking gross, and two, the thought of getting on my knees again makes me wanna hurl asecond time. I wipe my mouth with a few squares of toilet paper and flush that, too, before standing on shaking legs.

As I stand in front of the mirror this time, I hardly recognize myself. The woman staring back at me is pale, her mascara smeared across her cheeks, her lipstick a mere whisper of color. I tug the ribbon at the back of my head and tear my mask free, knowing that it’s pointless anyway. I’m not a seductress with five men wrapped around her finger on the dance floor, having the night of her life—I’m somethingless.Something broken and bitter andhurt.

Everythinghurts.

The woman beside me rummages through her clutch and hands me a travel size mouth wash, placing it directly in my palm and wrapping my fingers around it. She squeezes my closed fist. “You did good for your first time.” The smile she offers is warm, and I realize that it’s genuine. “Not all of the men here are that rough, though. If you find a suitable partner, it can be fun for both of you.” When I stare blankly at her, she nods. “I promise.”

I scrub my hand down my face and shake my head. “Somehow, I doubt things will ever be fun with them.”

She tilts her head. “You mean the men? You can play for the other team here. No one will judge. It’s a safe space. Lots of us are bi or bi-curious.” Her eyes twinkle as she winks. “Among other things.”

My smile is small, but it perks her right up. “I appreciate that, but it’s not what I meant.” I take a minute to gargle the mouth wash and try not to get self conscious about the fact that she’s watching me do it. I don’t know how to unload my situation to anyone, let alone a stranger, so I settle for half-truths. After rinsing my mouth, I continue, “there are three of them, actually, and I’m only used to one at a time.” She tears open a paper square from her purse and hands me a makeup wipe. I removethe dark smudges on my face while she waits for me to continue. “It’s not just the sex, although that’s intimidating in itself.”

Will they try to fuck me at the same time? Valentina’s told me stories about her men—and although I’m not keen on picturing Mikhail naked, I’ve always been curious about how she makes it work.Threemen. I shake my head and sigh. “It’s how they treat me like I’m—” I crumple the wipe in my hand—“like I’m nothing but a tool to get them off.”

“Oh, honey.” The woman wraps her arm around my shoulder. Her perfume is crisp like apples in autumn, her blonde hair frizzed at the edges like she’s been working up a sweat. But she’s pretty, I realize, even with the glittered mask on her face. The warm gold swirls match the color of her hair. “If it bothers you, then you have to do something about it. Have you tried talking to them?”

Someone behind us scoffs. “That one didn’t look like the talking type.”

The blonde woman looks over her shoulder while I check the mirror. Although the carousel of ladies continues to filter in and out of the bathroom, one woman lingers near the wall. Her hair is bright red, and I don’t know how I never noticed her before. Green eyes pierce mine as she joins us at the mirror. She pats her tit through her dress until she finds what she’s looking for and reaches into her cleavage to to produce a tube of lipstick. She grabs my wrist and drags me closer, popping off the top of the tube to apply a coat to my lips. “You need to fight back,” she says simply, “in a language he’ll understand.”

“I’ve been fighting,” I say.

She smacks my boob. “Hold still or you’ll look like the Joker.” Once she’s done applying a layer, she pops her lips to indicate I should do the same. “Wrap your lips around your finger so it doesn’t get on your teeth.”

Once she’s satisfied, I continue. “I’ve tried,” I grumble, “fighting back only makes him fight harder. He doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Then stop saying no.” Rolling her eyes, she sticks the lipstick back inside her bra. “If he’s gonna hold you down and fuck you, you’ve gotta do the same.”

The blonde nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, tie the fucker down. Then he can’t grab you too tight. You’ll be in control of what happens?—”

“—or doesn’t,” the redhead says. Her gaze softens and she takes my hand in hers. “I saw the way he was looking at you near the end. You have a lot of power over him, babe. You’ve gotta use it.”

“On all of them.” The blonde takes my other hand. “There’s more than one, right? If they all want you like that, then you’re sitting on a goldmine. They’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

I wither under their hopeful stares. “I don’t know how to do that. I don’t feel like I have any power.”

And a woman without power willnevertake back control over her life.

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