Page 34 of Vice

15

Dele

I don’t particularly have fond memories of waking up somewhere other than I remember being. So when I wake up naked in a bed that I don’t remember getting in, I’m immediately on alert. Because I don’t quite remember where I am or how I got here. Just that I’m in some strange bed, in a strange place, and—

“You’re awake.”

If that had been any other man’s voice, I’d be wondering what the fuck went wrong and how the hell I was going to get myself out of it. But it’s just Viper. Sitting off to the side of the bed in a shirt and sweatpants.

That’s when I remember where I am.

Viper made me come eight times in front of a bunch of men because Jason fucking Travis wanting to humiliate me. I don’t know what’s worse. Jason Travis not remembering that this wouldn’t be the first time he watched me be fucked for his own amusement and my humiliation because he didn’t recognize me or the fact that Viper did it at his request, even though he gave me an out.

I wish I’d taken the out.

Even if this is my only chance to get close to Harp and find out what he knows about the children Pray is trafficking and where he’s taking them.

He gets up and goes over to a rolling stand and takes a tray off of it.

“I had this brought up for you,” he says, coming over with the tray.

I sit up, letting the top of the blanket fall into my lap, exposing my breasts. Neither I nor Viper pay it any mind as he sits the covered tray in my lap and takes the top of the tray. Belgian waffles with caramelized strawberry sauce, whip cream, and a bacon chicken biscuit on the side.

“You got them to make this for me?” I ask.

He shrugs. “They just happened to have it on the menu.”

Sure. They just happened to be serving one of my favorite breakfasts at this stupid place. Or maybe they could have. It’s certainly a meal that would be conducive to certain kinks. Though a food kink might be too tame for the tastes of the men who come to this place.

I decide to spare Viper his stupid tough boy act, though, and dig into the meal. Viper watches impassively, though he’s clearly contemplating something. What? I can’t be particularly sure. No doubt he’s going to demand what the hell I’m doing here that necessitated putting on that show last night.

Because I really don’t feel like talking about that right now, I say, “It’s good. But not as good as yours.”

“Of course, they’re not. They don’t have my secret ingredient.”

“And what’s your secret ingredient?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Do you even cook anymore?”

He pauses. Long enough that I think he’s not going to answer.

Finally, he says, “Not since before Pray.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t have anyone to do it for.”

“And now?” I ask because he can for Leon and Lady when they visit him. Yet he never does.

“Not enough time.”

I could take that to mean work and being Pray’s enforcer. And maybe that’s true. But what he really means is that taking the time to do something so domestic and necessary like cooking, even for his children is a waste of his time with them when he already has such precious little time with them as it is.

When I’m done, he takes the tray while I go to the bathroom to get cleaned up. There’s a soreness between my leg. And normally, I’d find this kind of soreness a pleasant reminder of the events preceding it. It’s still a reminder, but it isn’t particularly pleasant. Even if my body felt otherwise at the time. Even if I felt otherwise at the time.

I come out the bathroom intending to raid Viper’s clothes for something to wear, only to find a full-length 360 mirror standing tall a few feet from the front of the bed.

---