Page 91 of The Secrets That Kill

Someone walks up to me. “Pretty, isn’t she?” It’s Anderson something, rich, boring, and thinks he’s a player. He’s also pretty fucking clean in the scheme of things. He nods to the star. “She’s one of the filthiest sluts out there. Double, triple, you name it, she does it. Loves it up the ass, the bigger the guy the better. And best if there’s more than one cock being shoved inside of her.”

He glances at Ivy like she’s a piece of fresh meat and it takes every bit of restraint not to put my fist in his face for thelook he gives her.

“She’s yours? Will she do all that? Or is she still new to things? I prefer them with experience, but not porn star level, y’know?”

“Don’t look at my slave. She isn’t for sharing.”

The guy groans. “Why bring her then?”

“Why do you think? Hands the fuck off, Anderson.”

He laughs and shakes his head and moves away from us when someone calls him. I edge Ivy closer against me, my arm snaked around her, my hand resting half on one of her tits.

Another associate comes up, one who is in the kink scene, and he eyes her like he’s measuring her to see if she fits his cock and his style.

I want him dead, too.

“Why do I get the feeling, Vale, that you’re not going to share this sweet baby?” He reaches out to touch her and I wrench his arm. He winces and I tighten my grip before dropping it.

“No touching.”

“I wasn’t taking her away, just wanted a feel. It’s what she’s here for.”

“No, she’s mine.”

He snorts a laugh. “You don’t make claims. You always have girls who are one on one with you, but you never mind if someone touches. I’m not asking her to blow me.”

“She’s different,” I say, tone flat, deadly. “And she’s mine. Don’t make me say it again.”

Beneath my touch, Ivy shivers.

Sweet Pollyanna’s rousing me again, which is something that either needs to be isolated, cloned and sold, or marked as deadly.

I excuse us from the conversation that serves me no purpose and as I continue to make the rounds, Ivy stays quiet. I glance at her.

“You okay?”

“Yes, sir.” I know she wants to say a whole lot of shit, but she can’t.

The sex clubs are one thing, but this is different. This is seedy without the feel of belonging, and lacks the throb of need that acts like a drug in the air when you’re at a club. This is the business end of shit and a way to say you’re noticed or acknowledged as important…or having something coveted.

Like I said, seedy as fuck.

Beneton isn’t bad looking, if you don’t pay attention to what he does and how many women he exploits for profit. He’s definitely watching Ivy. We join him and the conversation is borderline disgusting, women as objects, cunts discussed solely in their dollar value to him.

I want to bury a knife in his skull, but that won’t get me to the top. Maybe I’ll come back for him later, after I destroy Henderson. I’d like to watch the life drain from his beady eyes.

Tonight, I walk a fine line between debauched and somewhat of a gentleman who won’t allow any motherfucker in here to lay a hand on Pollyanna. I’m both dismissive and totally fine with the conversations happening around me. I’m occasionally attentive to her, imperious as only a master can be, and utterly cold.

Ivy takes it all.

She’s the perfect slave. She looks at me with that light in her eyes, she keeps her gaze down until I speak to her, acts grateful when I touch her, feed her, and talk to her. She’s so eager to please me, it makes my cock twitch.

Ivy blurs the line between acting and reality.

When some of the men suggest a small club nearby, one that’s recently popped up, I’m not familiar with it but intrigued enough to go. I’m still on the hunt for information and anxious to parade Ivy around, but I’m also out of my mindwith lust by the time dinner is over. I can kill two birds with one stone by going to the club.

Once we get there, Ivy sits on the floor at my feet.

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