Page 17

A prick of their finger.

That’s all.

There’s no crying or pain. Aside from one word and a long look, there’s no begging. Notorture. There’s just the long line of their backs as they curve over the table, signing their names below mine.

When it’s all done, Ashby gathers up the sheaf of paper, tucking it beneath an arm. “You have three months,” he tells them. Not one of his sons meets his gaze. “I trust none of you will disappoint me. And Wicker,” he adds, already heading for the door, “tonight is your responsibility.”

Whitaker’s head snaps up, forehead puckered. “Tonight? But I was going to–” His words clip off at his father’s stare.

“Oh, I know what you were going to do. However…” Ashby stops, hand poised over the knob, and gives his son a visible once-over. His next words make my stomach drop. It’s the PNZ motto. The prayer of their house, just as much as West End has its victors and spoils–just as much as the Lords keep what’s theirs. “To create,” he says, “is to reign.”

Whitaker fists the fountain pen like it’s a dagger–like he’d really prefer to bury it into someone’s throat.

Ashby seems nonplussed about it. “Oh, and keep it clean, son. Wouldn’t want to stain such a fine blue suit, would you?” With a chilly grin, his father strides from the room, closing the door behind him.

Whitaker’s distant gaze takes in the audience, all the PNZ members still waiting. That should be my second clue for what’s going to happen next. The sting between my legs, deep inside, still throbs, but I fight to read the situation. Whitaker’s blue eyes lock on mine, filling with a fury that makes me press my thighs together harder. I might not know what’s next, but one thing becomes very clear.

I’m going to like it even less than he does.

“Get up,” he sneers, marching over to where I’m laying, fetal on the floor.

I shake my head, still quivering with the aftershocks of pain. “I can’t,” I lie.

Violence fills his eyes. I’d know it anywhere. I see it in the DKS boys every day, but somehow it’s more frightening on someone as composed as Whitaker.

“Get her up,” he growls.

Before I can even think to flinch back, Lex and Pace move toward us, each of them grabbing my arms and hauling me up. The instinct is to fight–to struggle and scream and kick–but I don’t. I let them drag me toward the table between us and the audience, limp and anxious.

I’ve made it this far.

I can make it just a little farther.

That’s the idea, at least. To persevere. To endure. To get through it and come out the other side, because this is just one night.

One horrible night.

And then in a hard, icy voice, Whitaker commands, “Show me her cunt.”

I do fight then, gasping as I try to wrench my arms from their grip. “Wait, you can’t–”

“Yes, he can,” Pace hisses into my ear, palm planted into the middle of my back. Ruthlessly, he shoves me down, my chest pressed to the table. “You signed the covenant. You agreed to this.”

Lex explains, “They need to see,” and when my panicked eyes find him, he nods to the room–to the other men. “We need to prove that one of us has claimed you.” A sharp, bitter smile appears. “We signed the covenant, too. We agreed to this.”

My body goes slack as comprehension dawns. These three don’t want this. I’m not sure how, and I have no fucking idea why, but some part of me is suddenly very sure that these guys are being just as forced into this as I am.

Lex and Pace begin lifting my skirts, shoving handfuls of the fine dress fabric up around my waist, and when the cold air brushes against my backside, I know I’m exposed to them.

My Princes.

There’s a short pause, Whitaker’s harsh breaths audible from behind me, but when I begin hearing the telltale sounds of him unfastening his pants, I stiffen.

“Hold her,” he says, and their grips tighten.

“Don’t,” I plead, forcing my body to go lax, eyes sliding shut. “I won’t–I won’t fight.”

After a moment of what’s probably quite heavy suspicion, Lex and Pace let me go. “Of course you won’t.” Lex’s scoff drips with contempt. “I guess even West End girls give up the fight for the right price.”