Page 29

29

PENNY

My body retracts, as I stretch up to see where the noise is coming from. And then the crowd surges, pressing forward to get a closer look. I feel the masculine energy of several men behind me, molding their bodies to mine. I feel claustrophobic, the air becoming too thick in the small space.

Steadying myself, I anchor my feet to the ground, careful to not be pushed over in the excitement.

SMACK.

I shiver at the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

A few men in the group of spectators chuckle, grabbing their crotches and pulling on their dicks. A hiss slips out through my teeth. Are they for real?

Just as I’m about to call an end to this blind show, I hear a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Stop. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

The sweet feminine voice of panic just makes the men surrounding me even hornier. If this is what a sausage party is called, get me the hell out of dodge. They make me want to be a vegetarian.

The room is becoming too warm. Too…sweaty?

Too many ball sacks…

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again.”

I’m sorry.

I know that voice.

Dammit! I know that voice!

I pull away from the crowd and push through the wall of concrete standing in front of me, urging them to let me to the front. The barrier of men parts ways, allowing me through, and it is then that I get a front-row view of the fiasco.

SMACK.

I flinch. But the victim endures it—leans into it.

Why is she not fighting and thrashing and cursing?

And then I see the restraints.

Bastard .

My eyes glare daggers into the back of his skull, as I plot his murder. There will be a lot of witnesses, that’s for sure.

The perpetrator rotates the bench to show the work of his hands. It’s as if I’m seeing myself lying helpless on that bench, with not a soul brave enough to help me.

Color blooms along her backside, as the abuser circles his hand along her reddening flesh.

Her inflicter manages to angle himself to remain anonymous to those watching, never turning to glare out into the crowd.

Coward.

And then the people around me roar to life again with reckless excitement as another hollowing smack cuts through the buzz from the audience.

The bench turns again and my eyes soak in the harrowing scene.

Holy fuck.

“Daphne?” I call out, but her name gets stuck in my throat. My mouth feels raw and dry, as air gets sucked in violently.

Hair sticks to her forehead that is covered in a layer of sweat, and her lipstick-painted lips are slightly parted, as she pants. Her facial features are distorted as she appears to endure the pain being doled out to her.

She is beautiful but broken.

Mascara tears streak her cheeks as her head flops to the side, giving us onlookers a better view of her features. She whimpers and writhes on the bench, trying to get away from the one causing her pain.

Her eyes pale as some half-naked man stands before her, as his back remains turned toward the crowd of spectators with their dicks hanging out like red flags—enjoying the sight of her misery.

Sick fucks .

Every single one of them.

Daphne shakes her head no, but the man just raises his hand and smacks it against her ass, so hard that it makes me quiver along with her.

A wail escapes her lips, causing her to flop forward. Her chains rattle along the bench’s underneath side. When her face falls to the padded cushion and a look of defeat hits her blank eyes, I lose it.

That’s it, dammit !

The energy running through me is vibrating, to the point that I’m trembling. Here I stand before a stranger I’m so spitting mad at, that I’m seconds away from doing something I’ll regret.

SMACK .

“Get your hands off of her!” I bellow.

Without even thinking, I hop over the half wall, glad that there isn’t any glass here to separate the audience from the scene like in the other spaces. Daphne flies up to her knees on the padded table, her hands still secured at the top, keeping her from moving her upper body.

Glassy eyes reach mine, and then pure horror washes the color out of her face.

Her abuser halts his movements and growls blindly at who I can only assume is me. “It’s against?—”

“Stop, you brute!” I bark anyway.

“Oh, no,” Daphne says with an exhale. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Without thinking, I pull back my right fist and smack it into the space between the shoulder blades of her abuser. But I don’t stop there. I pound and pound.

Like a whip, the man turns his attention behind him, letting out an animalistic growl. Pivoting away from his victim—poor Daphne—who must be traumatized, he moves away from my flying fists. His gaze comes to rest on me, his eyes growing as they fuse to mine. The spark of recognition ignites, causing my heart to fail, just as my breath catches in my throat.

Static fills my ears, and then the only thing I hear is my erratic breathing.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Everything I expected from tonight free-falls to the floor, casting light on the fact that I know nothing about this man. The man who I just witnessed in a compromising moment. The man who is now ending his scene and taking long strides toward me. The man who I no longer trust.

No.

I must be hallucinating.

My feet push me back.

And back.

Until I bump into the partial height wall, stumbling backward.

My breath stills, as if I’m in a weird dreamlike state, causing my heart to stop beating.

I see him.

Collins.

Virile.

Masculine.

Collins.

And I see him with her. Hitting her…

In just a few seconds, my life splinters apart, as a rush of realization coats my body, sending chills of coldness up my spine.

“You bastard,” I hiss. I rub at my eyes. “ Collins ?” It can’t be.

A buzz forms in my ears, morphing into the sound of water crashing into a pit. I take several deep breaths, my legs wanting to buckle beneath me. This can’t be happening. Staggering against the half wall, I lean my ass against the surface, clutching my heart as I suck in air through my teeth.

This cannot be happening.

If there ever was a turning point tonight, this would be it.

The moment when the stable rug that was Collins Stone gets pulled out from under me—revealing a side to himself that I know he’d want to remain hidden.

Who are you?

“What the hell are you doing here, Penny?”

Collins’s words bite like venom, making me seethe. And just like that, the strong current between us becomes deeper— wider —forcing me to either swim or drown. It’s as if the world stops spinning, causing my feet to plant and take root in their spot.

I am frozen as my mind tries to comprehend in this moment what the hell is happening. How does one solve a puzzle when all the pieces are missing?

Collins’s sigh of disapproval and frustration fills the space.

If anyone should be mad, it should be me, dammit. Like who the hell does he think he is?

“Penny, I asked you a question.” His words are a growl, and in no way should this man be pushing his anger onto me. I’m not the predator here. I’m simply the witness.

Ignoring him, I move to Daphne, who is now burying herself in a fluffy beige blanket. I didn’t even realize she was naked—or released from her hold on the table. I am just glad to see her free.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. “I can’t believe he tied you to the bench and beat you. I am”—the words get stuck in my throat—“so sorry.”

I shouldn’t be fucking apologizing for the bastard. Yet I feel responsible because I simply know him.

“It’s okay, Penny…”

“It sure as hell is not .” Why is she being casual about this? “Do you need to file a police report? You can mark me down as a witness.”

“Dammit,” Collins sneers, rubbing at his temples.

I glare at him. “Shut it.”

“It was by choice,” Daphne whispers. “I chose for it to happen.”

My jaw loses all muscle control, dropping from gravity. “What?”

“I asked for it.”

“You are a victim,” I correct. “No one deserves to be beat.”

“Fuck, Penny. Did you follow me here and sneak in?”

My body twists around to stare at him. “Oh, how dare you!” I rant.

Collins doesn’t back down. He maintains eye contact right back. “Can we discuss this someplace else?”

“Oh, that would be really convenient for you, wouldn’t it be?”

“I assure you, it was consensual,” Daphne says softly, the look of embarrassment reddening her skin. She doesn’t need to be ashamed for a man’s evilness. “You may be in trouble for interrupting though. And I don’t think I can even defend you on this one.”

“What?” Why would I be in trouble?

When I look back at the spectators’ area, it has completely cleared out—except for Yuri who is making his way toward us. Oh, shit. He does not look happy.

“Miss Hoffman,” he says with disapproval. “Where is your wristlet?”

“I lost it. It must have fallen off.” But why does he care? I haven’t been wearing it for some time.

“That explains why you weren’t stopped from being granted access to this floor. But you’ve broken a cardinal rule here at Limit-X. You mustn’t interrupt any scenes.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

“She was getting beat.”

His eyes glance to Daphne’s, and he can’t help but smirk. “The wench does love her drama. Is this enough excitement for you, Daph, or do you want another round—but this time in my personal dungeon?”

Daphne swallows hard. What is happening? Get me out of this twilight zone.

Turning his attention back to me, his eyes go stern. “If you feel as passionately as you did during any scenes, the correct protocol would be to hit the wall button or find a guard to assist. We have safety measures in place for that very reason. However, being overwhelmed by any scenes does not justify interrupting them.”

“I…”

“We know each other,” Collins says to Yuri.

Yuri looks from me back to Collins. “Is this true?”

I can only nod.

Collins rubs at the back of his neck. “I’ll take care of it and make sure it never happens again.”

My eyes narrow at him. Am I the it ? Then I watch, frozen in place, as he grabs a folded robe off a nearby shelf and attempts to drape it over my shoulders.

“Save it,” I say.

I can tell he disapproves of my outfit based on how his face can’t stop from looking angry at my refusal. And to think I’m one of the most modestly clothed people in the building.

When he tries again, I toss the robe onto a bench. I don’t need warmth right now. Right now, I need an explanation.

“Penny…”

But I can already tell he’s not going to talk. Men like Collins rarely do. They dole out information in breadcrumb portions, never handing over a full cracker.

With my anger and embarrassment so fresh, I do what I do best. I turn and retreat.

“Penny…”

I don’t turn back. I just keep moving my feet, through the door and through the glass hallway of voyeurism. I pass by Neil, never giving him more than a dismissive wave.

A nearly nude waitress carrying a tray of drinks shimmies through the narrow crowd of one of the booths, and before she can notice, I grab one that looks enticing and down it with a few gulps.

The burn hits my throat last, as the bitterness settles on my tongue as an aftertaste.

Hell.

This is another reason I don’t drink much. It tastes awful.

Who actually enjoys the flavor of liquidized leather? Yuck. Not me.

But I need to dull this ache inside, and society has proven to me that alcohol can numb all sorts of problems.

As much as I hate to admit it, seeing Collins with another woman has done things to me that I wasn’t expecting. Sure, I’m still butt-hurt that we kissed the other night and then he rejected me, but I’m also mad he chose Daphne to perform a consensual act with…

Daphne…the girl who got more action in one night than I have in my entire existence on this planet.

I thought we were friends—or would-be friends. I don’t know. Do I even know how to make one?

It’s just all kinds of fucked up no matter how I slice it.

Collins might have wanted to escort me home, but I can’t be around him right now. I’m on edge. There’s a nervous energy buzzing through me, ready to ignite at the first sign of heat.

Am I jealous?

Probably. But I’ll never admit it out loud.

I’m such a fool for coming here, especially without really knowing what I was getting myself into—physically or emotionally.

Why was tonight the night I tried to be brave?

Silly fool.

I feel raw. Gutted at the seams. My mind races at how to get out of this pornographic maze as fast as I can, while my jumbled thoughts about what I just witnessed play on loop in my head.

I don’t turn back to look, but I know I have a couple of people hot on my tail, as I weave between patrons. I fly down the stairs, run past the bar, and through the orgy of people bumping and grinding on the dance floor.

I hope Daphne is okay. I can try to get her contact information and check up on her later. But right now, the only thing I want to do is get out of here.

I want to erase the feral images of Collins Stone in primal, masculine glory from my memory.