Page 10 of Scarred Sacrifice (Savage Sisters MC #1)

CHAPTER SIX

MORRIGAN

“Do I really need all these outfits? It’s only for four days?” I state in protest.

“Yes, you do. Doesn’t she, Isabella?” Eden asks, looking to Isabella for confirmation.

Isabella nods while giving me an ‘I’m sorry’ look.

Considering we were supposed to be keeping an eye on her and keeping her at arm’s length, she is now currently sitting on my bed next to the suitcase, while Eden shoves brand new outfits at me to try on.

Standing in a black silk backless dress that I apparently have to wear for the black tie dinner, I cringe at all the skin I’m showing.

“I can’t wear underwear with this,” I sigh in protest.

“You don’t need underwear. Your boobs are still full and pert.” Eden shrugs.

“What if I eat too much cheese? You know what happened to me the last time I ate too much Brie,” I argue.

Eden snorts a laugh. “Yeah, you shat your pants in the middle of the grocery store.”

Isabella coughs, fighting back her own laughter. I glare at her, daring her to laugh. She looks down, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I think you look beautiful,” Betsy compliments.

“Thanks. I just don’t feel like me,” I state, fidgeting.

“That is the fucking point. You are not supposed to be you. Now stop bitching and act like you’ve got money,” Eden orders.

I roll my eyes and place my hand on my hip as I saunter across my room, swaying my hips. “What is this place? It isn’t fit for peasants. Get me my drink. Don’t touch me with your common hands. Carry my bags,” I say in my best posh voice.

Eden, Betsy, and Isabella all stare at me. “I said act like you’ve got money. Not act like a bitch,” Eden quips.

I flip her off. “How am I supposed to act with money?” I ask, confused. “The only people I’ve met that have money have been bitches,” I point out before looking at Isabella. “No offence, I don’t mean you,” I state.

“None taken.” Isabella smiles.

“Okay, well, Isabella is the only one with money and the only one that would have met other wealthy assholes,” Eden states. She looks at Isabella. “I also mean no offence,” she affirms.

“Again, none taken,” Isabella repeats before she gets to her feet and looks to me.

“It’s not your accent or being a bitch that screams you have money.

It’s the entitlement you portray. You don’t blink when someone brings you a drink.

It’s their job to serve you. You do not wait around for them to get your luggage.

When you arrive, you get out of the car and make your way into the house.

They will do it all for you. You behave as if money is nothing and everything at the same time,” she instructs me.

“How am I supposed to act like money is nothing and everything?” I ask.

“So, money is nothing, as in you don’t think twice about purchasing or about bidding in an auction, but money is everything when you discuss how much you made that year. How much you own, how many staff you have working for you, or how many houses you own. Understand?” Isabella explains.

I nod in understanding. “Anything else?” I ask.

“Just be you. Your hard and confident exterior will keep people at bay. They get even the slightest whiff of weakness, and they will circle you like sharks,” Isabella adds.

I arch my brow at her. “I’m not sure if you’ve just insulted or complimented me.”

“It’s a compliment.” She smiles.

I don’t get nervous, but right now sitting here, sipping a glass of wine outside a small bistro, waiting to be collected for this charity retreat, I feel tense. I thought the pick-up location would be somewhere private, somewhere where there could be no witnesses.

I shift uncomfortably in my fitted formal cream dress.

I never wear shit like this, but as Eden and Betsy had said, I needed to look as though I have money.

I don’t care that this dress is designer, especially as it’s fucking comfortable.

The dress stops at my knees, and the square neckline hints at just enough cleavage that it’s sexy but not slutty.

Eden called it business-formal sexy; I called it ‘I’ve got a stick up my ass and I’m a snob’ sexy.

They even made me wear gold jewellery with real diamonds, and it’s all blingy shit.

Some of it is pretty, but none of it was me.

I had a formal cropped jacket resting lightly on my shoulders; you know, how the pretentious women do.

I just want to rip these clothes off and put on my jeans and go for a ride on my bike.

My case is designer; my underwear, skincare product, perfume… Everything is designer.

Eden reminded me they scan our cases. Apparently, smuggling in cookie monster pyjamas and thongs from the discount store weren’t allowed.

I look at my watch—my large gold and diamond encrusted watch—checking the time.

I scowl at the heavy, gaudy looking thing.

It is so over the top. I may as well scream ‘come and mug me’ as I sit here.

Five minutes until my ride arrives, and as I jig my leg anxiously, I’m not worried about getting hurt and I’m not worried about facing that giant cock sucker.

My biggest fear right now is failing. There is a lot riding in this.

If I find the right information to take him down, then it could save a lot of girls.

I spot a blacked-out SUV approach, and as it pulls up slowly in front of me, I push my shoulders back and keep my face neutral.

I lift my glass slowly to my lips, watching as the driver’s door opens and an old guy with short grey hair wearing a black suit and a crisp white shirt steps out.

He stands perfectly still by the side of the car, his hands clasped together in front of him.

Staring straight ahead, I try not to shift uncomfortably.

Surely he would call my name or take my bag.

Just as I’m about to place my glass down and stand, the front passenger door opens and a woman who is also dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt steps out.

She walks round the front of the SUV towards me.

Her blonde hair is slicked back into a tight bun.

She comes to a stop just in front of me.

“Miss Fox,” she greets me, nodding her head slightly. For a minute, I thought she was going to bow.

I place my wine glass down and slowly stand, giving her a tight smile. “Good evening.”

She takes my luggage to the back of the car. I follow her, watching as she waves a large wand-looking thing over it. When satisfied, she turns and holds out a briefcase, pausing to open it.

“Please place your phone and any other electrical devices in here. This will be locked and stored in Mr. Sparks’ safe until the event is over,” she states.

I reach into my purse and pull out the phone that Betsy had given me and place it into the case.

I hold out my purse for her to see I don’t have anything else.

Satisfied, she gives me a brief nod and closes the briefcase, clicking the lock shut before placing it in the back of the SUV.

After closing the trunk, she walks to the back passenger door and opens it for me.

I give her another tight smile and nod before sliding into the seat.

She closes the door, and it’s then that I notice it’s been modified.

Just like in a limo, there is a screen dividing the front, but this one has a screen on it.

I look out the window, but it’s completely blacked out.

I can’t see anything outside. I hear both the man and the woman get into the front.

“Miss Fox,” the woman’s voice echoes around me, making me jump slightly.

“Now that formalities are over, I would like to introduce myself. I am Penny, and I will be your personal assistant for this event. Should you require anything, please do not hesitate to ask. You will notice that you have a complete blackout. This is to ensure the location remains unknown. You have a screen that you can watch movies on, listen to music, anything you wish. To your left is a fully stocked fridge with champagne, caviar, and other refreshments. We will arrive at our destination in approximately two hours. Should you need anything, please press the green button on your armrest, and I will do my utmost to assist you,” she states before going quiet.

I look down at the armrest and see a small remote there.

I pull it out and press the button, and the screen before me comes to life and a welcome message fills the screen, followed by a photo of Henry Sparks.

I fight the urge to scowl. A selection of movies comes up on the menu; movies that I’ve seen trailers for that aren’t even out in the cinemas yet.

I click on one and reach for the fridge.

After grabbing one of the bottles of champagne and a glass, I pop it open, being mindful to only pour half a glass.

The last thing I need to be right now is tipsy.

I need a clear head for what I’m about to face this weekend.

I just hope it isn’t a massive orgy for the world’s richest assholes.

The thought of that makes my stomach turn.

I then decide to try the caviar. I peel it open, spreading a small amount on a cracker before popping it all in my mouth in one.

I frown, finding the texture weird in my mouth.

At first it tastes like the ocean. Fresh, salty.

I don’t hate the taste, but I don’t love it, either.

At least I know I can eat it without having to spit it out.

I sit back, my eyes roaming around, and that’s when I spot the small camera in the top right corner.

I wonder if Henry Sparks himself is watching each of us.

The thought makes me shift uncomfortably. What if he has cameras in our rooms?