Page 9 of Scarred Sacrifice (Savage Sisters MC #1)

I stretch out and yawn, blinking my eyes open when I feel Nathaniel’s warm body wrapped around mine. I turn around and face him. He really is cute-looking, a great lay, and a nice guy. Guilt swirls at the pit of my stomach. I’ve treated him like shit.

His eyes flutter open and his gaze lands on mine, a smile taking over his face. “Have you been watching me while I sleep?” he asks me playfully, his voice gruff.

I give him a small smile. “I owe you an apology,” I state.

He blinks a few more times, frowning in confusion. “What, what do you mean?” he asks.

“I’ve been a real bitch, I know that. Last night, the way I spoke to you. In the past, the way I’ve spoken to you,” I ramble.

He sits up, a smile still playing across his lips. “Hold up, let me record this shit, because I can’t be awake. I must be fucking dreaming if you are apologising,” he teases.

I thump him hard in the arm. “Shut the fuck up. I still mean what I said about how this can never be anything more than a casual hook-up. You are a lap dog. Not just to me, but to the others as well,” I state, repeating my words from the other day.

“I know this.” He nods.

I search his face, checking he’s okay with it. I sigh when I see no signs of him being hurt by it. “See, if this was the other way around, and I was a man,” I state.

“Mor, if you were a man, I wouldn’t be lying in your bed right now,” he points out.

“You know what I mean. Being a woman means that even though I know I’m a hard bitch… Well, harder than most. I still care about your feelings, because I’m a woman.” I huff.

He scoffs out a laugh before wrapping his arm around me and yanking me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest while his fingers relaxingly stroke through my hair.

“It’s got nothing to do with you being a woman. It’s got everything to do with who you are as a person,” he states softly.

I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I think you may be the only man that thinks I’m even the tiniest bit nice.”

“That’s only because they don’t know the real you,” he adds. “Now shhh, and get some more sleep. You kept me awake fucking most of the night. I need my beauty sleep.” He yawns.

I jab him playfully in the ribs, making him laugh. “Making it out like I forced you, but fine. I could do with the sleep, too,” I relent as a yawn escapes me.

Just as I’m drifting off, a knock at the door has me groaning. “What?” I yell.

The door opens. “Get up. There are things to do and discuss,” Eden demands.

I sit up and frown at her, giving her my best death glare, but she just glares right back at me with her hands on her hips.

“You can crawl back into bed after, but we need you now,” she orders firmly.

I huff and get out of bed as Nathanial rolls over, drifting back off to sleep.

“It’s funny. I thought I was the President of this club, and yet here you are bossing me around, giving me orders,” I grumble as I grab my robe, keeping my back to Eden whilst I put it on and cover my naked body.

I turn and face her, arching my brow. “Well?” I prompt, gesturing for her to lead the way.

She rolls her eyes and storms out of my room. I follow, closing the door behind me.

“So, are you guys an item?” she asks.

“No. God, no way,” I dismiss quickly. “We have cleared the air. The lines are firmly in place. No lines will be crossed,” I state.

Eden gives me a side glance. “Sure,” she mutters.

“They won’t be. I’m not interested in him that way, nor anyone else. He knows that, you know that, the entire fucking world knows that, so there cannot be any lines crossed,” I snap.

“I didn’t say it would be you crossing the lines.

I’m just saying within what, twenty-four hours, he has admitted to wanting to be with you more than what he currently is and that he likes you more than that.

Who knows? He may even love you. You shut him down, he flutters his eyelashes at you and manages to break through that impenetrable force field you have, and taa-daa, he’s back in your bed,” she rants, only pausing briefly before starting back up again.

“Whether you like to admit it or not, you have a soft spot for him. And no, I know you don’t like him like that, but any affection you show him, any interest you show, he’s going to see and think there is more to it.

Maybe it’s a good thing this has come up.

It could give you some distance.” She sighs as she pushes the door open to Betsy’s room.

“What thing?” I ask with confusion.

Betsy turns around and smiles. Isabella is sitting on the couch, and she greets me with a shy grin. I frown, wondering why Betsy allowed her in here.

“So, Isabella has given us more information and a perfect way in,” Betsy states, her eyes sparking with excitement.

“I’m guessing it was involving something technical, or you wouldn’t be so excited right now,” I point out.

Her grin widens. “You know me so well.”

“Henry holds an annual charity retreat,” Eden states.

“Yes, we know, but we never know where it will be, as he constantly changes location due to the press, and you need one of those special invites,” I point out. Betsy practically bounces in her seat. I smirk. “Come on, then. Tell me what genius thing you’ve managed to do.”

She claps her hands excitedly. “Well, with the help of Isabella with the location details, times and travel arrangements, I have been able to get into the system and add you to the list of invites.”

“Wait. You didn’t use my real name, did you?” I ask worriedly.

Betsy scoffs. “Do I look like an amateur to you?”

I laugh, loving seeing her so excited. “You’re right. I’m sorry, do continue.” I nod.

“As I was saying, I’ve set you up with a fake name and a fake life. They check backgrounds of all those in attendance,” she states. Turning back to her computer, she types for a moment before she leans back and points to the screen.

“Annie Rection. Seriously? Ann-ie-rection. An erection?!” I protest. “You can’t give me that.”

Eden, Betsy, and even Isabella can’t help but laugh. “Okay, I will change your surname to Rector,” Betsy snorts.

“Annie Rector. An erector. Seriously. Come on,” I moan.

“Okay, fine. I will change it one last time, but I can’t do it again, or they will notice all the name changes.” Betsy gives in and quickly types away. “There, Valentina Fox. You are a self-made millionaire in women’s sex toys,” Betsy states.

My jaw drops. “You can’t be serious?”

She nods, smiling. “Absolutely. I discussed it with Isabella. If you were a daughter of some rich king, ruler, or businessman, Henry would know you. If you were in porn, he would know your name. However, there is one thing he doesn’t know, and that is apparently women’s pleasure.

It’s a market designed for women by women.

Only men that actually have an interest in their partners pleasure bother to know anything about these things, and even then, apart from buying lube or a toy, they are not going to know who owns the companies,” Betsy points out.

I rub my face. “What if there are other high-powered women there? They may know and realise I am not who I say I am,” I argue.

“There are only three other women there, aside from the wives, of course. All three are wealthy, thanks to daddies or dead husbands’ money. They won’t be interested in business or even know who you are,” Eden interjects.

“My father doesn’t believe women can run a successful business, so to see someone like you on the list will spark his interest. He will feel threatened by you but also intrigued. He will want to belittle you and put you in your place in front of his friends,” Isabella warns.

That has my jaw set tight. “Maybe it would be better if I go in. I can’t see you keeping your cool,” Eden suggests.

“Sorry, no can do. Her image is uploaded. I can’t change that.

It was hard enough to get into their system as it was,” Betsy explains.

She pulls open a draw and hands me a cell phone.

“Now, this is your phone. You will get a text with coordinates tonight. You will be picked up from the location. You are allowed one case, and that case will be scanned. You are to bring personal items only. Your phone will be confiscated, and you will have no contact with the outside world,” Betsy explains.

“How many days is it?” I ask.

“It’s from the Friday to the Monday. You will be made to sign an NDA when you are collected,” Isabella adds.

“Why is it so secretive?” I ask.

“Because the press like to capture the rich relaxed. People slip up after a few drinks and say what they really think, and they can be themselves without the public watching and waiting for them to screw up. The press loves to get that scoop,” Isabella divulges.

“What if they sense something? What if they figure out who I am and why I am there?” I ask, pausing. “In fact, why am I there?”

Eden smiles. “We know Henry doesn’t keep his trafficking information at his home address.

He has other properties all over registered to him, but Isabella has informed us where this year’s event is being held.

It is actually at one of his properties, not registered in his name.

It’s registered in his uncle’s name, so then anything found at the property he can say it was his and plead ignorance.

This place is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woodland and a huge lake. The nearest town is over an hour away.”

“Again, that doesn’t prove that any proof is there. Which means I’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no way out and no contact with you,” I point out.

“My father has an underground office there, only accessible by an elevator. I, myself, have only ever seen it once when I was just ten years old. It’s surrounded in concrete, and the door is a thick iron door that only opens with his fingerprint.

I should also mention that there is a guard on the elevator twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” Isabella informs us.

I throw my arms up and flop down on the couch. “So, I just have to cut off your father’s finger and somehow beat up or kill the guard without causing a scene. Easy,” I say mockingly.

Betsy hands me a small black wallet. “Inside there is a small, very thin silicone strip, along with some special powder for transferring the fingerprint. What you need to do is carefully take his glass, open the powder, and just lightly blow it onto the glass. It will highlight his fingerprint just enough for you to then place the thin strip to lift the print. Wear gloves and use that as your fingerprint to access the office,” she states smugly, like she’s solved the whole situation.

“Firstly, you said they check all luggage. How am I supposed to explain this?” I ask, holding up the wallet. “And secondly, there is still the matter of the guard, and you know not being seen by the hundred guests in attendance or the many staff members that will be working,” I remind her.

Betsy smiles and turns around, handing me a small bottle of perfume.

“This is highly concentrated laxative. All you have to do is pour some in their drink, and they will be clutching their ass so tight that they won’t have time to call for a replacement.

By the time they’ve emptied their guts and called for cover, you will be out of there and back at the party with no one knowing. ”

“And how exactly am I supposed to roofie the guard’s laxatives?” I ask, arching my brow.

“There is a small table just to the side with a jug of water and glasses for them. Pour it into the jug and then wait,” Isabella suggests.

“Right, fine. Anything else?” Betsy winces and holds up what looks like a piercing gun. “What the fuck is that?” I ask.

“I’m going to plant a microchip in your arm. It’s just a tracking device. So, if anything should go wrong, we will know where you are, and we can come and get you.” Betsy grins.

“Hold up. You’re going to AI me?” I screech.

“We are not AI-ing you.” Eden snorts, rolling her eyes. “Well, with that in me, you are making me feel like a robot. Or a dog. We chip dogs, and I am not a dog,” I argue.

“Look, this isn’t about what you are. It’s about your safety. What if Henry decided to sell you? Or he finds out who you are and ships you off to Tim-buk-fucking-tu! Then what?” Eden rants.

“Okay, fair point. But you promise to get it out when I get back?” I ask.

Betsy winces. “Well, that might be painful. It could end up shifting inside your arm, and you may need to have it surgically removed.”

I look at the gun contraction in her hand and back up to her face. “This better fucking pay off,” I huff, holding my arm out for her.