Page 50 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

We reach the last step on the staircase and enter the main club. I cross my arms as I survey the room, working to keep my expression neutral.

At first glance, it seems no different from the club back home.

Tables dot the floor, and booths ring the edge of the room.

“Doms” sit at the tables, with subs at their feet or in their laps.

They recline in their seats. Their sub entertains them or sits demurely, waiting for their “Dom” to instruct them.

But on closer inspection, it’s clear something is different.

Wrong. The booths are in full view. There are no curtains to hide their occupants if they desire the semblance of privacy.

The subs all wear silver collars around their necks and have silver cuffs around their ankles and wrists.

Their eyes are vacant and defeated and bloodshot, and their bodies are too thin, close to malnourished.

My blood turns to fire in my veins. I knew what we’d witness here tonight would be awful, but nothing prepared me for the reality of seeing it. The clear mistreatment of these females, the utter defeat in their eyes… It’s plain for anyone to see, and none of the males in this building care.

The subs are underfed, forced to perform for and entertain these males, and I’d bet every last penny in every one of my accounts that they’re not allowed a safe word either.

They have no one to fight for them, no one to ensure their physical and mental wellbeing.

But I could. I could tear through this establishment—slicing throats, ripping hands off, and rending heads from bodies.

I could throw them to the floor and stomp repeatedly on their groins, digging my heel in to ensure their favorite body part never works properly again. Not that they’d be alive to use it.

Their blood would paint the entire club red. The floor wouldn’t be visible from the amount I’d spill from their veins. Their screams would fuel my destruction and be the main theme for the soundtrack of my bloodbath.

“Seb.”

I blink and turn my head towards Dominic.

“Breathe,” he says.

I inhale and exhale, closing my eyes to shut out my view of the room. “This isn’t right. We can’t let this continue.”

“If you go on a rampage, if you kill them all now, everything we’ve been working for will fall apart,” he reminds me. “They’ll know someone is onto them, and they’ll go even more underground.”

I strain my neck and hold back a growl. “We have to save them.”

“And we will. We will save them by keeping up our act, getting info from Nuncio, and getting Sarina to safety. If we save the ones here right now, it will be at the expense of saving Sarina and any other female they’ve captured or will capture.

If we wait, we have a higher chance of saving them all. ”

He’s right. I know he’s right, but a pit forms in my stomach at the thought of leaving these females to suffer for any longer than they already have.

I force myself to take another deep breath, and another. I focus on his words and rein in my emotions.

We will save them. We will. All of them. And when we do, I will bring terror down on every last male behind this sick and twisted endeavor.

I calm myself just in time.

The bouncer who let us in approaches our group, staring right at me. “Nuncio will meet with you soon. He asked that you make yourselves comfortable. Find a booth, order some drinks. Anything you like. It’s all on the house tonight.”

“That is generous of him.” I nod my head in thanks.

“I’ll return when he’s ready to meet with you.” He turns on his heel and heads back up the stairs to the entrance.

I glare at his back. It’s the only thing I can do, the only outlet for my displeasure and distaste.

“Shall we find a place to sit?” Nolan’s arm wraps tighter around Cassandra’s waist.

“Yes. And we should order drinks.” I tear my eyes away from the dark stairwell. “But don’t drink them,” I add in a mindlink. “Just to be safe.”

We weave through the tables towards a booth in the corner.

I make a conscious effort to make eye contact with the other “Doms” in the room, shooting them a cocky grin or a knowing nod of approval.

I pretend I’m like them, that I’m here to exploit the terrified, scarred females scattered throughout the club.

In reality, the cruelty in my eyes and my aura is fueled by picturing how I’d torture each of them individually.

I’m creating a list in my mind for later, with a face next to each bullet point.

Liquid silver poured down his throat.

Wolfsbane and silver mixed together and injected into that one’s eyeballs.

A silver collar with wolfsbane-coated spikes wrapped around his neck and the base of his dick.

Punishments to fit their crimes. Torture so awful, they’ll be begging me to kill them.

But I’ll drag it out.

I’ll show them how it feels to have their free will taken, to be treated as an object or property. I’ll torture them until they, too, have given up all hope of their pain ending or of someone saving them. Then I’ll torture them some more, just like they’ve done to these girls.

We reach the booth. I step to the side so Dominic can slide in before me, and Nolan and Cassandra stand near the opposite end of the curved seat, a silent argument passing between them.

Her head is lowered, eyes on the floor, but his are slightly vacant as he mindlinks her.

His brow furrows more, and his eyes flash with displeasure and disgust.

He looks at me, pleading for help.

“Tell her where to sit,” I coach him. “You don’t have to be mean to her about it, but you need to make it clear that you are in charge and she is your sub.” I remove my suit jacket as I continue to mindlink him. “Just say ‘sit on my lap’ or ‘kneel on the floor until I summon you’.”

His shoulders tense, and his grip on her tightens as he growls at me and narrows his eyes. “I’m not making my mate kneel on the floor of this Goddess-awful place. ”

“She’d do it if you told her to. She’d do it to keep up the ruse.”

“I know.” His hardened expression softens as he switches his focus to Cassandra.

He gives her hip a subtle, comforting squeeze before taking a deep breath and ripping himself from her side to sit on the bench seat of the booth. “Sit here,” he orders her, patting his thigh, as he slings his other arm over the back of the seat. “I want to play with you.”

Cassandra slides into the booth, gaze now locked on Nolan’s instead of staring at the floor to avoid eye contact with anyone. She lowers herself to his lap, perching on his knee.

He shakes his head. “No. Straddle my thigh and face me. I want to watch your reactions.”

Her cheeks turn pink, and she bites her lower lip as she stares at him over her shoulder.

“Daisy.” His tone is low and sharp, leaving no room for her to hesitate or argue with him. “Now.”

She nods, her blush spreading from her cheeks down to her chest and neck, and she rises and spins, climbing onto his thigh with her knees on either side of it.

He grabs her and yanks her in close, relaxing into a reclined position as his hand slides down her spine and lower back until it rests on the back of her thigh. His fingers wander lazily over her skin, then lift the hem of her already short dress higher on her legs until it barely covers her ass.

I finally tear my eyes away from them. They’re playing their part as Dom and sub, as exhibitionists, but as their friend and out of gratitude for the favor they’re doing for me, I owe them that small amount of privacy.

I also have to grit my teeth to keep from howling with laughter. For someone so insistent that he can’t be a Dom and that he’d be the reason our cover is blown, Nolan fits into the role way too easily.

Not a Dom, my ass.

I should have made a bet on it.

As Cassandra settles into her position on Nolan’s lap, a server approaches us. She wears a collar and cuffs, like the other females in the club, but instead of lingerie that barely hides her body, she wears a short skirt and a cropped bustier top, and jewels sparkle within her shackles.

A favorite. The owner’s pet .

I barely pay attention to what drinks everyone orders, but I do notice that Nolan orders for Cassandra, like I told him to after we checked into our hotel last night.

None of us speak as we wait for our drinks to be delivered.

Dominic and I scan the club, both pretending that we’re searching for a conquest for the night, as Cassandra and Nolan continue their performance.

I try to avoid watching them, but I can only bring myself to look at the broken females filling the club for so long before I feel guilty and angry—guilty that I’m leaving them in the hands of these males when we could free them tonight by killing everyone here, and angry that these males have them trapped here in the first place.

So, I alternate between the two, never letting my eyes wander lower than Cassandra’s waist. Nolan’s hands remain on her lower half.

Both of them seem lost in their own world, but occasionally Nolan’s jaw ticks or his throat bobs, especially when someone wanders too close to our table or when we feel the weight of an appreciative gaze sliding to our booth.

Each time I look away from them, all I see is Sarina’s face transposed onto the unwilling submissives’ bodies. I see the fire dimmed from her eyes and the sassy smile fading to a blank, straight line. I see her broken and bruised and hopeless, weakened in body and spirit.

“I hope King Malachi has a plan for the aftermath of shutting this ring down,” I say to everyone through mindlink.