Page 67 of The Order of Disorder

“Fuck you.”

That gets a chuckle. “Later, maybe. But right now, get dressed.”

He doesn’t move. Just gestures with a flick of his fingers.

“Now, Max.”

I don’t move either, so he steps closer and lowers his voice.

“I can have Cash dress you, if you’d rather.”

My skin crawls. I glance at Cash, who doesn’t flinch or turn away. He waits with his arms crossed.

It shouldn’t matter. I’ve been paraded around this clubhouse naked before—on tables, in laps, across rooms thick with smoke and laughter. Cash has seen it. They all have. But something’s shifted since Wyatt started staying close. Since I started remembering I have a right to keep things for myself. Since I stopped being their spectacle and started being Wyatt’s girl.

That doesn’t protect me now.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“Then move.” He arches one unimpressed eyebrow.

Every part of me revolts, but my hands are already working, slow and mechanical. Pulling off my t-shirt, the soft shorts Islept in. I fold my arms over my chest, not so much to hide as to keep myself contained.

Billy tsks. “All the way.”

I hesitate a beat too long. He nods to Cash and that’s all it takes.

I peel off my underwear and bra with shaking fingers. The air feels too cold. My anger makes my stomach twist. My shame makes me want to disappear.

Billy watches, his eyes moving over me appreciatively. Cash doesn’t blink.

I stare at the wall.

“Good,” Billy says, voice warm and indulgent. He turns to Cash with a grin. “Fucking beautiful, isn’t she? Tight and bouncy in all the right places.”

He steps closer, gaze dragging down my chest, my stomach, between my legs. “And a perfect little cunt too. Mmm, I think we need to catch up some time, Maxie.”

I grit my teeth and jut out my jaw, saying nothing.

“But tonight you’ve got plans, sexy. Put on the dress.”

Expressionless, revealing nothing, I reach for the dress, but my throat feels raw, as if I’ve been screaming.

I pull the silk over my skin, the fabric slippery and clinging too close, but I don’t give them anything. No tears. No trembling. No shame they can see.

Let them look.

They’ve already taken everything on the outside. But they can’t touch the hope, the strength inside that Wyatt’s given me.

I smooth the fabric down over my thighs, lift my chin, and meet Billy’s gaze with a sangfroid I don’t feel.

He pulls an amber bottle with a white label from his pocket and shakes it so that the pills inside rattle.

“Here,” he says. “I know you’re nervous. I brought you some of these to take the edge off.” He glances at the bottle. “Oxy. Your favorite, right?”

He twists the cap and shakes out four, holding them out in his palm.

“No,” I say.