Seriously? I just got off stage twenty minutes ago.

Hand propped on my hip, I turn to look at him. “Again?”

As much as I hate being on stage, I need to make some money tonight. And the only way to do that is to book private rooms.

Freddie sighs. “Violet took the night off and Candi never showed up for her shift, so we’re short.”

That’s weird.

I look at Heather, or should I say—Bambi. “I can’t believe Candi didn’t show up.”

Lord knows I can’t stand her, but it’s not like her to ghost on a shift. Hell, I’m pretty sure she spends more time here than she does her actual apartment.

Bambi waves a dismissive hand. “She probably overslept.” Picking up a tube of mascara, she rolls her eyes. “Or she’s too busy screwing her latest train wreck of a guy and lost track of time.”

That definitely sounds like her.

After reapplying my lip gloss, I place the black and green masquerade mask over my face. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

However, I can’t shake the weird feeling snaking up my spine as I walk out of the dressing room.

What if she’s not?

Chapter 11

Aspen

After applying some winged eyeliner, I take a step back and examine myself in the mirror.

I never wear this much makeup—except at work. I run my hand down the bones of the tight black corset I paired with an even tighter pair of jeans. And I definitely never dress like this.

Which is exactly why I chose to.

Tonight, I get to have fun.

I study myself for another long beat before deciding my hair could use some curls and volume.

Too bad I left my curling iron at work.

Fortunately, my mother has damn near every beauty product known to man.

“Mom,” I call out as I walk out of my bedroom, “can I borrow your curling iron?”

No response.

Stifling my huff of annoyance because Traci and Staci will be here in a half hour to pick me up, I stomp down the stairs in search of her. “Mom.”

When I still hear crickets, I walk into the living room and stride over to the large window facing the driveway. Her car is still parked, so she’s obviously home.

I’m walking back up to my room when I pass the bathroom and hear the shower running. Since I’m in a rush, I quickly knock before charging inside.

“Sorry to bother you, I just—”

My sentence jams in my throat when I realize it’s not my mother standing in the steam.

It’s Knox.

I’m about to walk out, but it’s too late. He’s already wrapping a towel around his waist and stalking toward me like an animal approaching their prey.

I quickly back up and turn around. “What the hell is your problem?”

My hand is already on the doorknob when Knox extends his arm past my head and slams it shut, trapping me.

His warm breath tickles the side of my neck when he speaks, “You look like a whore.”

Screw him.

I know he’s only saying that to get under my skin and to make me feel like shit.

Because that’s what bullies do.

I turn around to face him. “No, I don’t.”

He braces his arms on either side of my head, caging me in. “You’re right.” A smug smile curls his lips. “Whores are attractive…you’re not.”

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from me, but I refuse to give him one.

“Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” I laugh, but there’s not an ounce of humor. “Do I run off and cry now because a worthless asshole like you deems me ugly?” I poke his bare, wet chest with my finger. “Sorry, but—”

Words die in my throat when I feel the ridge of his cock dig into my stomach, hard and demanding.

He can deny it all he wants, but the body doesn’t lie.

Knox might hate me as much as I hate him…but he also wants me.

And that knowledge fills me with an almost lethal dose of satisfaction.

It’s my turn to smirk. “That’s funny. It sure doesn’t feel like you find me unattractive.”

The cruel way his face twists makes it clear I’m provoking the beast. To my surprise, he doesn’t argue with me.

What he does next is so much worse.

My lungs freeze when the tip of his finger trails down the column of my neck. The movement is gentle but calculated. I swallow thickly when he traces the tops of my breasts, which are sitting high, thanks to the strapless push-up bra I’m wearing under my corset.

“Knox.”

It’s meant as a warning, but it almost sounds like a plea.

And I hate myself for it.

His touch should feel like razor blades beneath my skin. Yet it feels like tiny little sparks lighting every nerve ending of mine on fire.

I reach behind me for the doorknob again, but he leans in so close it almost hurts.

Those piercing orbs of his darken. “Get on your knees.”

Jesus Christ. It’s all I can do not to laugh because he’s out of his damn mind.

The murderous look in his eye warns me not to protest.

I do anyway.

“Not a chance in hell—”

I yelp when he dips his head and his teeth sink into my neck hard enough to puncture my skin. He’s like a venomous snake digging its fangs into their victim…injecting me with his poison.

A small drop of blood trickles down my cleavage and he runs the tip of his tongue along the crimson liquid, lapping it up. “On your knees, Stray. Now.” I loathe the way my nipple pebbles when he pinches it. “I won’t tell you again.”

When I don’t move, his mouth hovers over my jugular, threatening.

He’s a killer—I remind myself.

You’re trapped in a room with a goddamn killer.

And if someone could murder their own mother, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill their stepsister, whom they despise.

It’s that stark realization that makes me concede.

The moment my knees hit the floor, he drops his towel.

Despite overhearing Shadow’s proclamations about his size, I’m still stunned to find out just how right she was.

Knox’s dick is thick, veiny, and every bit as angry as he is.

It’s also exceedingly big.

So big you’d definitely feel the ache when he stretches you.