"You know the rules, slut," the man on the sofa says.

The girl's lower lip trembled as the man raised his hand. He slaps her across the face with the back of his hand, and the sound echoes through the dim room. The girl whimpers and rubs her cheek—the skin is already pink and swollen.

"Come on, let's play again," the man says. "If you win, you can have all that money."

Gabrielle leans forward and sees a sloppy pile of hundred dollar bills on the table. She scans the money and guesses that it's several thousand dollars. She bites her lip as the girl leans forward and clenches her manicured hand into a fist.

"Rock, paper, scissors," he shouts.

The girl lays her hand flat—paper. The man and his friends laugh, and the loud drunken sound makes Gabrielle's stomach tighten. She steps back from the door and holds her breath as the man raises his hand. The second slap is just as loud as the first, and the men in the room cheer.

"Third and final round," the man says. "You really can't afford to lose this one."

The girl's shoulder shakes, and she raises her small fist again. She bites her lip and stares at the man on the sofa with tear-filled eyes. Gabrielle crosses her fingers behind her back and hopes the girl gets lucky.

"Rock, paper, scissors," the man shouts.

The girl plays scissors, and her face lights up. The room falls silent, and the men turn to see what the man will do.

"You lose, David," she says.

"I never lose," David says.

Before the girl can grab the first bill, David's fist flies through the air and slams into her jaw. She flies off the coffee table and lands in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her hair falls across her face, and she pushes it back. Dark red blood drips from her mouth and dribbles down her chin onto her tanned neck. The men cheer even louder, and David chuckles.

"Nice one, David!" a drunken man shouts.

"You've got some arm," says another.

Gabrielle grits her teeth and looks at the man they call David. He's wearing a black shirt, black jeans and designer shoes worth at least fifty thousand dollars. His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and four diamonds glitter on his ears. He turns to look at the door and Gabrielle shivers. His face is surprisingly young—he can't be more than twenty-five years old—but his eyes gleam with sadistic pleasure, and his thin lips curl into a monstrous grin.

Gabrielle has heard of men like him. They act tough, but only because they're rich. They hide behind their money and pick on people smaller and weaker than them. The other girls in the club say they get off on pain—they can't enjoy sex unless the woman they're with is miserable.

Gabrielle looks at the sobbing girl on the floor and shivers again. Is this seriously the man Jackson wants me to entertain? She thinks. That's so sick—I thought he was keeping me for himself, but I guess he just wants to degrade me. Well, I'm not going to give up without a fight. If this man likes violence, I'm going to give it to him.

"Don't be such a loser," the men shout. "Get your sorry ass off the floor and play again."

"No, I'm done with her," David says. "Bring the new girl in."

Hill shoves Gabrielle with one hand and pushes the door open with the other. For a moment, she stands frozen in the doorway. She can feel the men's wolfish eyes on her, but she refuses to look at them. Instead, she stares at the girl, still shaking and sobbing on the floor.

"You get over here," David says.

He raises his hands and snaps his fingers at her like a dog. She grits her teeth and steps forward. She throws her shoulders back and looks around the room with casual indifference as if she can see through each and every man in there. She stops next to the sofa, but she refuses to sit down.

"Sit down, please, make yourself comfortable," David says.

The men chuckle and nudge each other. Gabrielle stays standing just out of David's reach. He snaps his fingers again, and she bites her tongue.

"So, you think you're tough?" David asks. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"No, and I don't care," Gabrielle says. "I'm not interested in getting to know perverts."

David's eyes darken, and he says, "I'm David West. My friends and I have a bit of a reputation here."

Gabrielle's stomach turns, and her blood goes cold. She's heard the other girls talking about David West, and everything they've said makes his sick version of Rock, Paper, Scissors look fun and tame. He's killed at least three different girls in the club and sent many more to the hospital. And that's just in the last year.

"Do you know how to play this game?" David asks.

"No," she snaps.

"You don't know rock, paper, scissors?" he asks. "Maybe I can pull this slut off the floor and have her give another demonstration."

"That won't be necessary," Gabrielle hisses.

"Fine," David says. "There are thirty thousand dollars on the table. If you win one round, you get ten thousand; two rounds, twenty thousand, and well, you get the idea. But if you lose around, I'll slap you across the face." 

Gabrielle looks down at her plastic stripper shoes. She wants to run out of the room, but she knows there's nowhere to go. The men in David's room would only drag her back in, and they'd enjoy watching her struggle. She glances at the money on the table and squares her shoulders. Thirty thousand is more than she's ever made in the club—it's not a lot, but it could help with her debt to Jackson.

 "Fine," she says. "But if I win, I'll also slap you in the face. It's only fair."

"Who says I care about playing fair?" he asks.

"Are you scared of a woman?" she challenges, flipping her hair over her shoulders. "Only a coward would refuse."

The men laugh and jeer, and David's face tightens. He clenches his jaw and pulls her onto the sofa next to him. He slides his hand under her short skirt and pinches the inside of her thigh.

"I'm going to enjoy beating you," he whispers.

The double meaning chills her to the bone, and her heart hammers in her chest. She closes her eyes. For a moment, she lets herself imagine kicking him in the crotch. Then she takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and prepares to play.

"Rock, paper, scissors," David shouts.

Gabrielle flattens her hand into paper, and David balls his fist into the rock. She smiles, feeling victorious. She blinks and feels a breeze moving toward her face, and then a hard hand smacks into her cheek. Her head snaps sideways, and she bites her tongue.

"You were too slow," David says.

He licks his lips, and the pupils in his eyes dilate. She looks down and sees the excitement in his jeans. He catches her looking and grabs his crotch. She gags and looks away.

"Good one, David," a man shouts.

"That was hilarious," says another. "The look on her dumb whore face was priceless."

Gabrielle swallows the blood and wipes her lip on the back of her hand. Her mouth tastes like copper, and her ears ring, but she's not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt. She smiles as wide as she can and combs her hand through her hair.

"Let's play again," she says.

David's eyes narrow and he says, "Rock, paper—"

Gabrielle rewinds her arm and slaps him across the face before he can say scissors. When he straightens up, his eyes are pure venom, and there's a red blotch across his cheek. He rubs his face and mutters something under his breath.

"You were too slow," she says. "If you want to win, you'll have to be faster."

 "Let's go again," he says. "Rock—"

Gabrielle swings her head to the side, and David's fist grazes the side of her ear. She reaches for an empty beer bottle on the table and smashes it against the side of the sofa. Shards of glass and warm beer fly everywhere, but she keeps her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle. The jagged edges of the broken bottle glint like teeth in the light.

"You're still too slow," she says, waving the bottle back and forth.

"I like your spark," David says. "I'm going to love crushing it out of you. So how about this? We played one last round. If you win, you take all the money on the table. But if I win, I'll do you on the table. And then maybe afterward, I'll let my friends have a go at what's left of you. Is that okay with you, Jackson?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a man step out of the dark shadows in the corner. Relief floods her, but then Jackson's lips twitch in a small smile. He raises his whiskey glass in a mock toast and nods.

"Be my guest, David," he says.