Gabrielle swallows hard. Having sex with Jackson is one thing—he's rough, but he's not unkind. But having sex with this monster in front of so many other men is another thing entirely. She looks at Jackson, trying to read the expression on his chiseled face, and she shivers. His eyes glow with a strange intensity, and his mouth looks almost vampiric.

I'm an idiot, she thinks. He won't save me—he's the whole reason I'm in this mess. He played me, and now he's going to watch the show just like all these other pervs. Well fine, if he wants I show, I'll make sure he gets it.

"Okay," she says to David. "I accept your little game."

A man whistles and shouts, "This'll be good."

"I call second dibs," says another.

"Let's play," she says. "Rock, paper, scissors."

 She sticks her fingers out like scissors, and David balls his fist for rock. His face glows in the dim room, and a demonic smile twists his thin mouth. He leans toward her, and she waves the broken bottle near his face.

"Looks like I won again," he says. "I wonder, are you going to scream when I hold you down on that table? Lots of girls scream."

"Dream on, perv," she hisses.

"Oh, so you're one of those," he says. "You think you're brave, do you? Well, little girl, I know ways to hurt you that you can't even imagine. You'll scream alright—in the end, they all do." 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jackson. His face is smooth, but his eyes look dark. He steps back and disappears into the shadows, leaving her alone with David and his friends. She tightens her grip on the broken bottle. One on one, she stands a chance against David, but if his friends jump in to help, she's screwed.

David grabs her leg, and she leans forward. The bottle scrapes the side of his fair neck, leaving a jagged red line. A thin stream of blood seeps from the cut and darkens the edge of his collar. His eyes widened with shock and then pain.

"You're still too slow," she taunts. "You're lucky I didn't aim for your face, but I guess there's still time for that. Tell me, would you scream?"

 "You bitch," David hisses.

"Hmm, so not your face then?" she asks. "You're right—it's far too visible. We can't have you leaving the Top Girls Club with cuts all over your face. What about down below?"

She glances down at his raging erection and swings the broken bottle back and forth. The men laugh, but the sound is different and uncertain. They might jump on her at any minute.

"I've heard about what you do to girls down there—maybe I'll return the favor," she says. "We'll see if you like it when the roles are reversed."

"You're funny," David says, his eyes cold and murderous. "Let's see how long your sense of humor lasts."

He runs his fingers across the cut on his neck and sucks the blood off his fingertips. He licks his lips with a long, snaky tongue and smiles. His eyes burn with fury and desire, and he reaches for her leg again. 

"Listen, David," she says, batting her eyelashes. "I'll let you have me, but only in a private room."

"This is a private room," he snarls. "And I don't listen to demands from whores."

"Well, you better start listening," she says, raising the bottle to his face.

"This game has gone on long enough, and I'm starting to get bored," he says.

She jumps to her feet, and he lunges toward her. She dodges to the side and waves the bottle through the air. While he looks at the gleaming glass, she lifts her leg and kicks him hard in the crotch. He doubles over in pain, and she grabs a whiskey bottle from the table and smashes it over his head.

Glass and whiskey glisten in his short hair, and trickles of blood flow down into his face. He staggers but stays standing. She grabs another bottle and tries to smash it over his head, but his hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. She twists her arm and tries to pull away, but his grip is iron. With her free hand, she swings the broken bottle and slices into his wrist.

He growls and holds her tighter. She looks down at his hand—the knuckles are bone white, and his blood seems to flow even faster. His warm blood trickles onto her arm, and she smiles and squirms. As the slick blood drips onto her arm, she wiggles her hand back and forth, until her entire wrist is covered in his blood. With a deep breath, she pulls her wrist, and it slips out of his hand.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Hill screams from the door.

"This bitch attacked me," David says. "What are you people playing here?"

Hill's face goes white as he sees the blood, and he says, "Mr. West, I'm so sorry. Gabrielle is one of our newer girls, and she lacks discipline. I'll have her sent to your room immediately. Just let me know which devices you want to punish her with."

David's eyes narrow, and he asks, "Any devices I want?"

"Of course," Hill agrees.

"And will Jackson approve?" David asks.

"I'm sure he will," Hill says.

"Very good," David says. He turns to Gabrielle and adds, "So your name is Gabrielle? That's a pretty name. You know, I saw you dance in the wine glass the other night. You looked so innocent—I knew I had to destroy you, but I guess you're not quite as tame as you look, eh? Good thing I'm up for a challenge."

He pinches her chin between his fingers and forces her to look up at him. He reeks of whiskey, and there's blood-streaked all across his face. He licks his lips and leans down.

"I can't wait to taste you," he whispers.

She grins and pulls him closer, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck. He smiles, and she takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites it as hard as she can. She tastes blood and bites even harder, wondering if she'll bite through his whole lip. She opens her mouth, spits, and shoves him backward.

A club security guard rushes forward and twists her arms behind her back. She knows it's pointless to struggle against the huge man, and she lets her body go limp. He tugs her toward the door, and she glares over her shoulder as she goes.

"She'll be ready in your room," Hill says.

"Great," David says, licking his bloody lip. "I'm looking forward to it."