The dress is a struggle to get on, clinging to my body like a second skin. It leaves nothing to the imagination, showcasing my wide hips, the slight bump of my gut, and small chest over the strapless neckline.

Next to Amber, I feel like a preteen girl. She's all chest and curvy ass and flat stomach. A woman.

"Keep your chin up," she hisses at me as she slides a bright rouge over her lips. "And don't talk. You'll ruin everything with that mouth."

My hands clench as I imagine her neck between my fingers. "Can't I say the same to you?"

She snorts, glancing at me in her compact mirror. "I know my place, skank. Wish I could say the same about you."

"Do you?" I muse, recalling the look of passion on her face as she sat atop Sinclair the night prior. The one of betrayal when he claimed me as his. The longing expression on her face as she watches him from afar. "Because it looks like you like Sinclair. A lot, actually—maybe even love him. I bet you dream he could feel the same way about you, huh? But all you are is a willing hole he can suck the life out of." I know I've gone too far when the words fall from my mouth, but I don't regret them. I won't be pushed around and she should know it.

"You fucking bitch." I don't even realize she's raised her hand until it's swinging toward me, connecting to my cheek with a sharp sting.

I bare my teeth at her to hide the grimace of pain that fights to rise on my face. I take a step towards her, hands clenched to meet her face, but Oliver puts his muscled body between us.

"Sit. Both of you."

I swallow the ugly words on my tongue and turn away, plopping down on the leather couch behind us. A tickle brushes over my cheek and red stains my fingers as I reach up to wipe it off.

Another rush of liquid heat rushes to my hands, demanding I return the favor. But somehow with a great amount of willpower, I restrain.

"He's going to kill you, you know," she hisses behind Oliver's large body. "Fuck you and kill you. And I can't wait for the day."

I huff as I slide back against the couch cushion. As if I don't already know he'll end me once he's bored of his new toy. But at the very least, my body will always be mine.

"It's almost time to go out. Stay quiet, both of you." Oliver sighs, the sound thick with exhaustion. "I didn't sign up for this baby-sitting bullshit."

...

Oliver ushers us out, strategically fitting himself between our bodies. I don't complain—she's a bitch and I'm too testy to keep my temper.

He leads us through the crowd to an area closed off with rope. It has a nicer bar than the one on the floor, the tables and chairs quality made.

The majority of the people lounging about are men. I only spot a few women that have an aura of power around them, the others lounging in the laps of men and evidently human.

Sinclair kicks back in a leather chair. When he spots me, he waves me over with a lazy hand. I barely resist the urge to shoot Amber a smug smile.

He doesn't greet me as I approach. Just racks his eyes over me, taking his time as seems to study every dip and curve of my body.

"What?" I shift warily under his eyes.

His eyes linger on the angry red marks scored across my left cheek. Sinclair leans forward, large hand reaching for my face. His fingers trail over the tender scores, sending a pleasant flurry of tingles down to my bones. Something dark flashes in his eyes. "Who did this?"

I snort. "Take a guess."

His jaw clenches as he angles my head with his other hand, my chin gripped tightly between his hand. Even if I wanted to pull away there's no chance in hell he'd let me get away with it. Having him prod over the small wound makes a small sliver of satisfaction blossom deep in my chest, whether I care to admit the fact or not.

"What, you going to kill her?" I nearly laugh at the thought. I already know she's too valuable to him, as exciting as the thought is.

His eyes flash dangerously—at the angry lines that mar my cheek or the thought of ending her, I have no idea. "No," he says, and I nearly sigh with disappointment even though I'd known better. "But she will certainly learn her lesson."

I huff, brushing his warm touch away even though the action pains me. "And what lesson is that?"

"Not to touch what's mine."

"Thanks, but I can fight my own battles." I cross my arms, eyes narrowing. It's a useless thing to say. The man does what he pleases, but at least it's better than claiming I'm not his. The ink on my arm would beg to differ.

"You look gorgeous," he says, patting his lap. I stare blankly at him. "Come sit."

"I don't see any other chairs," I say, turning away from him as if I don't see the spot he gestures to on his legs. "Oh look, there's one. I'll sit over here."

"Angel," he warns as I move across the room from him. I ignore him as I stride forward, stiffening when he follows behind me and wraps his large hand around my wrist. "Calli."

"I'm not sitting on you," I growl, whipping my hand back. "Don't ask me again."

"That's not a choice you get to make."

As if the snake on my arm can sense his words, she twitches underneath my skin. I tense at the slight tickle of the movement, pretending she doesn't exist. "Isn't it?"

He watches her wiggle on my arm, reaching to trace the detailed pattern of her scales. His lip curls on one side as she moves closer to the gentle touch of his fingers as if trying to slither out of my skin and curl herself around his hand.

"She likes me," he says, stroking the lines of her head. I shiver at the delicate touch, frowning as her body quivers in delight.

I yank my arm away. "That doesn't mean shit. You're the one that made her."

"Means plenty," he says, an amusement filling his features. "She is an extension of you, after all."

Another flush of red rises to my cheeks. Note to self—don't let him touch my arm unless I want to out my idiotic attraction to this man. "Bullshit."

"You don't have to believe me, angel. I've noticed you're quite talented at lying to yourself."

My eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighs. "Save the angry words for later. For now, we need to put on a show."

"A show?" I snort. "Good luck with that. I think I'll skip participating tonight."

He grabs my wrist again as I attempt to move forward, keeping a steady hold even as I glare at his fingers. "I'll give you back the gun."

My jaw clenches so tightly that the ache radiates into my temple. "As soon we're done."

"You have my word."

I sigh deeply, a sour feeling taking root in the pit of my stomach. It's worth playing his little game for a piece of safety.

Or maybe you're scared you'll like sitting on his lap a little too much.

"Christ." I shove the thought away as quickly as it comes. I must be going crazy.

He settles down on the same chair, dark eyebrows raised. "You okay over there, angel?"

"Just peachy," I mutter, grimacing as I slowly lower myself to poise on the lower half of his lap. It's an awkward position and I have to keep my feet underneath me to support myself, but I can't manage to push myself back, gun on the line or not.

"I take it you've never sat on a man's lap," he says. His hands move towards me, scooping underneath my knees and supporting my back with the ease of lifting a child. His arms swivel me to sit sideways against him, my side pressed flush against his solid chest and my legs dangling off of the arm of the chair.

I feel breathless even though he's done all the heavy lifting. I study a particularly interesting speck of dirt on the floor instead of looking at him. His face is too close to mine, the warmth of his breath brushing over my jaw.

"I've sat on tons of laps. More than you could ever imagine."

"Really," he says, the pleasant vibration of his chuckle rumbling through my body. "Is that why you were sitting on my leg like you were ready to ride it?"

"Like I was—?" God help me, I hope he can't see the mortified look on my face in the low light. Whether he means like a horse or...other things, I'm not sure I want to know. Judging from the deep rumble of his chuckle, he's taking enjoyment over watching me draw my own conclusions.

I glance at him as his laughter dies, his body growing still underneath me. "What's wrong?"

His eyebrows are drawn together, jaw clenched tight as he studies someone in the crowd. "Kiss me."

I still, pulse pounding at my throat. "What?"

He doesn't wait to respond to me before pushing his lips against mine. They lack the intensity of last time, taking care to move gently against mine as I find rhythm against his mouth. Sinclair's arm winds around my waist, tugging me tightly against his chest as he softly nibbles my bottom lip.

The action undoes me. My legs turn to jelly, a static-like frenzy festering in my stomach.

He continues to lead me through the kiss. He's somehow demanding yet patient as I learn how to properly move my lips against his.

I resist the urge to tug him back in place as he pulls his face away from mine, studying the presence behind me. "Arlo."

"Sinclair," a deep voice greets. It's not smooth and delectable like the man underneath me. It's deep, slightly gravelly as if he's spent too much time in his day shouting orders. A voice meant to be feared.

"And who is this?" Fingers tug at my chin, tipping them into a set of square teeth bared into a suggestive grin. "She's cute," he says, smile widening as I flick my gaze up to his and shoot him a glare fit to melt the flesh off his bones. "And feisty. What a lovely little pet."

"Careful," Sinclair murmurs, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning his face into his hand. His mouth tilts up on one side at the hate blatantly plastered across my face. "She bites."

"She also doesn't like to be referred to like a dog." I swat his grubby fingers away. "Don't touch me."

His grin widens and I notice in the low light that he's pretty handsome for a walking piece of shit. He must be in his late thirties, his square jaw lined with stubble and dark hair peppered with white. Eyes so dark they could be black gaze down at me, watching intently as I fumble under his gaze.

I don't realize I'm wiggling against him nervously until Sinclair's hand tightens on my waist. Something pokes me in the ass and I resist burying my face in my hands to hide the flush quickly consuming my pale skin.

"Careful, angel," he murmurs. "You're walking a fine line."

I tense, heart thrumming in my chest. Caught between two monsters.

Arlo leans forward, envy-filled eyes raking over where I press against Sinclair. I'm surprised drool doesn't dribble from the hungry look in his gaze. "Care to let me have a little taste-test, Sin? I bet her energy is delicious."