Page 130 of Wicked and Claimed

“A birdie told me the wine is laced with GHB and MDMA.” His low murmur, almost drowned out by chatter, music, and clinking glasses, held a warning.

Dread sank deep in Nash’s gut. Fuck, this night was likely to go south—fast.

“What does that do?” Haisley whispered, wide-eyed.

“Creates a potent euphoric high.”

Kane nodded. “Which will probably heighten your sex drive. So don’t drink it.”

“Too late,” Nash supplied grimly.

Another glance at Haisley told him her pupils were already dilating. A flush was creeping up her cheeks. Hell, her lips even looked swollen.

Around them, others were beginning to wriggle and moan. Men’s hands began wandering, leading females onto their laps or into dark corners.

Suddenly, Haisley swayed against him. “That explains why I’m feeling…strange.”

“Take deep breaths. Do your best to keep your head. Remember, what you’re feeling isn’t real.”

She nodded, but her lids were turning heavy. Seductive. She licked her lips and pressed a hand to her chest, accentuating her now-hard nipples poking her teeny-tiny pasties. Then she rubbed against him in blatant invitation. “Everything feels like a dream. Touch me so I know you’re real…”

His pulse jumped. His cock stiffened.

Damn, now wasn’t the time to lose his head.

Kane sidled up to him, turning his back to Haisley. “Brace yourself. She’ll be begging for it soon.”

“I know.” He hated to touch her while she was impaired, but she’d known they would likely have to join the sexfest about to unfold. And he couldn’t whisk her away to the privacy of their room without raising eyebrows—and suspicions. He could only hope she didn’t fucking hate him tomorrow for what was about to go down.

“I’ll deal,” he told Kane. “You prepared to do your part?”

“Xander and Javier are full of fun tech. Got a camera built into the frame of these glasses.”

“They work?”

Kane nodded. “I did a test run earlier. Walked around the compound, ‘accidentally’ stumbling into a couple of employees-only sections. I played dumb when they tossed me out. Not much of the footage I captured was useful, but I sent back what I could. The bosses are fine-tooth-combing it now.”

At least that was some good news.

Suddenly, Haisley gasped, her stare fixed a few feet away. “Amy…”

He and Kane both followed her gaze and spotted a pretty brunette being roughly guided by a man in an emerald cape. Her eyes were glassy, her steps unsteady. When she stumbled, her “owner” yanked her upright by her hair with a snarl.

The music shifted to something darker, more sexual. Then a resonant gong echoed through the chamber. The crowd’s energy changed, anticipation crackling through the air as everyone suddenly retreated to the edges of the room.

Mr. Gray, wearing his own cape and mask, walked through the throng that had parted for him, then ascended a raised dais topped with an ornate throne. Golden serpents coiled up its sides, their ruby eyes gleaming in the dim light. He raised his arm in a sweeping gesture, commanding the crowd’s attention. Everyone fell silent.

“Welcome, brothers! Tonight we gather to celebrate the ancient rites that bind us. For centuries, men of power have known the truth—that dominion over the flesh empowers our dominion over everything. The Velvet Cove is a place where you can indulge in pure pleasure without rules or shame, which is why discretion is paramount and participation is key. Here, you’re encouraged to be your most hedonistic self. Let’s toast!”

The masked figures from the hidden doors suddenly produced ceremonial bowls of incense. Sickly-sweet smoke curled through the air as they slowly circled the gathered crowd.

“Drink deep,” Gray commanded, raising his goblet. “Let the sacred elixir free your base desires. Tonight we revel in darkness. In lust. In power.”

The assembled men raised their glasses in unison before knocking back their brew. Even the most resistant of their “merchandise” were forced to drink. Amy’s handler roughly tipped her glass to her lips until she choked.

As the drugged wine took hold, the mysterious figures began a low, rhythmic chant. The cloaked masters soon joined in. A sexual electronica beat threaded beneath their voices as they moved in measured steps, herding their captives to the center of the room.

With each rotation, their circle tightened. The chanting grew louder, the music more primal. Women swayed, eyes unfocused. Their handlers swept them up in possessive holds.

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