Page 40 of Sanctuary

"For me?"

"Seriously, baby, just come back. I wanna get this vodka deal done tonight. It’s for you."

I know better than to believe a word he’s saying. Nothing has been done for me this entire weekend. But he’s my boyfriend, and if he’s asking for help, I’ll do it. I’ll go and smile prettily and pretend that I like the attention of his disgusting business partners.

I’m afraid to think beyond the idea of what may happen if I tell him no. I do live with him. He feeds me, clothes me, lets me do whatever I desire in his place.

It’s an even trade-off.

That’s how our relationship works.

When I finally locate the bus Jett mentioned, I have to grab onto the doorframe for balance before hauling myself up the steps.

Inside, I'm greeted by a typical scene of debauchery. Jett, Mick, and Clem are sprawled out on the couches, drinks in hand, a haze of smoke hovering in the air. There’s a hookah in the middle of the table, which is littered with empty bottles and lines of coke. They look up at my entrance, three predatory gazes zeroing in on me.

"There she is," Jett slurs, and a lazy grin spreads across his face. "My ride or die."

He reaches for me, pulling me down onto his lap before I can protest. His mouth finds mine, his kiss sloppy and aggressive. I taste vodka and cigarettes.

I try to pull back, but his grip only tightens as his hands roam possessively over my body.

I don’t mind him doing this when we’re alone, but I don’t know how I feel about the other two men being present in the room.

"Jett, come on, stop," I mutter, finally getting enough leverage to draw his face away from mine. "I don’t think this is appropriate."

"What are you talking about, Wends?"

"There are people here?" I whisper at him over the noise of the background music.

"So what?" He blinks at me blankly, and I wonder if he hears what I’m saying at all.

"What do you mean so what?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mick rising from the couch across the room and moving to sit on ours. He slides closer, his hand creeping up my bare shoulder.

An unpleasant shiver runs down my spine.

"Jett," I mumble against his mouth as he kisses me again. I’m trying to squirm away, but all the drinks are hitting me hard now. It’s like I’m on the outskirts of my own consciousness, sandwiched between the two of them, their touches growing bolder by the second.

Jett's lips brush my ear as he whispers, "You'll enjoy taking on three dicks. I want to fuck your ass, Mick'll take your pussy, and Clem'll fuck your mouth."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water, and a chill of revulsion rushes through me. But it's like I'm observing it all from outside my own body, too drunk and disoriented to mount a proper defense.

Their hands are all over me, tugging at my clothes. I make a feeble attempt at batting them away, but it's useless. In a matter of moments, they have me stripped down to my bra and panties, and

I find myself standing in front of the couch. Jett’s face is swimming in my line of vision, fuzzy and distorted. Behind me, Mick presses himself against my back, and I can feel his erection.

My stomach churns.

His hands snake around and grab at my breasts. Jett drops to his knees and starts to lower the zipper on my left boot.

"No," Mick says. "Have her leave them on," he instructs.

I'm trembling now, acutely aware of my own vulnerability as I watch Jett ripping off his own shirt. When I look at his inked chest, I feel absolutely nothing. He doesn’t turn me on like before. He disgusts me.

"I don’t wanna do this," I say.

"We'll all make you feel good," he insists, his voice impatient. "You're gonna enjoy this."

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