I frown over the small compact mirror, my head pounding.

"Theo," I say, pausing as I swipe mascara over my lashes. I hadn't asked for it but Sin left a small bag of cosmetics in the bathroom. It feels oddly nice as I apply a light amount to my face...feminine. It feels like forever since I've allowed myself to be soft and pretty.

Theo bops his head, humming loudly to a Bees Gees song. I'd no idea Sin had a small speaker system in his apartment until Theo took it upon himself to make my ears ring by blasting 70's pop music. "What's up?"

"Can you turn it down a little?" Or off preferably, but I can't bring myself to ask when he manages to look so happy over a crappy little tune. I sigh internally. What happened to the jaded version of this man I saw only a few nights ago?

He grumbles a bit but turns it down slightly. It doesn't relieve the ache behind my skull, but maybe it's just the stress getting to my brain. I smooth my short white dress around the tops of my thighs and try to relax my tense muscles before grabbing the tube of mascara again.

"You alright over there?" Theo says, watching me curiously from where he sits on the couch.

Oliver snorts on the other side of it but otherwise says nothing. It doesn't surprise me. Today he's especially grumpy—probably because he's been assigned to watch over me.

"Just peachy," I murmur. Who wouldn't be delighted to be paraded around in front of a group of blood-thirsty thugs?

Not to mention I'll be in forced proximity with Sinclair. I haven't seen him much in the past few days, making the space between us all the more strained.

"Don't worry. You have both of us to protect you," he pauses, sliding over the cushion to give Oliver a nudge with his elbow. "Right?"

Oliver grunts, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest and glaring at the wall. He looks like he'd rather eat glass.

I snap the compact shut and slouch bag in my chair. "Don't I feel just snug as a bug."

"You should. Do you think he would trust us with you if we weren't capable?"

I shrug. Do I really know who Sinclair is? What he actually wants?

"So much confidence in our little team." Theo stands up and tweaks my wrinkled nose, humming along to an Abba that harmonizes around us.

I start to protest that I'm only just a prisoner (a well-fed and well fucked prisoner, but still) but Theo is already grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "Come on, it's time."

...

I think we're going downstairs but instead they pull me out into the club, past the crowd of tight-knit bodies and VIP section dedicated to the incubi and into another hidden room tucked behind the bar.

I frown, looking at the long table set up for gambling and the prominent dark figure that sits at the head of it. His head cocks curiously as I approach, Oliver and Theo taking the seats beside him.

Sin's gaze slowly slithers down my body. I raise an expectant eyebrow when he finally makes it to my face.

He grunts but I don't miss the appreciative glint in his eyes as he pats his lap. I sigh but walk over obediently and plop down on his thighs.

I don't look at him. Things are...weird between us. Tense. To be honest, I'm not sure how to react. How do you talk to a guy that fucked you to high heaven and then proceeded to torture a man all within the same twelve hours?

It's been a few days but it hasn't made the strange aura between us much better. Then again, it also hasn't stopped the craving I have for the feeling of his skin against mine. It's as awful as it sounds—I'm not sure if I want to curl my lip in disgust or bend over so he can fuck me against the table.

He brushes a lock of dark hair over my shoulder, his knuckles brushing over my bare skin. An involuntary shiver works itself down my body.

His lip tilts up a little bit at that. "Are you ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be," I say, looking away from his too-handsome face.

He pauses and my skin itches where I can feel his eyes intently scrutinize my features. "You look...pleasant," he offers hesitantly.

I can't help myself. I bark out a dry laugh. "You sure know how to make a girl swoon."

Oliver snorts next to me. Sinclair pays him no mind, hooking a hand around my hip and pulling me further up his lap. The heat of his chest radiates into my shoulder. "I do," he agrees, his hand still lingering over my hip. "Maybe not with pretty words but you seemed pleased enough by my previous advances." His fingers draw small circles over my hip bone and I suppress a shudder at the memory of them wandering elsewhere.

Somehow I don't blush to my roots this time and I'm proud of the fact. I'm slowly getting better about not making it blatantly obvious that I have next to zero experience in the bedroom. "Yeah, but don't call me pleasant. Especially when I'm all done up for you. It sounds like you're contemplating sticking your dick in a meat grinder."

He makes a thoughtful sound. "What does it matter if you've put on a face of makeup and slapped on a dress that shows your tits?"

I stare at him. How did I ever think this man was attracted to me? "God, you're a douche."

His brow furrows with irritation and his lips twist like he's preparing to say something nasty before he seems to think better of it. "I mean you don't need to do all this. This is just a show for them."

I raise a brow. "Right."

Sin sighs and rubs a weary finger over his temple. "You don't need little dresses or lipstick or to have a skirt so short it's a slip away from flashing your ass cheeks. You're beautiful always." He looks tired from the confession and I realize that being nice must be incredibly difficult for him, especially in front of other people. "Exceptionally beautiful."

I blink and I'm so astonished by his words that I find myself speechless. "Ah," I mumble, my stomach tumbling over itself as I stare at the array of empty chairs surrounding us. I know he's already made similar remarks but it's hard to believe a man when you have his cock in your mouth. That's when they love to whisper pretty nothings. "Thanks."

He frowns. "Still mad at me?"

"I'm not mad," I pause. Is it possible that I'm the only one that feels the tension festering between us? "I don't know how I feel right now."

"You don't like when I torture people. Even when they deserve it."

"Uh. Correct." I squint suspiciously at him. I'm not sure if he's trying to appease me to get his noodle wet or if he genuinely doesn't like the distance between us.

He's silent for a moment then nods slowly. "Okay."

I blink. "Okay?"

"Yes. I understand now. But I'm still not going to stop."

I snort. "Compromise really seems like your forte."

"When I kill someone, they deserve to die. When I torture someone, they deserve to suffer. And when I fuck someone," his fingers slide down my side until they tease the hem of my tiny skirt as if he's contemplating burrowing his hand underneath. Heat grows in my belly and I know if he tried I most definitely wouldn't stop him. "They deserve to come around my tongue and tell me they're mine."

My mouth opens on its own accord but shuts just as quickly. I shudder at the memory of his warm body working over mine, forcing myself to look away from the way his plush lips screw into a satisfied grin.

Dammit, it shouldn't be this easy to subdue me. Fuck Sinclair and his stupid, sexy mouth.

He laughs at my submission and presses a small kiss against my neck. "Relax, angel. They'll be coming in soon. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty."

They do file in shortly after that, a small crowd of six men settling down in the open chairs. The most intimidating one stations himself at the far end of the table.

He looks to be about the same age as Sin, his hair a dirty blond brushed back from an angular face. A small mole lines the top of his lip, his cleft chin baby-smooth with lack of hair. Handsome enough I guess, but certainly not my type. He reclines in the chair, looking like a content king lounging upon his throne.

"So," he drums his fingers against the table, eyes evaluating every crook and cranny of my body. "This is her?"

Sinclair's fingers turn my jaw out so I look directly at his face. The man stills, his lips parting as he takes in the golden irises that stare back at him.

His mouth splits into a bone-chilling grin as he glances back at Sinclair. "How much for one?" His hand moves into a pocket in the inside of his suit jacket and he slides a small razor-sharp blade onto the table.

Oh. He means one of my eyes.

My lip curls before I can stop it. The urge to reach across the table and jab the knife into his nutsack is staggering.

Sinclair's hand smoothes over my cheek, his fingers brushing my lips in a gentle warning. It's tempting to bite him but I don't. Not because I'm a good little slave, but because free booze sounds more appealing than ripping this guy a new one.

"Every part of her is mine. Every limb, strand of hair, fingernail," he clutches me tighter against his chest, "are mine and I don't share. Understood?"

Nerves ache in my stomach and I find myself turning my head to catch Theo's gaze. He has his mean face on again but as my eyes graze his, the frown on his face slackens a bit and he shoots me a comforting wink.

That's good...I think. Means that this is probably normal and won't end in some testosterone-fueled shoot-out.

The man appears slightly miffed but merely rolls his eyes and tucks the knife back into his pocket. "Always a selfish son of a bitch, aren't you?"

Sinclair grunts but relaxes a tad at his submission. "Yes. Now you've seen her. Tell me what you need to be done, Dean."

The man—Dean, I guess, snorts and pulls out a stack of cards from his other pocket. His men stiffen around him. Sinclair probably puts them on edge.

"It's been a while since we've played a game," he says, shuffling them in his long fingers. I notice that one of them is missing, leaving an angry looking, fleshy nub. He sets a few on the table and then hands some to the two men next to him, Oliver and Theo, and then to Sin.

Sin seems irritated but takes them in his hand anyway, the other still a vise around my waist. Dean quirks his brow at Sinclair's unwavering grip on me like it's a curious thing and asks, "What does her energy taste like?"

Sin stiffens again. Something about this man sets him off but I can't put a finger on why. "None of your goddamn business. Now sit down, pick up your damn cards and talk."

The man next to Dean tilts his head as he takes me in, his long brown hair draping over his shoulder. It's not sexy like Sinclair's manages to be—just mousy and a little disheveled, like he's past due for a haircut. "What I'd give for a taste of that cunt. Bet it's like sucking honey off a sweet little flower." My stomach sloshes as the image of his imposing mouth on my skin engraves itself into my mind.

Sinclair doesn't get up and wrap his hand around the man's throat like I expect him to. Doesn't make threats that make him cower in pure, unadulterated terror.

Instead, he calmly pulls my pistol from the side of his pants and cocks it at the man's head. And he shoots.