I CAN DO THIS ALL DAY 🎀 21+

𝐀𝐫𝐢 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

36 years old. 

Grumpy, comes across as cold and disinterested. 

6’9'', big fuckin’ bloke. Huge. Could climb him like a tree. 

Lloyd’s right hand. Ari gets the job started and finished. Doesn’t like to get his hands too dirty. 

Secretly a massive softy but takes a while for that to come out. 

Divorcee. Going through his ‘I hate women, why did she leave me, what did I do, womp womp’ phase. 

Not the worst of the bunch, but not the best by any means.

If you want a closed off, grumpy, moody, mean man, then take this one.

Just pet him, he’ll calm down.

Top Three: Choking, Overstimulation, Size Kink

Ari’s Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞

34 years old.

Damn right mean. Near  evil— but that’s what’s so good about him. 

6’4'', Muscular but not overly. Covered in tattoos, always filthy for whatever reason.

Does a lot of Lloyd’s dirty work. 

Happily murder for you with a shit eating grin. 

Dangerous, in every sense. 

Never had a serious relationship, sees women as disposable, just a misogynistic asshole, to be honest.

If you’re after a man that just wants your body, this one is yours. 

Ain’t gonna say no to a cuddle.

If Lloyd and Pete weren’t around then this is the worst it gets.

Top Three: Knife & Gun Play, Fear Play, Chase Kink

Curtis’ Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐲

31 years old.

Golden boy by day, filthy pervert by night (when finally pushed far enough.)

6’6'', slimmer than Ari, but more built than Curtis. 

Pretends he doesn’t like what's going on, but does what he’s told. 

 Knows the damage he can do and fears it heavily. 

Tries so hard to be good but always fails in the end. But it’s the trying that counts right?

Just out of a serious relationship, going through his hurt puppy phase. 

Likes to pretend he’s the good guy, he’s fooling himself really.

If you want the best of both worlds, this is your man.

Think ‘’I’m one of the good guys, why aren’t you choosing me’’ vibe.

Top Three: Begging, Daddy Kink, Hair pulling

Steve’s Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

27 years old.

6'0''

Sunshine. Dumb. Hot. 

Softest of the bunch.

Doesn’t always realize where the line is. 

Goes from girl to girl, but at least tries to keep them happy while he has them. 

Sweet, but again, just as bad as the rest but at least he tries to be nice about it. 

He wouldn’t be allowing anything to happen if he was really that good at heart. 

Would argue that he is the best of the bunch- if nice is what you’re after.

He’s a nice break.

Top Three: Anal, Use of toys, double penetration 

Jake’s Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬

45 years old.

6'1''

Lloyd’s Twin. Born second, explains a lot. 

Sick fuck. Shady asshole. 

But he has the potential to have a soft side. 

So many things wrong with this man, probably got dropped on his head as a child.

Only bad because Lloyd’s got his back.

Literally just wants his dick sucked 24/7.

If you wanna spend all day on your knees and have your money taken, this is your bloke.

Top Three: Puppy Play, Throat Fucking, Thigh Riding/Humping

Pete’s Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

45 years old.

The elder twin.

6'2''

The devil. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Actually, the devil fears Lloyd Hansen. 

If you wanna live a life of misery, all while being sent to heaven, this is your man. 

The only one to have his father’s last name, and not the mothers.

Just like his father, tbh. He was a sick cunt too. 

Top Three: Non-Con, Sadism, Dacryphilia.

Lloyd’s Playlist. give it a listen for his vibe

His hands came together in a slow, sarcastic applause with a smile of pure venom on his face. His suit was wrinkled from a long night in the club. His eyes raked across your naked body with a newfound sense of ownership that made your skin crawl and bile rise in your throat. You instinctively went to cover yourself, hands coming up to cover your breasts, dropping the glass Ari had handed to you. The liquid splashed against your feet as you drew your legs up.

"Well, well, well," Pete drawled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Didn't actually think I'd catch you red-handed, Sugar. But here we are."

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you tried to scramble off of Ari’s lap, but his hands tightened around you, holding you in place. You twisted to look at him, searching his face for a shared confusion, for anger, anything, something— but all you found was a cold, detached calm.

"Ari?" Your voice cracked. "What—"

"Relax," Ari said quietly, his tone flat. He didn’t spare you so much as a glance. His eyes were locked on Pete’s with a knowing glint.

Relax.

Relax?

You stared at his face, slowly mapping out his features before you looked at Pete and let out a shocked sigh when your stomach dropped as you put together the similarities and wondered how you could’ve been so blind as not to have seen it sooner.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, sweetheart," Pete said, a mocking sweetness laced in his tone as he stepped closer. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting his face in a way that made him look grotesque. "You didn't really notice the family resemblance?”

“Family.” You said bluntly. “Brothers?”

“My uncle,” Ari explained simply.

“Did you think you were getting away with it? All those private dances, all that cash you've been pocketing without telling me? You thought I wouldn't find out?" Pete asked as he stalked closer.

Your mouth opened, but the sound failed to make an appearance. Your brain was scrambling as it tried to piece together what was happening, as if you were trying to hold water in your hands—everything was slipping through as you tried to make sense of how Pete had found out.

"I—" you started to explain, but Pete cut you off with a sharp laugh.

"Save it,” He sneered. “I know everything. Every client you propositioned. Every dollar you didn't report. Every lie you told." He stopped a few feet away from the couch, arms crossed over his chest as he bent at the middle, towering over you with a triumphant grin, "And you know what the best part is? You walked right into it."

Your eyes darted back to Ari. He was still holding you, still calm, and then realization hit you like a freight train.

He knew.

He was part of this.

"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "No, you—"

"I what?" Ari's voice was cold, detached. He finally looked at you, not as a woman he’d just spent the last hour methodically taking apart, but as a piece of evidence, or a chore he’d finally completed. There was nothing in his eyes. No warmth. No affection. Just... nothing. Not a single ounce of semblance of the man you had grown an affection for over the past few weeks. "Thought I liked you? Thought this was real?"

His words were like a knife to the gut. You couldn’t stop the tears welling in your eyes.

“He was the bait, Sugar,” Pete said coolly, almost cheerfully. “And you took it, hook, line, and sinker. He did his job, got you here, and now…” He trailed off as he gestured around the room, at the manor, at the trap you had fallen into. “You’re all mine… Well, ours.”

Your hands shook, sending a tremble that took over your entire body. You once again attempted to free yourself from Ari, and this time he did let you go. You slip off the couch, your legs shaking, and head past Pete to grab your clothes, the warmth of the fireplace flickering across your skin. As you bend down, Pete’s voice stops you.

“I wouldn’t bother with those.”

You freeze, halfway bent to gather the sorry excuse of a dress.

“You’re not going anywhere, and we’ve both already seen what you’ve got to offer, Sugar. Why hide it now?”

The fear wracking your bones crystallized into something else; something hotter. It floods through your veins like gasoline meeting a lit match. You look at the dress, then back at Ari, who is putting his jeans back on. You waited for him to turn and look at you, but instead, he opted to look out the window as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

You snatch the dress from the floor, turning your attention back to Pete.

“Fuck you,” You spat, wringing out the dress and stepping into it. You heard Ari laugh shortly followed by the click of his lighter as you pulled up the dress and let the straps snap sharply on your shoulders before grabbing your bag. “I’m leaving. Right fucking now.”

Pete’s smile widens, and your stomach turns.

He’s on you within seconds, knocking your bag, the contents flying all over the floor. He grabs your wrist with one hand when they fly up to push him away, and hooks fingers of the other hand under the straps of your dress and snaps them with ease.  He grabbed you roughly, forcing you to lock your eyes with his fiery gaze; his fingers digging into the meat of your upper arms, making you wince and pull away from his grip.

‘’Do you have any idea how much you owe me, Rory? It adds up to a very pretty, very large sum of money that you simply do not have.’’ Pete snarled, venomous and rattling.  

‘’I have it,’’ You pleaded, ‘’It’s at the hotel. You can have it. Just let me go.’’

Pete didn’t answer you. His expression snapped in an instant, switching from a delighted amusement to a cold, hard stare.

He simply whirled you around, pulling your back flush against his chest and bruisingly working his hands against the fabric of your dress to work it down your body until it pooled around your bare ankles. Shakes wracked through your body as a sea formed in your eyes, a devastating storm of hopelessness as an anchor hit the bottom of your gut, rooting you to the mansion floor. Pete turned and shoved you towards where Ari was now on his feet, snapping the band of his boxers against his hips before leaning down to gather his jeans, shaking them out.

Your gaze darted between them as your footsteps faltered, your ankles wanting to give way as Pete began to stalk closer to you again. Your blood turned to ice as he backed you towards the couch. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking an exit; any exit. Instead, you wound up back on the couch, pulling your legs up as Pete loomed over you; his eyes black and vacant.

Ari gave you a passive glance as he lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag as he decided the darkness outside the manor windows was a better view than the debt perched on cold leather.

‘’Here’s how this is going to work, Sugar,’’ Pete says pointedly. ‘’My nephews are going to come through those doors any moment… They’re gonna drop that bag of money you’ve been hiding in that piss-poor hovel of yours at my feet. We’re gonna count it, and we’re gonna calculate the interest–’’

‘’What interest? You have it! You’ll have it–’’

Pete’s hand swung out, and you instinctively curled into yourself, but the blow never came. You peered up to find Ari’s large hand wrapped around Pete’s wrist; not hard enough to cause any damage, but enough to send a message. Your chest heaved as you watched them; it looked like Pete wanted to fight it, but something passed between them– maybe Ari’s size, maybe a respect… You weren't sure. Pete yanked his hand away and let out a defeated huff.

‘’I’ll handle it,’’ Ari claimed, holding up a finger; a warning.

‘’Then handle it,’’ Pete dismissed with a wave of his hand and sulked towards the bar.

Ari took in a deep sigh, finished the last couple of drags of his cigarette, and then planted himself back beside you. He stared into the open space of the living room before dragging a hand down his face, scrubbing at his beard, and taking in a sharp breath before finally looking at you.

‘’Ari, I can’t pay–’’

‘’I know you can’t,’’ Ari cut in. ‘’Which is why you’re going to work it off. Here. With us.’’

Your stomach lurched. ‘’What?’’

‘’There are two options on the table, Sugar,’’ Ari began to explain, monotone and blunt. Option one: You stay here and work on a schedule. Me on Mondays, Curt has Tuesdays, Steve on Wednesdays, Jake on Thursdays, Pete on Fridays, Lloyd on Saturdays.’’ He pauses, letting the words sink into your bones. ‘’Sunday’s… You get to rest.’’

Your vision blurred, ringing overtook your ears, and your chest constricted.  

‘’Option two,’’ Ari continues. ‘’We sell you.’’

‘’Sell me?’’ You whisper, eyes wide.

Ari nods. To one of Pete’s clients. The kind of men who don’t ask for permission, the ones who won’t give you a rest day.’’

A sudden rage blooms, courses through your blood, and explodes.

"No." Your voice is sharp, loud, cutting through the room like a whip. "Absolutely fucking not. You're both insane if you think I'm going to—"

"You don't have a choice!" Pete snaps sharply from across the room, glass thudding against the bar, the liquid sloshing violently. ‘’Unless you want me to make a call and have you shipped off and kept in a fucking cage for the rest of your life. Either fucking way, you are paying me back every fucking cent!’’

‘’I earned it!’’ You fired back. ‘’It’s mine, and you can have it! I don’t fucking need to stay here!’’

“Yours? Yours?!” He sneered, his voice a lethal weapon pointed at you from across the vast living room. “Everything in that club is mine. The floor you walk on, the pole you stumble around on, the laps you keep warm— the fucking air you breathe, the drinks you swallow, and most fucking certainly the clients you’ve been stealing from under my fucking nose, Sugar. I fucking own you. You didn’t earn a fucking dime. It was theft. Plain and fucking simple. You used my establishment to run your own little business and thought you could get away with it…” He trailed off to let out a long sigh after his rant, his expression softening a little. “But, lucky for you… I’ve always had a soft spot for a pretty face.”

Pete stalked towards you once again, but this time Ari made no effort to shield you from him. Pete leaned over you, and the leather creaked as he placed his hand on the couch behind your head. The smell of whisky on his breath made your stomach turn, and his voice dropped to a low, intimate whisper that made your skin crawl.

“My family is a very close-knit group, Sugar. We share everything… And since you've spent so long taking from me— from us, it's only fair that you start giving back. So, I think the choice has been made for you.”

‘’No,’’ You said firmly, sucking in a sharp breath as Ari let out a slow breath.

He stared down at you with a look of cold, almost clinical evaluation. He leaned in closer, his presence oppressive and dangerous, the air between you both feeling thick with a threat that had no need to be voiced. He didn’t seem offended by your outburst; if anything, he once again looked thoroughly amused, as if your defiance was nothing more than a puppy daring to bark at a wolf.

“See, that’s the thing about the word “no”, Sugar. In your situation, it has no place in this house. It’s a word you get to use when you don’t have a debt to pay. It’s for guests. You’re not a guest. You’re a piece of property with a very high interest rate.” Pete leaned in closer, his voice dipping to a soft, terrifying purr beside your ear. “I’m a businessman, Sugar. I’m not gonna drag you kicking and screaming by your hair to a bed. No one’s gonna hold you down and make you do a single thing. It’s boring. It’s predictable. It’s what you expect to happen. I prefer incentives.”

Pete stepped back abruptly, arms flaring out to gesture to the opulent surroundings of the manor.  

“You can fight it. You can scream, you can refuse, and cry and beg. You can be the brave little pup trapped in a wolf’s den, but every day that you refuse to give us what we want, every moment you make us wait… The higher the interest climbs and the longer you stay.”

You opened your mouth to fight back, plead your case, attempt to find any string of words that could wake you from the grim nightmare you had found yourself in– or rather, been lured into; however, the tension in the room was snapped by the sound of the front doors being opened once again. Dread washed over you as Ari stood and stepped towards the windows and stared down the dim hallway. A second later, Ari let out a small bark of a laugh, and a grin broke out on his face.

“Damn, her leaving you hit you hard,” Ari mocked, playful and light with what seemed like a genuine grin towards the footsteps in the hall. ‘’Look at that fuckin’ bush on your face, man.’’

“Yeah? Look who’s talking, “ The voice responded. It wasn’t as deep as Ari’s, and the man who emerged almost took your breath.

He wasn’t as tall as Ari, although not far off. Dirty blonde hair and a thick beard that put Ari’s to shame a little. He looked as if he’d taken a mental beating or two, eyes wary and shoulders tense. The brown leather jacket clung to his large shoulders, the white tee stretched over his chest, and his large hands clutched car keys; the bend in his arms showing off the power in his arms. Under any other circumstances, just like Ari, you could happily find yourself staring at a man like him all day long. The half-smile on his face fell fast and far once he laid eyes on you, before his face scrunched up in a disgust that made you find the floor more interesting.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he spat.

“Steve—“ Pete spoke before being abruptly cut off.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Steve chastised as his feet thundered across the floor.

You instinctively peered up, finding him coming towards you as he stripped off his light brown jacket and quickly laid it around your shoulders, offering a small, tight smile before both of your gazes turned to Ari, who offered nothing but a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Ari chuckled shortly, pointing a finger. “You still showed up.”

“You said she’d have a choice,” Steve shot at him, eyes hardening and fist clenching at his side. “Shaking and crying on the couch— naked!” Steve punctuated with a sharp point towards you. “Isn’t a fucking choice!”

“She was given a choice,” Pete dismissed, as if he were referring to you simply picking what to have for dinner. “I’m still waiting to hear what she’s decided.”

“What choice did you give her? Here or there? Us or some sick fuck that’ll turn her out?”

“Better the ones she knows, hmm?” Ari tried to reason.

“Out of your minds,” Steve laughed, hollow and ludicrous, a hand smoothing over his hair as he let out a rough, angered sigh.

“You still showed,” Ari pointed out, parroting his words from before. “Let’s step off the high horse.”

Steve opened his mouth to fire back at Ari, but the sound of the oak doors opening once again drew everyone into a silence until it was broken by two disembodied voices, lazily sharing a conversation as they stepped closer to the living room. One had an impossibly deep gravel to his tone; the other light, almost boyish— like the world hasn’t hit him hard enough just yet.

“When does Lloyd get here?” One asked.

“Saturday,” the other answered bluntly, closing the door and coughing softly. “Hate how this fucking house smells.”

“It is Saturday,” The first one pointed out.

“Next Saturday, numbnuts.”

“You can’t let him near her,” Steve agonized towards Ari, like he almost feared the voice himself.

“I told you telling him was a bad idea,” Ari groaned, letting out an exasperated laugh. “Always gotta act as the sun shines out of your ass. Why the fuck are you here?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Steve fired, eyes blazing and body tense as he pointed out to the hallway where the footsteps drew closer. “To stop him, because you fucking idiots don’t see how fucking unstable—“

“Don’t let who near who?”

It was like another version of Ari had stepped into the room. Instead of the full beard, thick locks, and tanned skin, it was replaced by harsh stubble, a buzz cut, and ink covering every inch. Behind him was a smaller version of Steve, grinning from ear to ear  with an almost childish charm as he nodded at his brothers.

“Hi,” The tattooed version of Ari drawled, mouth ticked up in a predatory smirk as his eyes wandered your body, not taking them off you, had he held out the black duffle bag in his hand— the very same that had been hidden under your hotel room— and passed it off to Pete. “I’m Curtis.”

“Great, she can go,” Steve said directly, moving back towards you with a hand held out.

“Go?” Ari scoffed, stepping closer as well.

You looked between them, unsure of your next move. You desperately wanted to take the hand of the only man who saw sense and wanted to take you out of there, while fearing the repercussions of the man who wanted you to stay; the one who you were still trying to piece together in your head.

“You have it, she can go,” Steve replied, looking down at you with a nod towards his outstretched hand.

“Interest, Steve,” Ari pointed out sharply, knocking his hand away from you before you could even lift your own to take Steve’s. “Please tell me that losing her made you lose all your brain cells as well.”

“Are you all done squabbling?” Pete asked them both, only turning back to Curtis when they both stood down and averted their gazes from one another. “How much is in here?” Pete followed up, tugging the straps, letting the bag bounce.

“Take a look for yourself,” Curtis replied, his eyes glued on you.

You held your breath, refusing to be the first one to break as you heard Pete sigh, followed by the sound of the bag thudding against the leather chair and the agonizingly slow sound of the zipper being pulled. Curtis’ eyes lit up when Pete let out an appalled gasp.

“You scheming little brat,” Pete said, dangerous and slow.

“What?” You asked breathlessly, finally losing the battle, as you looked over to where Pete was standing over the open bag, with a horrified expression.

“How much? I want you to tell me how much is in this fucking bag,” Pete said lowly, fists balling up by his side.

“Around thirty thousand, just a little under. I don’t keep—“

“Do not fucking lie to me!” Pete seethed, and within a flash, he was thundering towards you.

You instinctively curled yourself back against the couch; however, Pete didn’t get far because both Steve and Ari shielded you against the couch, making Pete stop dead.

“Sugar. How much is in there?” Ari asked calmly.

“I just told you!” You cried out, hands thumping heavily in your lap as you squeezed your eyes shut to stop a fresh wave of tears from falling. Your fists found the fabric of Steve’s jacket, clutching it tight to your bare skin and sinking back into the leather of the couch.

Ari let out a breath before walking over and peering into the bag himself. He paused for a moment, shook his head, and then hauled the bag up and brought it over to you, opening it wide to show the stacks of bills— more than what you’d ever placed inside them. Your eyes widened as your pulse kicked up speed and your lungs refused to expand the way they should.

“No— This… This isn’t all mine. There’s no way,” You whispered frantically, shaking your head before swallowing the lump that formed in your throat. Your eyes darted between the men occupying the space in front of you. “Please, this isn’t mine,” You whined desperately. “Yes, I was working on the side. Yes, I was doing it with club clients. Yes, I shouldn’t have done it, but I have not made the amount that’s in here. This isn’t all mine.”

“Oh, so the money fairy came and put it in there while you were being screwed by my nephew,” Pete scoffed.

“It’s not mine!” You cried.

“How much do you think?” Pete asked, his attention back on Curtis as if you’d simply ceased to exist.

“Hundred thousand, easy. Want me to count it?” Curtis pointed towards the bag in Ari’s hands.

“Go.” Pete nodded towards another room.

“Ari, please, you have to believe me,” You begged, trying to find some semblance of the man you knew just a few hours before.

“I don’t have to believe anything.” Ari zipped up the bag and passed it off to Curtis, who threw it back over to Pete. “It’s above my pay grade.”

Curtis left the room for a moment, disappearing into a side door and returning with a money counter. You kept your gaze on Ari as the clunk of the machine hitting the table was followed by the whirring of money being funneled through the machine. The room was suffocating, and everyone stood in silence as Curtis loaded stack after stack onto the machine. Your stomach turned as the amount rose higher and higher. Your mind switched channel upon channel, trying to figure out just how a half-empty bag was suddenly bursting at the seams.

Had Pete set it up? Had Ari? Did one of the girls know? Was it a client? Who knew where you stayed? How did this happen?

“One hundred thousand…” Curtis began to read out, and a wave of cold nausea washed over you with every word. “Four hundred and thirty-two dollars.”

Pete whistled, followed it up with a short bark of a laugh, and downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, grimacing and shaking his head.

“Well, hasn’t someone been a busy little lamb, hmm?” Curtis taunted.

“And you said you didn’t fuck ‘em,” Ari scoffed bitterly, turning his nose up at you.  “Who’s the liar now?”

“I didn’t—“ You insisted.

“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” Ari shot back.

“Some of them were generous! I didn’t do anything like that!”

“Yeah, bet you were too,” Ari huffed, shaking his head with a tense smile.

“Stop!” Steve barked.

“She good?” Curtis prodded towards Ari with a sick smirk as he began to load the remainder of the cash back into the bag.

“Not bad,” Ari shrugged.

“Talking about me like I’m a toy. I’m right here!” You cracked, fire bubbling out of your throat.

“That’s what you are now,” Curtis scoffed, glancing at his brothers like what you had said was ridiculous. “S’all you are, baby. A shiny new toy for me to break and you’re here for a while, Sugar, a lot of time to find all the ways you can break.”

“I’ll find a way—“ You attempted to plead with Pete. “You have the money, please. I can figure it—“

“Nope! You won’t— You can’t!” Pete cut off dramatically, leaning against the bar and giving you that sick, sly grin. “So, once again, the choice: I can either line up a buyer, hand you over and you can pray to see next month, or you can stay here and work it off by keeping us all company, however we see fit.”

“Be trafficked or be a communal fleshlight— Wow, incredible options she has—“ Steve mocked, shaking his head.

“Why the fuck would you put it like that?” The youngest one laughed, face scrunching up as they paced in front of the fireplace. “That sounds—“

“Wrong?!” Steve thundered, earning dismissive smirks and choked back laughs from his brothers. “Disgusting? Because that’s what this is, Jake!”

“She doesn’t have to do anything,” Ari attempted to sway, laughing it off like Steve was overreacting. “But the longer she doesn’t, the longer she stays and the higher the debt climbs.”

“That isn’t a choice—“ Steve let out a vexed growl, throwing his hands up before he headed towards the hallway, your eyes following his every move with a voice in the back of your head begging him to stay.  “Fuck it! I’m done! I’m leaving, I can’t be a part of this—“

“Go ahead,” Pete dismissed. “Oh,” He said sharply, holding up a finger. “But, who’s gonna clean up Curtis’ mess?” Pete pointed out, stopping Steve in his tracks. “That’s why you’re here and everything.”

“See you Tuesday, Sugar,” Curtis drawled provocatively, making your face scrunch up and turn away from the shitshow before you. “Aw, the shy little baby,” Curtis mocked, honeyed and low, making your hands fist up and tremble. “Fucking adorable.”

“He won’t give her a choice,” Steve pleaded to Ari.

“That’s why you’re needed,” Ari stressed, standing and making his way over to Steve, hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady in place. “Your day counts no matter what she does. Fuck her, sing her a lullaby— who fucking cares? That’s the point. It’s up to us how it’s paid, and if she refuses then… Guess she’s got another day of the week to make it up—“

“What day is mine?” Jake piped up.

“Thursday,” Pete replied.

“Cool. I’ll leave you all to argue,” Jake said coolly, as if he’d simply asked when dinner was going to be ready and didn’t spare you a second glance as he made his way around the back of the couch and his footsteps faded with each step on the stairs.

“What’s the total with interest?” Ari asked, turning his attention to Pete.

Pete pondered for a moment, lips twitching from side to side as he calculated the sum in his head.

“Half a mil,” Pete said simply, turning to you with a cold glint in his eyes and a mocking smile. “Maybe just a little under.”

“And per shift?” Ari quizzed.

“Waiting for Lloyd to get back to me,” Pete answered. “But, I think it’s based on what you think she’s earned. He’s just gonna put a cap on it. She hasn’t actually decided yet what she’s doing.”

“What’s it gonna be, Sugar?” Curtis piped up. “Sold or stay?”

“You have the money,” You protested with a whine, letting out a huff and twisting your face up as you planted your feet against the floor and leaped up off the couch. Steve’s jacket grazed your mid-thigh as you clutched it closed against your chest. “I’m not staying here,” You bit out, eyes blazing and staring Pete dead in the eye. “I’m not being sold. I’m not being passed around. I’m not doing any of this. You can all go fuck yourselves.”

Pete’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes— amusement, maybe; perhaps interest, you weren’t sure, but you were sure of the fact you weren't staying with him for any longer than you needed to. You needed to find a way out– quickly.

“Brave,” Pete mused softly as he stepped closer to you. “Stupid, but brave. It’s a shame brave won’t serve you well here, Sugar. Submission? That’ll get you really far.”

"And just so we're clear," Pete adds, leaning in close enough that you can smell the whiskey on his breath, "the longer you fight this, the longer you stay. Every time you refuse, every time you make this difficult, you add time to your debt. It could be weeks. It could be months. It could be years. Up to you."

"Then I'll fight for years," you snarl. "I'm not doing this."

‘’She’s a fiery one,’’ Curtis laughed, a low, ugly sound. ‘’I like that. You’ll be more fun to break, Sugar.’’

‘’Take her upstairs,’’ Pete ordered Ari. ‘’Get her settled. You’ll like your room, Sugar. A helluva’ lot better than that hole you slept in.’’

‘’I’m not fucking staying here!’’ You cried out.

‘’You can get up, or I can get you up,’’ Ari said darkly, towering over you from the side of the couch, hands at the ready.

“You heard your man, Sugar. The choice is yours. You can walk out of here on your own two feet, or he can carry you out kicking and screaming.”

Pete stood aside and let Ari take his place, looming over you, his large shoulders blocking the view of the vast living room. He didn’t say a word, just stared down at you, with an expression that made your heart sink. He was actually enjoying this. He liked you trembling, cold, and scared. Ari’s hands flexed at his side, head tilted as he waited, just waited… as if he was waiting for the moment the reality of the situation burned out the fire inside of you and you were left with nothing but a crushed spirit— or, for the sick thrill he’d get hauling you, wailing, up the manor stairs and into the dark.

“Ari, please,” You whispered. “Just tell me this is a joke.”

“Why would we joke about this?” Ari’s voice was flat, devoid of empathy or regret.

He didn’t even blink; he just looked at you as if you weren’t a woman, but as an object that had been successfully delivered to its rightful owners. The silence that followed his words was a desolate suffocation, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock somewhere in the manor. The betrayal was absolute. The man who you thought had seen you as you saw him was now looking at you as nothing more than a dollar sign.

‘’I thought…’’ Your voice wavered as you spoke. ‘’Oh, fuck.’’

“Oh, look at that,” Pete drawled, his voice dropping to a mocking cop. “You’ve broken her heart, Ari.” He let out a soft, sharp titter. “It’s a shame, really. Maybe we’re on the way to losing that spark that would’ve been so fun to snuff out of you.”

“I’d get all those pretty tears out now, Sugar… Before Lloyd gets home,” Curtis spoke, an ominous ring to his comment.

“Plus, tears don’t pay off the debt. Neither does disappointment,” Pete added.

“Well, there’ll be a good payment for Lloyd. He loves it when they cry,” Ari shrugged, his voice devoid of any warmth.

The comment was delivered with such a casual indifference that it felt more like a physical blow. Ari wasn’t just betraying you; he was willing to hand you over to someone who sounded far worse than himself, Pete— even Curtis. You prayed silently to never meet the man behind the name, but you knew it was feeble, inevitable. Ari gestured to stand with a crook of his neck, acting as the gatekeeper to a grim future you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Ari stepped back just an inch as you hesitantly braced yourself to stand, his gaze remained fixed on you; expectant and patience waning. The luxury of the manor—the fire, the velvet of the curtains, the ornate rugs, and the expensive leather — felt more like a gilded cage. Every extra second you spent hesitating felt like a gamble with a debt that was already spiraling out of your control.

“How could you do this?” You whispered as you looked up at him.

“I’m a professional,” Ari offered, his gaze cold and his voice flat.

“You’re an asshole,” You corrected.

Ari didn’t flinch, didn’t show any offense; no malice, no amusement. The man who had just been whispering filth in your ear and pulling you into his chest was gone, replaced by a cruel stranger who looked at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of furniture he was getting ready to move. He shifted his weight with a heavy sigh, crossed his massive arms over his chest, biceps flexing as he created a wall of muscle that felt absolute, impenetrable. “You were a job,” Ari informed. “A way to bring you in without causing a scene, to stop you running. Please don’t mistake a few weeks of scattered pleasure for a friendship, a relationship. We don’t do that here. It doesn’t work. I’m getting tired, and you need to move.”

You let out a shaky sob, fingers flexing against the leather seat, and before you could even attempt to move yourself, Ari’s patience snapped. Hands grab you, rough and bruising, and you explode into motion. With a cry, you twisted and kicked in his grip as he spun you and hauled you up against his chest. You kicked into the open space as Ari began to walk you towards the stairs. You clawed at his forearms, nails raking across the skin, pebbles of red blooming in their wake, causing him to swear viciously.

“Fucking bitch—“

You screamed; a raw, primal sound, a sound torn from somewhere deep in your chest, pulled from the depths of your soul. You thrashed against his grip, bare feet kicking at his shins, hands slapping the meat of his arms. You fought with everything you had, but it’s no use. His grip tightened as he took the first step. You crane your head back, and your eyes lock with Steve’s. His face was pale, a hopeless worry creased into his forehead, his hands clenched tightly at his side; it looked like he could be sick, but he made no attempt to help you.

No one came to help you.

“Let me go! Let me fucking go!” You screamed.

Ari’s fingers dug into your side with enough pressure to leave bruises. You planted your feet against a higher step, attempting to anchor yourself to the cold marble slabs as you twisted your head, teeth gunning for his arms, but he jerked you sharply with a snarl.

“Fuck you!” You wailed, thrashing harder. “Fuck all of you!”

“Stop fucking fighting.” His voice was an eerie calm. “You’re only gonna make it worse.”

With a grunt of effort, Ari lifted you higher, your feet dangled in the air as you were manhandled up the rest of the stairs. You didn’t stop fighting. With each agonizing step, you screamed until your throat was raw, kicked until your legs ached, twisted your body until your muscles burned; screamed, cried, and wailed out every curse your tongue had memorized, but it’s no use. By the time you reached the second floor, you were gasping for breath, your body trembled with exhaustion and fury.

You were carried through the dark of the hallway, portraits watched you with judgmental eyes, and a row of doors taunted you as you passed each one. Ari didn’t say another word through your continued struggle, each moment making your bones scream, and your lungs beg for mercy. The silence from him was a wall, unclimbable; inescapable.

He stopped at the end of the hall, double doors towering above you both. He managed to keep a tight grip on you as he reached for the handles and pushed them open, revealing a bedroom that was staggeringly opulent. A luxurious space with a massive canopy bed with silk sheets, detailed dressers, ornate chairs, and gold accents peppered around the room. Any other time, the sight would’ve been welcomed, but the sight made you sick. He kicked the doors closed behind you with a loud thud and dropped you to the floor.

“Jacket,” He ordered with a snap of his finger and a held-out hand.

You clutched it tight around you as you scrambled to your feet and put as much distance between you both as you could; Ari was left standing at the door while you shrank yourself into the shadows of the towering windows.

“Steve gave it to me,” You sniffled. “How could you do this to me? You can’t do this to me!”

“I can, and I am,” He replied, an exasperated huff expelling from his chest, as if dealing with you was a chore he’d rather forget.

“You liked me, you did… I know you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” He said with a grim smile. “I like obedience. Give me the jacket, Sugar.”

“No!” You cried. “Fuck you! We had something, we were going to have something, you know it!”

A flicker of boredom flashes across Ari’s eyes. He made no attempt to move; he simply watched you with a detached curiosity, as if you were attempting to explain a concept that sounded deranged and tedious. The massive scale of his frame seemed to shrink the room around you as you waited for him to break his slice, like he was the only thing your mind could focus on. He didn’t look at you with hatred, that would’ve required an emotion he wasn’t willing to spare, but you had a clawing need to drag it out of him anyway.

He shifted his weight, the fabric of his shirt straining against the same shoulders you had clung to hours before. The silence, however, was broken, but not by Ari, but by the boisterous laughter of the family in the den below; a muffled reminder that your life had been meticulously, and maliciously partitioned into days of the week.

“Why are you all like this?” You whispered.

“Like what?” Ari challenged, his expression remaining flat.

It seemed like, to Ari, that the question seemed entirely illogical, as if you were asking why the rain was wet or why a predator hunted its prey. There was no guilt, no empathy, nothing in his eyes; no flicker of regret for the way he had used your body to bridge the gap between your trust and your capture.

“Twisted,” You spat. “Wrong.”

He took slow, calculated steps forward, his feet padding against the thick, piled carpet, the distance between you closing at an agonizing pace. His shadow swallowed you whole as you backed into the wall between the windows, trapped in the darkness. He didn’t touch you, but the heat radiating from him was palpable, a warning of the strength he could use to crush you if he ever decided to stop being patient.

‘’The world is twisted, Sugar. It’s how it works. We just know how to navigate the curves. You take what you can, and when you can’t take anymore… You pay the price. You thought you were playing a game with the house, and the house always wins, baby. That’s not twisted, it’s not wrong… It’s just math.’’ Ari paused for a moment, his eyes landed on your trembling lips as his words twisted around your throat, something flickered in his expression– not pity, but perhaps the ghost of a memory, something human– before the stone mask slammed back down. ‘’Now, give me the jacket.’’

‘’No, you said firmly.

‘’Sugar–’’

‘’If it's okay for you to take, why can't I?’’

Ari’s eyes narrowed slightly, a genuine amusement finding its way into them as he let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, though his face remained devoid of any real humor.

‘’Because you’re weak,’’ Ari answered. ‘’You thought you were playing the game. You thought you were clever, stealing pennies from a mountain. You thought you could get away with it. We know we can.’’

Your bottom lip trembled as Ari brought up a hand to cup your cheek.

“Now, stop trying to argue. I don’t know what gave you the idea that you’re even in a position to object, because the only position you’re in right now…” Ari trailed off, sliding a hand to the nape of your neck and then suddenly sliding it up to seize a sharp handful of your hair by your crown. “Is to obey.”

He gave a quick tug, forcing you closer to him; the sounds of your cries fell on deaf ears.

‘’You think I get to say ‘no’? ‘Sorry, Pete. Sorry, Lloyd, I don’t feel like doing that shit today, I’d rather go and… Bask in the sunshine, or whatever the fuck normal people do? We’re all stuck, Sugar, just some more than others. Get used to it.” His eyes shifted from yours to the leather that encased your frame. “Jacket. Off. I’m not asking again, and I’m really starting to lose my patience.”

The sounds of the ruffling leather were loud in the grim silence of the room. The clink of the zipper and the shaky breaths mixed together in a symphony of misery. Your fingers shook violently as you pulled the jacket sleeves and slipped it off your shoulders, exposing the pale, wavering skin that Ari had fraudulently worshipped.

It was only when you stood bare, completely exposed, your vulnerability stark against the backdrop of the room's calculated luxury, and held out the jacket in the space between you both that Ari released the harsh grip on your hair and snatched the jacket from your hands.

His gaze scanned your body with a cold, professional detachment; almost as if he was inspecting a new piece of inventory. He made no move to touch you, nor did his eyes show any sign of the hunger that had once pooled there. He wasn’t looking at you for pleasure; he was ensuring the total erasure of your old life. You tried to cover yourself under his intense stare, boredom settling in the deep blues, as if modesty to him wasn’t a virtue or a boundary; it was inefficiency. A delay in the process that the men of the manor had set forth.

Ari reached out, large fingers gripping your wrist and pulling it from your body; firm and capable, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

“You don’t have a right to privacy anymore, Sugar. Everything you are, every inch of this skin, belongs to the house now.”

Ari shoved your arm back at you before turning, jacket clutched in his hand along with the rest of your dignity, and walked towards the doors. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the handle, and with a beep, the lock clicked. You stared after him, unable to move as he opened the door. He paused for a moment, his silhouette blotting out the light from the corridor, and then looked back at you— naked, shivering, and wide-eyed.

The dynamic between you both had shifted completely; no longer potential lovers, but a stripped-down object at the mercy of its master.

“Get in the bed. Stay there. Someone will bring you breakfast in the morning.”

“As long as it’s not you,” You threw at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I won’t ever sleep with you again. I hope you know that. I’ll go to each one of them, but never, ever you.”

Ari’s hand freezes on the handle of the door. You can see the slight tension pull tight across his back and pinch at his jaw. The silence that enveloped you afterward was heavy, stretching out until the only sound was your own frantic heartbeat. The air thickened, and for the first time since you’d learned your fate, Ari’s composure cracked. He doesn’t turn, but his hand grips the handle of the door tightly, and a rumble, almost a growl, settles deep in his chest.

“Fine by me,” Ari spat back at you.

Then he stepped over the threshold, and without a second glance, he slammed the door shut, and the lock clicked.

For a moment, you just stood there; chest heaving, hands shaking, quick shuddering breaths before a white-hot fire ran through your veins, which made you lunge at the doors, slamming your fists against the wood.

“Ari! Let me out! You can’t do this! Let me the fuck out.”

You pounded until your hands ached, until your knuckles were raw and droplets of blood mocked your feeble attempt. You screamed until your voice cracked, until your throat felt like you had swallowed glass. You kicked, threw your weight, and pried at the seam, but it didn’t budge. You moved to the window next; the grounds were lit by scattered lampposts, intricate and dim. The round driveway beckoned you, the gates in the distance called your name, and the trees in the small woodland waved you over.

Freedom was right there, so close that you could almost taste it.

You didn’t bother trying the handles; instead, you grabbed the edge of the window frame and pulled, trying to pull it open from the hinges, but the nails didn't budge. You let out a growl as your hands slapped your bare sides before your eyes darted around the room searching for something— anything— to use as a lever. You moved quickly, pulling open drawers, looking under furniture, and finding bolts to keep them secured to the floor.

You grabbed a small wooden chair by the vanity, ignoring the panicked woman in the reflection, and moved to swing it at the window. The impact sent a jolt up your arms, but the glass remained intact; the reinforced glass wobbling as a middle finger to your efforts. You swung again, and again, and again. Until your arms were shaking and the chair legs cut into your hands.

You drop the chair, depleted, and sink to the floor, hiding in the shadows once again. You backed against the wall, the cool brick sending a shiver through you as you pulled your knees to your chest. Your whole body was trembling— rage, fear, exhaustion crashing over you in a series of waves that threatened to pull you under.

But you’re not done. Just resting. You’ll figure it out… You have to figure it out.

You let your forehead rest on your knees, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling slowly. When you bring your head back up to find your next plan, you spot two divots in the light that shines through under the door. You stared for a moment until you saw the shadows shuffle, and you sprang into action, practically flying across the room and slamming your hand against the wood of the double doors.

“Ari?!” You called out, pausing to press your ear against the door. “Ari, is that you?! Please, I’m sorry, please open the door!”

You waited for a response, but got nothing.

“Ari, please, please listen—“ You hesitated, pressing your ear against the door again, and listening closely. The shoes shuffle against the carpet, but not like Ari’s would. Ari’s heavy boots, his feet, crushed the piles under the sheer weight he carried; this was lighter, more careful…

It had to be Steve.

“Steve?” You asked softly, “Is that you? Please let me out. You know this is wrong, please, please, Steve, please.”

You hear him beyond the wood, a deep breath and a long exhale. You wait, and you hope, but nothing comes.

No words.

No movement from the handle.

No click.

No light.

Nothing.

“Steve!” You shout, slamming your hand against the door. “Open the door!”

But he doesn’t. He just stands there for a few more seconds, and then the shadows from his footsteps retreat from the light and leave you alone in the dark.

The morning came slowly.

Light filtered through the tall windows, casting amber and pink along the cream carpet. You hadn’t moved from the space between, back against the wall, arms hugged around your bare legs. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw Pete’s face, heard Curtis’s voice, and felt the vacant stare of Ari. Sleep wasn’t an option, and not something you wanted anyway.

The door’s lock clicking open rang out like someone pulling a pin from a grenade, and when it opened, Jake appeared. He was carrying a tray—eggs, toast, orange juice—and set it down on the dresser with a smile that made your skin crawl. His eyes were downcast on the tray as he ensured he settled it correctly before dusting his hands.

He was dressed in grey sweats and a black shirt that stretched across his frame. He wasn’t as big as the others, sure, but nothing to scoff at. His blond hair was tussled from sleep, and mismatched socks padded towards you.

“Morning,” Jake chirped brightly, like the morning routine was perfectly normal to him. “Thought you might be hungry…” He trailed off, and his face fell slightly as he finally laid eyes on you. “You know there’s clothes in here, right?”

You make no attempt to reply, no muscle twitches to move, your face set in stone, and your eyes boring into his.

“Come on,” He attempted to coax, waving a hand to get you to stand. “Let’s find something for you to wear, and then you need to eat.”

“Get. Out,” You bite out, voice hoarse from the screaming.

Jake’s smile fell slightly, but his tone didn’t “You should really—“

“I said get out.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes didn’t harden the way Ari’s would’ve, he didn’t make a move to pull you off the floor; he simply shrugged and turned to walk back towards the door.

“Suit yourself,” He said calmly and left.

You sat there, eyes glued to the wood grain, and let out a long breath. You made no move to grab the tray. Not out of fear— out of defiance. The only power you had left was to refuse whatever they brought through that door, and you were going to use it until you couldn’t anymore.

The morning dragged on.

Muffled footsteps came and went, voices drifted from the rooms surrounding, you’d hear the occasional slamming of the door, and piece by piece you were gathering together the rhythms of the house— who’s where, when, and how often. Pete was downstairs most of the time, choosing to waste his day in the living room. Curtis and Ari came and went, taking it in turns to call out to each other to hurry up  and Steve… Steve was harder to track, quieter, almost as if he was hiding.

Sleep was pulling at your eyelids, settling heavy in your bones. Your eyes fell on the silk sheets, and you let out a groan as you pushed yourself up from the floor. You walked to the dresser and found neat stacks of soft shirts and shorts, and picked the first set, slipping them on before trudging over to the bed. You pulled back the sheets and climbed in before lying down, facing the door.

You told yourself that you’d just have a rest, ten minutes, but a few hours later, the sun was setting heavy in the sky, and you awoke to the sound of the lock disengaging and the door swinging open. Your eyes slowly peeled open, and you found Jake, once again, standing in the doorway, with that wide, beaming smile and another tray of food in his hands.

“Oh! “Shit,” he cursed apologetically, “Were you sleeping?” I’m so sorry.”

He stepped further into the room, letting the door swing shut, and brought over the tray, pausing at the edge of the bed. His expression was open and friendly, which only made the whole situation feel more surreal and terrifying. He set the tray on the nightstand and looked down at you, and a grin of surprise set on his lips.

“And you’re dressed! Do you feel better? Is the bed comfy?”

Jake didn’t seem to possess the malice of the other men, or he was just more inclined to keep it well hidden. You shuffled yourself up, leaning back against the headboard as you simply stared at him, only giving a quick glance at the cup of steaming coffee on the tray. He grabbed the cup as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He held out the mug and gave you a small smile as you cautiously took it from him.

As you took a sip, he reached out, and you flinched back, earning a tut and a shake of his head as he ignored the action and flicked away a stray hair from your tear-stained cheek, catching the scent of citrus and expensive soap stuck to his skin as he tucked it behind your ear gently.

“You really need to eat, or Pete’s gonna come in here, and neither of us wants that, right?” Jake attempted to appeal as he leaned to pluck up the plate of pastries and place them on your lap. “I made sure they got the almond croissants; they’re stupidly good. I’d eat the whole box if Lloyd let me.”

Jake’s demeanor was an unsettling contrast to the horrors of the previous night. His eyes didn’t possess the predatory hunger of Pete’s, the manic intensity of Curtis’, or the coldness of Ari’s, but as he watched you, his gaze didn’t stop at your face. It drifted down slowly, lingering on the band in your shorts and the way the shirt clung to your frame. The kindness was there, but it was wrapped in the same possessive entitlement as the rest of the family.

“Can you stop staring before I lose my appetite, before I even get the chance to have one in the first place?”

Jake blinked, paused, and then let out a loud, delighted laugh, leaning back slightly with his hands raised.

“There she is!” He grinned. “I was wondering when some of that fire would come back. Welcome home, Sugar!”

Jake didn’t look offended, far from it. The snap of your tone acted like a spark, bringing a glimmer of genuine amusement to his expression. He didn’t rush to calm his gaze or apologize, though; instead, he looked at you with a renewed curiosity, as if you’d just performed a clever trick. It seemed as though, at least to Jake, that the more stubborn aspects of your personality, your defiance, weren’t just a boundary— it was entertainment.

“Sorry, Sugar,” he apologized sweetly, light and playful, as you reached for a pastry and inspected it. “It’s just… You’re really something. Most girls are just shaking and crying by the time they wake up here. You’ve still got a little bite to you. I really like that.”

Your head snapped up.

“Most girls?” You questioned. “As in… You’ve done this before?”

Jake’s smile didn’t waver, not even for a second, as he shrugged with a casual ease.

“Well, yeah?” He laughed. “You don’t pick up a new hobby like this overnight, right? Now, come on, you really need to eat.”

“I will— I just can’t right now.” You dropped the pastry back onto the plate and stared at his smile. “So, I’m not the first to stay here?”

“To stay?” He confirmed your questioning. “Yeah, like to actually stay, and be with us, but the girls who pissed Pete off tend to spend a night or two before whoever picks them up. Curt or Ari would give them a taste of what they’re in for, though—“

“Oh my God,” You groaned as your stomach lurched.

Jake’s admissions were delivered with a lightness that was bone-chilling. He revealed family secrets, their sordid activities, as if he were talking about nothing more than a mundane family tradition, like Sunday dinners or holiday gatherings. There wasn’t an ounce of shame in the voice, no hesitation. It seemed like, at least to him, that the cycle of bringing in women to the manor, stripping them of their lives and using them to pay off fabricated— or real— debts was simply the way the world functioned and you couldn’t help but hear Ari’s words from the night before, providing his notion about how this is how the world is was a shared delusion to all of them.

“Hey, Ari’s only following orders,” Jake attempted to fix. “He hasn’t done that in a long time, " he said. He was supposed to bring you in straight away and didn’t— Do you need me to grab the trash can?”

You shook your head and swallowed the lump in your throat before chasing it with the hot coffee.

“Why didn’t he?” You asked. “Bring me in right away?”

“Guess he liked you,” Jake replied, and you got the sense that Jake’s honesty got him in trouble a lot. “Said you were different. I just thought his head was like, all messed up from the divorce, but nope. Here you are, and he was right.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jake got there quicker.

“Hey, what did you say to Ari last night? He’s been in a mood all morning—“

“I want Steve,” You cut in.

“Is that what you said to him?”

“No, Jake,” You sighed as you pitched the bridge of your nose. “I want you to go and get Steve.”

“Oh,” Jake replied, sounding slightly wounded. His face fell slightly, and he nodded slowly as he got to his feet. “Yeah, sure, okay, I’ll… I’ll go do that.”

Without another word, he left. He closed the door firmly behind him, and the lock immediately engaged with a definitive click. The room fell silent again, save for the faint sounds of Jake’s retreating footsteps in the hall. You placed the plate and mug back onto the tray and smoothed down the sheets whilst staring at the door. You sat there for a while, waiting for the lock to click open again, but nothing— no one— came.

You sighed, threw back the covers, and crossed the room quickly. Your hand closed around the cold metal of the door handle. You twisted and pulled, but it still doesn’t budge. The lock held a firm, silent, unyielding reminder of your captivity.

You were well and truly sealed in. No matter how much you tried to be anything else.

You pressed your ear against the cool wood, straining to hear, but there was nothing but the heavy silence of the manor. Not footsteps, no voices, no slamming of the doors. You turned and placed your back against the wood and stared out the window, watching as the afternoon light set in. You stayed there, watching the trees and passing cars in the distance, until the sound of footsteps traveled up the hall.

The footsteps, cautious and familiar, paused just outside your door, and for a moment, you thought they’d disappear again; instead, a soft, hesitant knock followed. The sound was so surreal in a house of men that had shown in the short time you’d spent there that they’d found no need to knock. You edged away from the door, stepping back slightly as the lock clicked and the door cracked open gently.

Steve stepped into the room, eyes widening at the sight of you standing there, before what seemed like guilt settled heavily in the sea-blues of his eyes. He was dressed in simple, dark trousers and a soft grey sweater, his face etched with genuine concern, and he had shaved, which made him look years younger. His posture was slightly slumped as he closed the door and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking less like the usual predators that lurked in the doorway and more like a man who had been sent to clean up a mess he felt guilty about.

“Jake said you asked for me,” Steve said, voice soft and gentle. “I know apologies must mean nothing to you right now, but I am… I am so sorry. I tried to talk them out of it, but when Pete and Lloyd make a decision, they follow. No questions, no push back. I’m so sorry.”

Steve looked around the room, his eyes falling on the full trays.

“Have you eaten?” He asked. You shook your head, and he sighed. “You’ve had a really long night. You should try to eat something.”

He took another steady step forward, his eyes searching yours. He looked genuinely pained by your obvious fear, his brow furrowed with concern. He was a stark contrast to the brutal honesty of Ari, the upbeat chipper of Jake, and the cold calculation of Pete. He stood there, watching, waiting, his shoulders relaxing slightly as you nodded and moved towards the bed, and relief washed over his face as you took a small bite of the pastry.

Steve shifted his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor for a second before he looked back at you.

“You shaved,” You stated, really looking at him as you pulled a piece away from the pastry. “You look better without it.”

He gave a shy smile and a small nod.

“I know you hate all of us right now,” He shared quietly. “And you’ve every right in the world to, but… I want you to know that not everything here has to be a fight.”

“How can it not be?” You challenged.

Steve’s shoulders tense again, the weight of your question seeming to push down on him. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, a gesture that looked tired, almost defeated.

“What am I supposed to do? Just let you all use me?” You fired at him.

“Hey, I have no intention—“

“Would you do that? Would you just accept it? Well, I guess I have the answer to that, considering you're the ones whose finger works on that damn lock. And I'm the one stuck in the room.”

You threw the pastry back onto the plate and sat yourself down on the edge of the bed as Steve flinched, as if you’d struck him. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to hold your gaze. The quiet of the manor felt louder now, pressing down on both of you. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing before he looked at you again. His voice was low and strained as he spoke.

“You think I like being the one who facilitates this? You think I enjoy this?” He gestured vaguely around the room, his hand trembling, eyes shadowed with a conflict you had seen the others possess. “I don’t like this, Sugar. I didn’t want this for you.”

“Then help me leave.”

Steve’s expression tightened, a war playing out behind his eyes. His gaze shifted between you and the locked door, his face a mask of conflicted agony, and you wondered if, and when, the kindness he showed was fragile. He shook his head, took a half step back as if physically recoiling from your plea.

“I... I owe them. Just like you. I can't just.. let you go. It's not my place to do so.” His voice was barely above a whisper, strained and heavy.

He looked down at his hands, his expression hardening further with a resolve that seemed to cost him something. “Look, Sugar,” He sighed heavily. “I know none of this is fair, but if you just… Cooperate, it’ll be easier. I'll make sure your time with me is easy; I’ll take care of you. If you wanna stay in here on Wednesdays and not see me at all, we can do that. I can offer you space, but that’s about it. At least, for right now.”

“I don't wanna be here. I didn't... Not all of that money was mine. You have to believe me,” You plead.

His face softened, giving a small nod, but it’s a sad, weary kind of softness.

“I believe you, Sugar, I do. But it doesn’t matter. If Pete believes it, then that’s the only truth that counts here. The numbers are whatever he says they are. Arguing about it will only make Pete and Lloyd dig their heels in deeper.” He stepped closer to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze, intense and pleading. “Please, just… let me... let me try to make your time with me as painless as I can. That's the only power I have right now.”

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you searched his eyes for a shred of trust to hold on to; a hopeful solace in a house of horrors.

“Just give me some time to figure the rest out, okay?”

He said the last part with a grimace, as if the advice left a sour taste in his mouth. He looked down at his hands and then back at you, his face twisted with a mixture of guilt and a desperate need for you to understand the precariousness of your situation.

“Ari and Jake... they won't force you into anything you don't wanna do. Not really. Curtis and Lloyd... you're best just playing along with them. I know it'll be hard, but it'll keep you safe. And with Pete... he sighs, rubbing his temples, just grit your teeth and bear it. It'll be over quicker. It's easier to do than the others. Just get through it, the best you can.”

He looked at you with a pleading in his eyes, begging you to absorb his words, to understand that it was the only lifeline he could offer. The weight of his own powerlessness seemed to settle on him, making him appear older than his years; the youth that you had found on his face when he first came in seemed to vanish.

“Someone…” You started, hesitating for a moment. “Someone was outside my door last night. After Ari left. Was it you?”

His expression became unreadable for a moment, flickers of emotions scattering across his features until he settled into a weary resignation. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation.

“Last night?” He asked, voice low and cautious, before he shook his head. “No, Sugar, it wasn’t me. Maybe Ari felt bad—“

“It wasn’t Ari.”

“Pete, maybe,” He offered, scuffing a hand through the back of his hair and rubbing at the back of his neck. “He probably did the rounds, made sure the door was locked.”

He said the last words with a clear distaste, his jaw tightening, the muscle jumping under the skin. The admission hung heavy in the air, confirming your fears that your privacy here was simply an illusion, that you were constantly being watched.

“Definitely wasn’t Pete. No one tried the handle. They just stood there.”

“I don’t know then.” His eyes scanned your face, seeming to be choosing his next words carefully, almost weighing them. “Why don’t you—“

“I’ve been through so much shit in not even twenty-four hours. Please don’t lie to me,” You attempted to appeal.

The causal weariness dropped from his posture, replaced by a sudden sharp tension. His eyes darted from the door and then back to you before landing on the floor. You caught a flicker of alarm in his deep blues. He took in a slow breath, as if steadying himself.

The air in the room seemed to grow colder. Steve lifted his head, and his gaze had intensified; the previous softness had hardened into something more guarded. He studied you, as if reassessing you entirely. The fact that you could distinguish the footfalls of the various predators of the manor marked you as more observant, more attuned to your environment than he had perhaps presumed.

“You heard me screaming... And did nothing. And you come in here, being nice and giving me advice, and you do nothing to help me. When you had the opportunity to do so, and then you lied to me after spewing bullshit about wanting this to be painless.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air, sharp and absolute. Steve didn’t flinch, but the color drained from his face. The carefully constructed mask seemed to shatter, leaving behind the raw truth. For the first time, there’s no apology in his eyes; only a bleak, chilling acknowledgment.

His voice was flat, stripped of all pretense.

“You’re right.”

He made no attempt to justify it. He didn’t look away. He stood there, accepting the weight of your words, and the silence that followed was heavier than any that had come before, filled with the unspoken horror of what his inaction meant. He took a slight step backward, rocking slightly on his feet.

“I heard you, and I did nothing,” He admitted sullenly. “Because helping you was the one thing that could’ve gotten you hurt more… Worse, even. They wouldn’t have taken that out on me… It would’ve been you, and I won’t be the reason, I won’t give them a reason, for you to be hurt. I will not do it. You need to trust me, as hard as that will be, and trust that I want to help.”

You ponder for a moment, unable to find any more lies in his eyes. The longer you look at him, the more you wonder how a man like Steve could end up in a family like this, how a seemingly gentle soul wound up in a den of wolves. You relent, giving a small nod, needing to find something— someone— to hold on to in order to keep yourself sane, and Steve seemed to be the safest option next to Jake.

“Alright,” You agreed.

“Is there anything I can do? Get for you?”

You shook your head despite your stomach growling, protesting the lack of food in your system. It must have been loud because Steve’s eyebrow ticked up and he offered a small, knowing smile.

“I’ll grab you something light. I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looked around the room, eyes falling on a small table by the window, and opted to take a seat, leaning back in your chair as Steve left. The afternoon light was slowly beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the carpet, the breeze outside picking up, causing the trees to sway; birds danced in the sky, and you envied their wings, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Steve envied them too.

It wasn’t long before he returned, a bowl balanced in his palm on top of a cloth, steam rising and releasing a rich, savory scent of soup. He walked over and placed the bowl carefully in front of you, revealing a simple, clear broth with a few pieces of chicken and vegetables. It looks plain, simple— honest.  He reached into his back pocket to present and offer a spoon.

“Hopefully, this will be easier on your stomach. Eat what you can, and then I’ll find you something else later— Well, if you want,” Steve offered, tone light.

He stood back, hands hiding in his pockets again, and watched you with an expression that read as a mix of guilt and a grim sense of family duty.

“Thanks.” You smiled and took the spoon, sipping a little; the soup was surprisingly comforting.

Steve pulled out the chair across from you, the very same one you had attempted to break the window with, and sat down heavily, his gaze drifting out of the window to the manicured grounds below. For a long moment, neither of you spoke; the only sound was the mixture of your breaths and the clink of the spoon against the bowl.

“Jake said Ari was married.”

Steve’s gaze snapped back from the window and fell on you, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He seemed thrown by the sudden breaking of the silence and the shift in conversation, especially by your chosen subject. He leaned back in his chair, a conflict pulling at his brows as if he was weighing how much he wanted, or could, share.

“Yeah,” He answered, letting out a slow breath. “He was. For a few years. His wife… She left, took the kid with her.” He looked down at his hands, folded on the table. His voice was low and tinged with something that didn’t seem like sympathy, more like a general weariness with the family’s dramas. “It’s part of why he’s… Well, why is he the way he is now? Closed off. He thinks he can’t trust anyone anymore. Thinks caring about someone just gives them a weapon to use against you later. Fails to see the part he played in it all.”

Steve nodded to himself, his eyes stuck on his hands. The admission hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t quite find the words to reply as he shared a rare moment of candidness about the family’s grip on its members; the fading light cast long shadows across his face, emphasizing the lines of tension there.

“She wanted him out,” he continued to share. “To leave this all behind, but… I guess he was in too deep. I think we probably all are.”

He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes holding yours with a stark, unvarnished honesty, showing he was just a man who acknowledged he was trapped in the same cage you were.

“So, I take it that the club and trafficking girls is only the tip of the iceberg…” You attempted to pry.

Steve’s whole body seemed to tighten as he glanced around the room, as if checking for peering eyes and perked up ears. He rubbed at the back of his neck before his voice dropped quietly.

“The clubs the public face. Almost legitimate. Everything else happens elsewhere.”

“Everything else?” You probed, scooping up another spoonful of soup.

“If you can think of it, we’re in it,” Steve answered ambiguously. “If there’s a way to make a dirty dollar, we’ve got a hand in it. Pete’s Place is just… The prettiest part of the machine. Don’t ask me anything else, and don’t you even think about asking any of them, or you’ll really end up stuck here.”

Steve looked as if he had already shared too much; his shoulders tensed as he tried to lean back as far as the chair would allow, putting distance between you both. The brief moment of shared confidence was over.

“You don’t seem the type,” You said. “To do such things.”

Steve gave a small, wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked down at his hands, turning them over as if inspecting them for stains.

“I’m not,” He said quietly. “Not really. I— I have… I have a knack for finding things. I guess. Information, mostly. People, sometimes… but, my hands tend to stay… relatively clean.”

He let out a breath, his smile fading. His eyes drifted back to the window, the gold light of the fading daylight bled into the blue.

“Were you following me?” You asked bluntly, dropping the spoon into the bowl. “Is that how they knew?”

The question hung heavy in the air, sharp and direct. Steve’s posture seemed stiffened immediately, and for a moment, it didn’t look like he was going to acknowledge your questions, but he eventually met your gaze, the blue holding something complex, kind of like relief; as if he could finally give an honest, full answer. He shook his head, voice firm as he spoke.

“No, I wasn’t following you, Sugar. I’ve been… away for a while. Dealing with my own shit. I had no need to find you; Pete had already done that. He’d had his eyes on you from the start. He let you believe you were getting away with it, he let the debt build and waited for the right moment to call it in.”

He leaned forward slightly, expression earnest, as if willing you to believe this particular truth, which you did. The confession about his absence seemed to carry its own weight, a private burden he wasn’t ready to unpack.

“Do you promise that you’ll never ask me…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “That you’ll never want me like that? Like how they do?”

The question caught Steve off guard. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the weariness in his eyes seemed to deepen. He didn’t answer straight away, perhaps weighing the truth of his own desires against the promise you were desperately asking for— hoping for. His gaze softened, but it was a sad, resigned kind of softness, as you let out a breath of relief.

“Had this been any other situation,” He started, voice sounding sincere and soft. “In a bar, or a coffee shop— Hell, even the club…. I would’ve been trying every single shitty technique in the book to get you to come home with me. But this?” He gestured vaguely to the room around you. “This? I don’t want you like this. I won’t try a single thing. I swear to you.”

You pause for a moment, searching his face, his eyes, everything about him to try and find a shred of dishonesty; there isn’t any, or at least there doesn’t seem to be any. How you got lucky to find a bear in a wolf’s den you’d never know, but how grateful you were to have done so. You knew he couldn’t be there to keep them at bay, but he could be there to undo the damage and offer you rest in a house that was determined to keep you running.

“How do I deal with Curtis? With Lloyd? I know you already said to give in, but how? How do I give in to that? I can handle Pete; I’ve been doing that for months. Jake seems… Fine? I guess, if you can call it that. Ari’s an asshole, but again, easy to deal with. You were so upset about them, I—“

“Hey, hey,” Steve cut in, hand reaching out for yours hesitantly, and despite the pull for comfort, you slid your hand back. “Lloyd won’t force you. Not physically. But, he’ll make you feel like you wish he had. It’s a game to him. He wants to see you break, to give in because you want it all to stop. Just… Don’t cry. It spurs him on.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the advice clearly costing him parts of his sanity. “Curt… He’s a blunt instrument. That's the best way I can put it. He doesn’t play games the way Lloyd does. Don’t fight him; it’ll only excite him. The best thing to do is to give in and let him get bored. I’ll be there at his door wanting, and I’ll help you, I’ll care for you. It’s gonna be hard, and it’s gonna suck…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the words to finish explaining. “I don’t know what else I can do or say to prepare you.”

You nodded, unable to do anything else as you let the grim advice sink in. The soup sat unfinished between you both, growing cold along with your souls. Steve checked his watch as the sun dipped lower before he reached across the table and moved the bowl away from you. His movements were careful, like he was afraid that any sudden motion could shatter the fragile truce between you.

“Is there… Is there anything I can do for you?” Steve asked. “A bath, maybe? Let you clean up before… everything starts?”

“Ari’s fucking dreaming if he thinks I’m ever sleeping with him again.”

A short laugh escaped Steve, the corner of your own mouth ticking up slightly, a sound that surprised you both. It’s devoid of any real humor, more of a release of tension that you both desperately needed. He shook his head, an almost pitying smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, to relax then.”

He glanced towards the en-suite bathroom door, then back at you; a mixture of genuine concern and the grim understanding of what’s to come. “A hot bath might help? I mean, it’s better than just sitting here… waiting, and then you could try and get some more sleep.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, and drifting in hot water didn’t sound awful.

“A bath sounds good,” You agreed.

Steve nodded and got to his feet, the chair moving softly against the carpet. He crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom, and soon after, you heard the faucet turn on, and the sound of running water filled the room. He returned a moment later, leaning against the doorframe and drying his hands on a small hand towel. He beckoned you over with a flick of his head and a small smile.

“It’s running, I’ll give you some privacy. I can leave—“

“Can you stay? Just for a bit longer?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.”

You got to your feet and made your way across the room. Steve stepped aside to let you pass. You paused for a moment, staring up at him, and a sudden need for comfort clawed at your gut, but you pushed it down.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve replied, and stepped further into the bedroom.

You closed the bathroom door behind you with a parting smile. It was spacious, done up in the same gold and cream tones as the bedroom, with marble countertops and a deep, freestanding tub that sent over a luring scent of lavender as the bubbles inside climbed higher. The air grew warm and humid as you began to undress, realizing the smell of Ari and the sticky sickliness of the club still clung to your skin— a sordid mix of cologne, sweat, and smoke. You catch your reflection in the mirror; hair tangled and eyes wide with a mixture of fear, desolation, and the smoldering flame of your waning defiance.

You averted your gaze and stepped into the water, the heat a shocking comfort against your tense muscles. The cuts on your hands stung as they hit the water, acting as a harsh reminder that you were still here, still stuck. The steam rose around you, and for a few precious moments, the water washed away the grime of the club, the touches from Ari, and let you forget your cage. You leaned your head back against the cool porcelain, let your eyes fall closed, and allowed yourself to enjoy these last few moments of peace before the storm closed in.

You stayed submerged until the warmth had seeped deep into your bones, offering a temporary numbness. The water had begun to cool, and you reluctantly pulled yourself out; the air felt cool against your skin, making you shiver.er. You stepped out and reached for a thick, plush power and quickly dried yourself before plucking a robe hanging from the door. It swallowed you, sitting heavy on your shoulders and smelling faintly of clean linen.

As you stepped back into the bedroom, you found the space transformed. The trays of food had gone, the room was tidy, the bed neatly made up; the corner of the covers pulled back slightly to welcome you inside. Steve was perched on the window ledge, one knee drawn up; fingers clapped over his knee as he stared out at the darkening grounds. He turned as you entered, a soft smile touched his lips as he studied you.

“Feeling better?” He sought out. He nodded towards the nightstand, drawing your attention to a tall glass of water that now sat next to a small, wrapped chocolate. It was a small, almost childish gesture of care, starkly out of place. “Figured you might be thirsty.”

You nodded and grabbed the glass before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You drank the water slowly, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the bath’s warmth. You felt Steve’s eyes on you from across the room. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable; it was the quiet of two people, both trapped in the same terrible situation, who had hoped to find a temporary peace. You heard Steve get to his feet as you placed the glass down, and you turned your head to meet his eyes as he walked around the bed's frame and came before you.ou. He offered out a hand, which you cautiously took, finding it warm and surprisingly gentle. He guided you up and led you a few steps back from the bed, his movement careful, almost reverent. He pulled back the heavy duvet and crisp sheets further.

He doesn’t say a word as he helps you into the bed, pulling up the covers as you slip underneath. He tucked the duvet around your shoulders, his touch lingering for a brief second before he pulled away.

“So?” He asked softly.

You wondered for a moment before realizing you hadn’t answered his previous question.

“Oh, um…” Your nose scrunched up as you offered an apologetic smile. “No, not really. Maybe for a moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice a soft murmur. “Get some rest. I’ll come check on you before… well, you know.”

He gave you one last, long look— pity, guilt, and something else you couldn’t quite name— before he turned and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold, hand on the handle until it clicked open, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the wood. Without turning back, he opened the door, stepped through, and pulled it shut; the sound was softer this time, almost an apology in and of itself.  

You were left alone in the vast, silent room. The only light came from the moon outside the window and the short glare from under the door. The bed's comfort felt like a mockery. You closed your eyes despite sleep feeling like a distant country; the sounds of your own breathing and the creeping dread of what was to come were your only comfort, and as much as the logical side of you warned you to be careful, a deeper need begged for Steve to return quickly.

When your eyes next opened, the room was enveloped in darkness, and you found yourself lost in the time you fell asleep; however, where there should be silence, the sound of crisp burning filled your ears. You sat up, eyes darting to the corner of the room where you found Ari standing by the open window, smoke drifting around him.

“Get out,” You bit out.

Ari huffed out a laugh, almost coughing as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs.

“S’after midnight, Sugar,” Ari informed you smugly.

“I don’t care. I told you last night. I’m not giving you anything—“

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” He continued, as if you didn’t speak. “Fighting, screaming, attempting to starve yourself. All you’re doing is making it worse.”

"Then let me go."

"You know I can't do that."

"You mean you won't."

Ari’s jaw tightened as he took one last drag of his cigarette and threw the stub out of the window before pulling a small key from his pocket and shutting the window and locking it shut.

"You owe Pete. You broke the rules. This is the consequence,” He tried to embed, and you wondered if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"This is kidnapping," you spat. "This is—"

"This is survival," Ari interrupted,his voice hard. "Yours and mine. You think I want to be here? You think I want to do this?" He stepped closer to the bed, and you pressed yourself back against the headboard. "But I don't have a choice. And neither do you."

"There's always a choice."

"Not for you. Not anymore." He crouched down beside the bed so he was at eye level with you. His expression was cold. "You can keep fighting. Keep refusing. Keep making this difficult. And every time you do, Lloyd will add time to your debt. Every time you scream, every time you refuse to eat, every time you make Curtis or Pete or any of us work harder to keep you in line—you stay longer."

Your chest tightened.

"Or," Ari continued, rising up slowly to his feet, "you can accept it. Play along. Do what you're told. And maybe—maybe—you get out of here in a few months instead of a few years."

"I'm not going to—"

"Yes, you are." His voice is flat, harsh, and final. "Because the alternative is worse. Trust me. Today, you're mine— Whether you like it or not. And if you keep fighting me?" He leaned down towards the bed, fists pushing into the mattress as he glared over at you, something dark in his eyes. "You'll regret it."

And for the first time, the full weight of your situation crashed down on you like it hadn’t before. It sat deep in your chest and snaked around your throat. You weren't getting out; not by fighting, not by screaming, not by pleading. They had thought of everything. Every possible play you thought you had was already meticulously mapped out.

You found Ari was right about one thing:

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

41 years old.

6’2’’.

Suburban dad with a dark side. 

Likes flashing the cash for a look as he doesn’t get much attention back home.

Never misses stopping by when he’s in town.

Has a type and it just so happens to be you.

Brings you gifts; new outfits, new shoes, gold chains, etc, every single time he visits the club.

Will spend the whole night promising you the world– and his wallet, if you just go home with him.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Praise Kink. 

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐭

45 years old.

6’4’’.

Oh, what a nice man–

Warning sirens sound in the distance.

Danger! Danger! 

The man will make you beg, make you cry, rearrange your insides, make you fall in love and break you down all within a night.

The man is all kinds of fucked up. But knows how to hide it well.

Under Lloyds employement so like, you can guess the kinds of fucked up. 

Did awful things while serving in the army, brought some of that back home with him.

Protect you? More like slaughter anyone who gives you a momentary glance. 

Top Three: Rough (Violent) Sex, Service Kink, Corruption Kink.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

28 years old.

6’1’’.

Cocky motherfucker, hot and he knows it.

The embodiment of a hyper puppy. 

Acts like he’s always got the zoomies whenever he’s in the club.

Annoys the absolute shit out of all the girls but he’s hot, so they deal with it.

Secretly a sweetheart but never shuts his mouth.

Gets a little too handsy when he’s had a drink– or five. 

Always asking Pete to loan him one of his girls for the night.

Don’t get him twisted, the guy FUCKS. and he's NASTY about it

Top Three: Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Body Worship (receiving). 

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟

43 years old.

6’0’’.

Corrupt little wank, like’s to make Pete nervous when he comes around, but he’d never spill on the shady things as he likes the club’s views. 

Talks big shit but you’ll find him in the VIP rooms on a Saturday night. 

A little wrong in the head, but treat him right and he’ll make you scream. 

Can get a little rough with the girls when he's had a few.

Tight with money so always tries it on for a discount for not opening his mouth.

Has a big cock and is smug about it.

Likes 'em on their knees with an wide open mouth.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Choking. 

𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

32 years old

6’0’’.

Troubled addict that’s in the club; Every. Single. Night.

Likes just to watch, girls kinda hate him in the club because he won’t even throw a dollar bill but will spend a paycheck on drinks and other things.

Spends money he doesn’t have, does the odd job for Pete when he’s in a little legal trouble which gets him the odd night in the VIP rooms.

Don’t underestimate him though.

Will have you crawling back for seconds.

While not the roughest by any means, get him high enough and annoyed enough, he’ll make sure you’re not walking for the next two weeks.

Top Three: High Sex, Overstimulation, Throat-Fucking. 

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐦𝐩 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

35 years old

6’1’’.

Idk, fam, somethings off about this one but we're gonna ignore it, okay?

Stares a little too long, kinda like he’s hunting.

Makes your heart race a little being around him– fuck or fight i guess. I know which I’m doing. 

Tips nicely but never wants a private dance, likes to watch and drop cash at your feet after.

Weirdo tbh. It’s not like he ain’t got the money. 

Sucks to be you if you decide to go home with him.

You ain't coming back, honey.

Top Three: Blood Play, Knife Play, Bondage/Rope.