Chapter 11
The fragile, wounded vibe? It made her look heartbreakingly delicate–men loved that.
Mona followed the other girls into the suite.
Several men in sharp suits were already seated inside.
One of them sat at the head of the table, right beneath a cold spotlight that cast stark shadows across his face. His already striking features looked
sharper under the light.
even
Tall, elegant, impossibly clean–cut. Untouched by the grime of the world.
With looks like that, there was no mistaking him–If anyone could outshine. the night, it was Waylon.
Waylon was like sunlight–wherever he went, the whole room seemed to brighten. The air felt cleaner, the space more refined, as if everything around him instinctively straightened up.
Mona couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. ‘What a small world.”
Her eyes had just settled on Waylon when a voice spoke up from her right.
“Well, well. Looks like a beauty just walked in.”
She turned toward the sound. The man speaking was seated beside. Waylon.
He had a buzz cut and sharp, rugged features–sunken eyes, a strong, high-
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bridged nose, well–shaped lips, and eyes that gleamed with a predator’s edge.
Tall and broad–shouldered, even sitting down he gave off an imposing presence–easily over six foot two.
Mona, hardened by years in prison, had long since learned how to read a room. One glance told her–this was someone dangerous. A man who didn’t like hearing “no.”
Suddenly, he pointed at her. “You. Come pour me a drink.”
She quickly stepped forward and knelt on one knee beside the table, carefully pouring the liquor into his glass.
Holding it up with both hands, she said politely, “Here you are, sir. Please enjoy.”
He reached for the glass, but didn’t just take it–he let his fingers slide slowly over hers, deliberately, like a slow drag of static. A clear tease.
Mona flinched inwardly but didn’t pull away. She didn’t dare.
He downed the drink in one swallow, then leaned in so close their faces nearly touched. With one hand, he lifted her chin, holding her there as he studied her face.
She was clean, delicate. Pale, soft skin–like a peeled lychee. The kind of beauty that made you want to bite.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Mona.” She tried to drop her gaze to avoid his stare, but he kept her chin. firmly in place.
His eyes slowly roamed down the elegant line of her neck.
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She was wearing a strapless pink bunny girl outfit. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of her cleavage–round, full, and faintly perfumed with a soft, feminine scent.
He took a deep breath, practically savoring the moment. “Smells like a virgin. Damn. Name your price. I want you tonight.”
Mona’s palms were already sweating, but she kept her voice steady. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t do that kind of work.”
He raised a brow, unimpressed. “No? Then what the hell are you here for? You just here to play with your mouth under the table?”
The comment was crude–disgustingly so.
Mona bit her lip hard. “I wouldn’t know how.”
He let go of her chin, pointing at the liquor bottles on the table.
“You there–bring me ten more of these. If she finishes them, it counts toward her shift quota. If not.” He sneered, “She’s on her knees tonight, one way or another.”
Mona was still nursing a lash wound on her back. Add to that the cold she’d caught walking over without a coat this morning, and she was already feeling weak.
Downing that much whiskey? She’d black out halfway through. And once she passed out. there’d be no telling what this man would do.
Judging by how the manager had treated the VIPS in this room, these men weren’t just wealthy–they were powerful.
And if one of them wanted her drunk and unconscious in his bed, the manager would probably deliver her himself with a bow.
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The more she thought about it, the clearer it became–drinking wasn’t an option.
“I’m sorry, sir. I really don’t know how to drink,” she said quietly.
That seemed to set him off. He shot to his feet and grabbed her, yanking her hard into his arms.
“You can’t drink, can’t serve, can’t have fun–what the hell can you do? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”
Then, without warning, he took a sip of liquor and pressed his lips to hers.
Mona reacted on instinct.
Her hand flew up, and she slapped him–hard.
SMACK. The sharp crack echoed through the suite. Silence fell like a
curtain.
The man’s head snapped to the side. He licked the inside of his cheek slowly, then turned back to her, something dark and dangerous flaring in his eyes.
“Well, look at that,” he said, low and menacing. “No one’s ever dared slap me before.”
