Adam
The video looped on the screen, the sound low but sharp enough to slice through the silence.
I stepped into the room, rolling my sleeves to my elbows, each motion deliberate. “Do you like what you see?” My tone was flat, bored — the kind of boredom that made men sweat because they knew it came before something bad.
One glance at the video — Lara astride me — was all I needed. I looked away. I’d seen enough.
Trina strained against her chains, jerking like an animal in a snare. Twenty-four hours with the footage, and still she had venom to spit.
“It would look better if it were you and me,” she purred. “I taste better than that fresh meat.”
There it was — the same venom her father used before gutting an opponent.
I chuckled, but it was a dark, humorless sound. She thought she cou
