Rescue Me

Chapter 10. Ten Chosen.

I should’ve walked away the second she said ten.

But I didn’t.

Because the way Grace Lincoln commands a room is a f*****g addiction I didn’t know I had until tonight.

She stands near the edge of the circular bed like she owns the goddamn world, her voice silk-wrapped steel as she looks us over—forty men shoved into a room that smells of lust and desperation, every one of us trying not to show how badly we want her to choose us.

“This ain’t middle school,” she says with a smirk when the guy beside me nervously raises his hand. “What is it?”

“Uh… how many are you picking?”

“Ten.”

Just one word. Ten. That’s all she says.

But it hits like a sucker punch to the ribs. Ten out of forty. Maybe more waiting in the hallway. That’s a twenty-five percent chance, at best.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t take it.

Grace doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t reassure. She doesn’t need to. She’s not here to make us feel safe.

She’s here to own us.

“My last Dom left the state,” she announces coolly. “So I’m in the market for something new. Impress me tonight, and maybe you get a chance to prove you're worth the collar.”

Her gaze sweeps the room like a predator surveying prey. When her eyes find mine, they pause. Just a beat. Just enough to light a fuse in my chest that won’t go out.

She moves on before I can figure out if I imagined it.

Christ.

My blood’s pumping like I just stepped into a cage fight.

The whispers swell. People shifting. Breathing heavy. The air charged with feral need. She never says the word contest, but everyone knows that’s what this is. A twisted, sensual audition in the underworld of Club Delco, where the price of winning might just be your soul.

“Any other questions?” Grace asks like she hopes someone’s stupid enough to speak again.

Silence.

“Good. I’m gonna walk around. If I like what I see, you’re in.” Her lips curve wickedly. “And I’m not just lookin’ for d**k size. But if you think it’s your selling point... go ahead. Impress me.”

A moment passes.

Then chaos.

Zippers scream open. Pants hit the floor. d***s are pulled out like it’s some kind of horny war zone. Guys start stroking themselves, some slow and sensual, others like they’re in the final round of a porn shoot.

I don’t move.

Not because I’m shy. I know what I’ve got, and I’ve got nothing to prove.

It’s because I want her to come to me.

I want her to feel me without seeing a damn thing.

Because of real power? It doesn’t need to beg. It waits. And then it takes.

She starts on the far side of the room, working methodically through the crowd, calling them out one by one. But she doesn’t ask names. She gives them names—nicknames based on whatever image she sees when she looks at them. It’s absurd and brilliant.

First pick: Shirley Temple. Blond, curly, lean. Probably couldn’t throw a punch but looks like he could cry pretty.

Then: Shortstop. Shoulder-length hair, stocky build, strong enough to hold his own.

Jean-Claude. All muscle, tanned, probably named after the action star. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just Grace’s twisted way of flirting.

Leg Day. Young, jacked up top, twigs for legs, scar down his face like some frat boy villain.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Matching shirts, bowties. One’s Japanese, swimmer’s build, the other white and broad like a lumberjack. She doesn’t bother to tell us which is which.

The Rock. Bald, goatee, middle-aged but still carved from granite.

Cupcake. Massive, beaded hair, thick arms, soft eyes. Like a bear in heat.

Tats. Inked from wrist to shoulder, skin like golden smoke, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

Each one of them makes it to the wall. The chosen. The ones she wants to test. The ones who’ve earned her interest for a night of unknown rules and wicked promises.

And still, she hasn’t picked me.

Yet.

But I feel her circling. Getting closer. Her scent’s already in my bloodstream—spiced citrus, leather, and danger.

Fuck, I want her.

Not just in the hungry, feral way. Not just to screw her senseless against that circular bed.

I want inside her. Inside her walls. Inside her world. Inside whatever this is.