The heavy door slab lay shattered on the marble like a broken tombstone, dust still drifting in the violet light.
Inside the private bedroom, the air was thick, choking—spilled whiskey, sour sweat, the metallic tang of blood already mixing with the chemical reek of lust-drugs and fear-piss.
Aiden, Anderson, and Zack stood frozen in mid-depravity:belts hanging loose, zippers torn halfway down, trousers sagging around hairy thighs, cocks half-erect and obscene from the cocktail they'd forced into Emily's throat minutes earlier.
Their faces were slack with animal shock—eyes bulging, mouths hanging open, the smug legacy sneers erased in a single heartbeat by the sight of Phei framed in the doorway like judgment given flesh.
Emily was beyond ruined.
