He stepped back, his hands tucked into his pockets, radiating the arrogance of a man who knew he held her entire future in his palm.
"Now," he said, his eyes hardening with a cold, predatory gleam. "Take off your clothes. That is, of course, if you want my protection. Or you can take your chances with the buyers in the hall. Your choice."
The girl's breath hitched. She looked at the door, then back at Seron. In this world, power wasn't just about money; it was about who could keep you from drowning in the Fish Tank.
The room was silent except for the heavy, rhythmic thud of the headboard against the velvet-papered wall. Seron moved with a brutal, entitled efficiency, his muscles tensed as he pinned her down. He had no interest in her name or her story; to him, she was simply a perk of the family business, a trophy to be used and discarded.
