Chapter 9: Eavesdropping on the Devil (And the Price of Knowing Too Much)

Cady's POV

I'm standing, my hands still clutching at my exposed chest, covering what little dignity I have left. The lights are too bright, the laughter too loud, and I swear the men in this room sound like a pack of rabid dogs, barking and howling for blood.

And I'm the prey.

The guy I'm supposed to... "indulge" in just sits there, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else but here. His eyes flicker over me once before darting away, like he can't stand to look. God, how did I end up here? How did I go from mopping floors to being paraded around like some kind of trophy for these rich, disgusting bastards?

Tate's commanding voice cuts through the chaos. "What are you waiting for?" he snaps, and my stomach lurches.

I turn to look at him as the reality of this moment crashes down. "What did I ever do to you?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the noise. "Why are you doing this to me?"

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see nothing. Just emptiness. He walks up to me, grabs my shoulder, and forces me down to my knees. I'm trembling, powerless against him. "I said suck," he repeats, his voice even colder now, like he's demanding I bow before him.

I can barely breathe. My hands are shaking as I reach for the man's zipper, tears burning the back of my eyes. My mind is racing, flashing through every moment that led me here, every stupid decision that landed me at the mercy of Tate Mercer. But then I think of my mom, lying in that hospital bed, her body ravaged by diabetes, her life hanging by a thread. And my dad, barely able to walk, suffering from arthritis, his ulcer, and stroke that took away his ability to even care for himself.

I have to do this. For them.

I grip the zipper and start to pull. My body's numb and my heart, shattered. But just as I lean forward, the man shoves me away, standing up so abruptly that I'm flung back onto the floor.

What the—

He storms off, shoving past the other men, and I just lay there, dazed. I turn my head and see Tate, staring down at me with this... blank expression. There's no anger, no pity, no amusement. Just... nothing.

He leaves without a word whilst his bodyguards trail after him like shadows.

The men start to close in, moving toward me like vultures circling a carcass. But then, just as quickly, a group of girls rush in, forming a barrier around me. "Get up," one of them hisses, and I'm dragged to my feet, my body too weak to fight.

They pull me into a bathroom and slam the door in my face. I'm left with a girl who looks like she walked straight out of an emo music video—thick eyeliner, dark lipstick, hair dyed jet black. She's fixing her makeup in the mirror, not even looking at me.

I can't even face myself. I feel... I don't even know what I feel. Exposed, broken, humiliated beyond belief.

The girl finally glances at me, her eyes sweeping over my body. Without a word, she tosses a jacket in my direction. I grab it, throwing it on, my hands shaking so badly I can barely zip it up.

"What'd you do?" she asks sarcastically. "Piss off some rich dude? That's like a death sentence around here, you know."

She's assuming I work here, as a stripper like them.

I don't answer. I can't even form the words.

"Whatever," she mutters, turning back to the mirror. "You'll get used to it. Or you won't. Either way, doesn't matter."

Before I can even process what she's saying, the door flies open, and the Spanish woman from before bursts in, her face twisted in rage. "¡Puta! You ruined my night! You ruined my business! Sir Tate will kill me because of you!"

I flinch as her words hit me like physical blows.

"Mama G, calm down," the emo girl says, stepping between us. "It's not that serious."

But Mama G isn't listening. "You'll pay for this," she snarls and lunges at me with outstretched hands.

The emo girl blocks her, shoving her back. "Not now, Mama G. Let her go, or Sir Tate will have your head."

Mama G glares, but she steps back, seething. "Fine. Get out!" she spits at me. "And pray I never see your face again."

I don't need to be told twice. I bolt from the room, my heart pounding in my ears, as I race through the club, dodging hands and drunken stares until I finally make it to the entrance. I burst through the doors, gasping for air. The cool night breeze hits my skin like a slap.

"God, these people," I whisper, shaking my head, tears blurring my vision. "Rich bastards."

I stumble forward, trying to make sense of everything, when I hear it. Voices. Arguing. I freeze and press myself against the wall as I peek around the corner. It's Tate... and that guy from before. The one I was supposed to... No. I can't think about that.

"You need to grow the hell up," Tate snarls harshly. "Stop being a pussy just because your mom died. This is why I hate taking you out."

The guy shoots back, sounding equally angry. "She was your mom too, Tate. And the way she died was brutal, and you know it. But you always want to pretend like it didn't happen."

My breath catches. What?

Tate's face twists into something ugly. "That woman was never my mother," he spits. "And if you keep acting like this, I'll stop treating you like my brother."

The guy is quiet for a moment, but then he says, "Sometimes I wonder, you know? You were the last one seen with her before she... did it. Makes you think."

Tate grabs him by the collar, his eyes blazing. "What the fuck did you just say?"

I can't help it. A gasp slips out, and I slap my hand over my mouth, praying they didn't hear me.

Everything goes still.

I stumble back and quickly crouch behind a huge vase at the entrance, my heart pounding so loudly I swear they can hear it. For a few moments, I don't breathe. Don't move.

Footsteps. They're leaving.

I wait, my body trembling, and then slowly step out, taking a deep breath. But before I can even process what's happening, I slam into something—no, someone.

As soon as I look up, my heart drops into my stomach.

Fuck.

Tate.

"You really have some guts, don't you?" he says, grabbing my arm before I can run. His eyes are dead, empty, and for the first time, I'm genuinely terrified of him. "Eavesdropping on me, Sparky? Despite everything, you still haven't learned your lesson."

"I-I didn't hear anything," I stammer, my voice barely a whisper. "I swear, I didn't hear—"

He laughs, low and cold. "You're just making it easier for me to keep you close, you know that?" His hand tightens around my wrist, pulling me so close I can feel his breath against my skin. "You'll never leave me now. Not after what you've just heard. Not even if you're fucking dead."

"No," I plead, tears streaming down my face. "Please, I swear, I didn't—"

"Shut up," he snaps and drags me toward his car. I'm thrown inside, my body hitting the leather seat hard. Before I can even think of escaping, he's in beside me, slamming the door shut. "Drive," he orders the driver, not sparing me another glance.

I reach for the handle, desperate to escape, but he grabs my arm again. "Stop," he growls. "You'll break it."

"Please," I beg, my voice breaking. "Please, don't do this. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything, just—"

He doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

"Where are you taking me?" I whisper as my voice shakes.

He finally looks at me, and there's something dark and twisted in his gaze that makes my blood run cold. "The place I could've taken you the bloody day you had the audacity to open your goddamn tongue to blackmail me."