Every man chuckled to see me on the ground, but not Callan. His whiskey eyes swept my direction, the color deepening, his face a mask that gave away nothing of his thoughts.
Above me, Jacob laughed with the rest of them, his voice lifting above the thump of music.
“Isn’t this the bitch that used you as a footstool?”
Callan’s stare abandoned me to lift to his friend, but he was silent, as were the rest of them, each man waiting for what Jacob had to say.
“Shouldn’t you use her as well?”
Jacob tapped his boot against my ass, his body leaning over me with the growled instruction, “Crawl to him.”
I shook my head in refusal, anger locking over my frame, every muscle too tight to move. I’d crawled already for Callan, and where did it get me? Chained to the foot of his bed.
To make me do it again in front of all these people was too cruel, too vindictive, too-
“Or how about I bring my friends in here to make a better joke of you so that they can laugh like yours did?”
Too much like me now that I remembered his warning. Too much like what I’d done to him. Over and over and over.
Every memory smashed through my head with the shame that carried them. Every insult, every taunt, every time I’d made him fall to his knees before me just so my friends could make fun of him. I hadn’t cared that pain rolled behind his eyes. It only made me do it more.
And even then, I knew what hurt him most wasn’t my friends’ laughter or the embarrassment he suffered, it was that I knew how he felt about me and punished him for the affection.
We had history. And I had a price to pay.
Callan had warned me this was coming.
“Everybody get the fuck out,” Jacob bellowed, his voice rising above the music to shake the walls harder.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them this time. Not with these men staring at me with amusement in their eyes, not with Callan refusing to look at me while my shame and the struggle to keep my pride intact was painted across my skin.
The men eventually walked from the room to leave behind their laughter and lurid comments, but the whispers were nothing compared to the heavy air that remained when it was only Callan, Jacob and me left in the room.
An arm hooked under my stomach, and I was wrenched from the floor, my body weighing nothing to the man who carried me to stand in front of Callan before dropping me down again. My arms gave out when I hit, my head falling forward before I crumpled into a ball. Pain shot over my chin as something warm and wet trickled. Opening my eyes, I saw the drops of crimson on the white floor.
“Fucking use her, asshole! Get this shit out of your system before you get yourself killed in the next fight. I shouldn’t have been able to hit you today. And if you don’t do something with her, I will.”
Callan grinned, the expression terrifying. His eyes weren’t on me, though, only on his friend.
“It was a lucky punch.”
“Like hell it was. I wasn’t even fucking trying. Your head was somewhere else.”
While Jacob’s voice was raised in anger, Callan’s was cold, so damn empty of emotion that it frightened me.
“Get out, Jacob. I’m sure Haley is waiting for you in the dungeon. I’d hate for all the other assholes to get to her first.”
A shiver coursed through me at the mention of the dungeon, but I didn’t dare look up at either of them. I tried to stay as still as possible. Unseen. Every fear inside me screaming that Jacob would pick me up and take me with him rather than leave me with Callan.
His next words only confirmed my fear.
“I should take her with me. Away from you.”
Callan’s smile was razor sharp, a dare written into the lines of his face. “Try it, and you won’t get a lucky punch again.”
Jacob was silent, his boots held at shoulder width on the floor in front of me. I dared look away from Callan to see his friend, still not moving in case he wanted to make good on his threat.
When Jacob finally answered, his voice was controlled, a warning written into every word spoken.
“Do what needs to be done, or I’m telling Benny and Franklin to tie your ass down