Page 23 of Chained

"Strip, strip, strip!" the men begin chanting. I frown. I don't understand why they'd want this. Why would they want to see these girls without clothes on, especially when most of them are married? It's gross.

At first they're swaying to the music, but now none of the girls move; they keep still, hands holding onto each other. The crowd is getting impatient, their chants getting louder each time. "Get your fucking tits out," one of them screams over the music, throwing his whiskey glass at them.

Martha stands beside the stage, an implement in her hand I can't quite see. I watch as she walks beside them, her heels clicking against the wood. She pulls her arm back, the implement now visible—a riding crop.

She brings it down hard and heavy, slicing into the flesh of one of the girls' thighs. Her screams echo through the room as Martha brings it down again and again. I clamp my eyes shut, not wanting to see as I hear the whip slashing repeatedly. The crowd loves it, all shouting for Martha to do it again. Adrian grips my shoulder, the only comfort I remember from the whole ordeal.

"Strip." Martha's command is loud and clear. I can't stand this. I should have gone to bed when Adrian said so. My stomach is in knots, my heart hammering so fast I think it'll fly out of my chest.

"No." I hear the defiance, and for a second, my eyes open. I watch as the girl tucks the others behind her, shielding them from the crop and Martha's evil gaze. Martha laughs, full of venom and audacity. She turns to Archie, who simply nods at her, and she holds her arm back once more.

I don't know what possesses me to get involved—whether it's because I know this is wrong or because the girl needs help, I don't know.

But I rise to my feet, Adrian's attempt to shove me back down not working as I squirm out of his grip and run to the stage. I grab one of the men's beer bottles from a table as I pass, and I launch it at the back of Martha's head with all my might.

The crowd bursts into hysterics as Martha jolts forward, stumbling on her dress and falling on her face, her hands clutching the back of her head as blood trickles between her fingers. My eyes wander to the girls, who look at me in pure disbelief, like they can't believe someone has stuck up for them—let alone a child.

I turn slowly, knowing I'm about to get the beating of my life for what I've done, but I can't shake the small feeling of pride welling up inside me. Archie's gaze is on me, his face unreadable as always; behind him, Adrian stands, rubbing his stubble against his jawline as he shakes his head.

"Get them out," Martha calls to one of the guards after she manages to get to her knees. The guards grab the girls by the arms, their fingers pressing in as they pull them away. The girl who showed defiance turns to me, mouthing thank you and offering me the smallest smile. The crowd boos as they watch them be led out of the double doors, the music returning to its regular rhythm.

I walk back over to Archie, my hands in front of me as I pull at the loose skin beside my nails, staring at the carpet the entire time. I'm dead. Oh God, I'm so dead.

"That was quite the spectacle." Archie doesn't look at me, too busy staring into his whiskey glass.

"I'm sorry, Archie—but I couldn't—I wanted…" I can't find the words to excuse what I've done, so I swallow back my attempts to justify and wait for him to decide my punishment.

But to my surprise, nothing comes.

"Take him back to the recruit wing, Adrian." His voice is flat as he turns to Keith and begins talking about business. Adrian grabs me by the shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing against me as we head for the double doors.

"You got a death wish, kid?" His voice is low, but I can hear the hint of pride behind it.

"I couldn't stand there and do nothing, Adrian." I look up at him, my stomach still doing somersaults.

"You've got a heart of gold, lad." He laughs as we walk, still shaking his head in disbelief. "That's why you're my Ace of hearts."

I slump into the chair beside Adrian, shaking the memory away as one of the girls heads over to us. She's been here for years, caged in this hell, but she's learned to live with it. She offers us a smile as she asks what we'd like to drink.

"Whiskey, please, Charlotte," Adrian calls out, giving her his best smile. I frown, always wondering if there's something between them. I remember spotting them once heading into his chambers, but I never asked—who he fucks is none of my business. She nods, returning his smile, and walks back over to the bar. He calls out to her again, "In fact, bring the bottle, doll." He leans back in his chair, his gaze on her the whole time until she disappears.

"Nice shiner there, Jax. Who was it this time?" He laughs as he inspects my face. I shrug my leather jacket off onto the back of my chair, ignoring the mocking in his voice.

"One of the new girls." Jarrod laughs as he pulls in his chair, the scrape against the wood jarring against the pounding in my head. This only makes Adrian howl louder. I scowl.

"Bitch kicked me right in the face." My voice is low as the ache flares. "Even worse, she tried it twice." That's not all she did, but I don't tell them more. I don't want them to know she's still stuck in my head.

"Well, her funeral if she tries that shit with Vincent." His face drops a little. He's right—she's dead if she even lifts a finger to him. He doesn't tolerate disobedience, not from anyone.

"How many this time?" Adrian asks, picking the beer mat up to fiddle with in his hands. Charlotte walks over, a smile on her face solely for him. "Here you go." She drops the bottle and three glasses on the table, their gazes lingering a second too long.

I raise a brow at him, and he clears his throat. "Cheers." His voice a little cold, her eyes now flashing with disappointment as she turns away.

"Four. We brought four here," Jarrod says, his voice a little shaky with nerves. He frowns at the whiskey glasses. "I'm gonna go grab a Coke." He rises from his chair and heads for the bar. He's never been a drinker—not like us, anyway—but I guess that's more because he's never really been given a reason to numb pain with alcohol. Yeah, he collects girls, he hacks into systems, but he doesn't have blood on his hands. I'm glad about that. He doesn't deserve the guilt.

"More for us then, Ace." Adrian beams at me, pouring the whiskey into our glasses. I pick mine up and drain it immediately, the burn in my throat welcomed as it distracts me from the pain in my face.

"She was defiant."