“Gentlemen,” Jax’s voice boomed through the speakers, commanding immediate attention. “Thank you for joining us tonight. As promised, we’ve arranged some special entertainment for you all.”
CHAPTER 22
Jax
A ripple of appreciative murmurs ran through the crowd. I did my best to assess the mood, all my senses on high alert, trying to perceive the slightest shift away from lust and toward wariness.
“Relax,” said Esme’s voice in my ear, speaking through the invisible comm implanted in my jawbone. “The cameras are giving us full biometrics on every one of these perps. You folks don’t trust your assessors as much as you should.”
I tapped my jaw twice to acknowledge, not sure whether to take Esme’s reassurance as standard assessors’ bravado or gospel fact. It was true that trainers like me sometimes overestimated our ability to read a young woman’s body language. Occasionally, yes, assessment could figure things out from arcane parameters like skin galvanics long before I could sense a shift in a girl’s attitude coming.
When it came to men, though?
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Esme. “You’re thinking that because you’re a man and I’m a woman, there’s no way I know more about what these criminals are thinking than you do.”
I had to keep the smile from my face. I tapped my jawbone again, then rested my hand on Louisa’s shoulder, feeling a shudder go through her—one that I didn’t need Esme to tell me mingled fear and excitement.
I had given the crowd a few moments to settle down, letting the suspense build a little. The contrast between the cotton fabric of Louisa’s schoolgirl blouse and the soft skin of her neck threatened to derail my analytical train of thought.
“I promise you one thing, though,” Esme said. “The testosterone in this room suggests very strongly that these men aren’t going to be thinking about anything but fucking until the police have them all in plastic cuffs.”
I let my smile go on that one, beaming around the room at the assembled lowlifes, because it was time to put things in full motion.
“Gentlemen,” I announced, letting my voice carry to every corner of the room, “these bad girls are here tonight to perform community service for all of you.”
Laughter erupted across the room, deep male chuckles and a few crude comments that made Louisa tremble slightly beneath my hand.
“As you can see,” I continued when the laughter subsided, “they’re positioned for your convenience. Each one has been thoroughly trained to understand that they must obey every man who chooses to use them tonight.” I paused, scanning the eager faces. “However, there is just one rule you need to follow.”
The men leaned forward, their expressions hungry as they waited for me to continue. I could sense their anticipation, the almost palpable desire filling the room.
“But first,” I said, gently guiding Louisa forward, “let me introduce my own special bad girl. This is Little Lulu, who’s been under my personal training program.”
Louisa stood trembling beside me, her eyes downcast as dozens of predatory gazes raked over her body. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the subtle tension in her muscles as she fought to control her breathing.
“Little Lulu,” I said, moving the microphone close to her lips, “why don’t you tell these gentlemen what the most important rule is?”
Louisa
For a moment I couldn’t think. I had no idea what Jax meant and I felt certain I had ruined everything. My heart rate skyrocketed and I felt my face turn bright red.
Then I remembered, with an even hotter blush, so that my cheeks felt like how I imagined the surface of the sun. I whispered into the mic, “Bad girls only get fucked with a sore bottom.” The crowd laughed, a deep rumble of masculine appreciation that made my skin prickle with goosebumps.
Jax nodded approvingly and gestured toward the center of the hall. “Gentlemen, as Little Lulu has so eloquently reminded us,these girls require proper preparation before use. You’ll find everything you need at the discipline table.”
All eyes turned to a long mahogany table in the midst of the hall, laden with an assortment of implements that made my heart jump—wooden paddles in various sizes, leather straps laid in neat rows, slender canes with crooked ends like something from a Victorian novel.
“Please,” Jax continued, “explore the possibilities. Each girl must receive at least ten strokes before being used. This ensures they’ll be properly receptive to your attentions.”
The men surged toward the table, eager hands reaching for the implements of punishment. I watched in horrified fascination as they selected their weapons, testing the weight and flexibility with practiced movements that suggested this wasn’t their first time administering such discipline, or maybe just indicated how urgently they’d always wanted to give it a try.
Jax squeezed my shoulder and gestured for Oscar and Viktor to join us onstage. That’s when I noticed something that made my blood run cold—a padded bench identical to the ones in the main hall, positioned center stage. It could only be meant for me.
As the first cries began to fill the hall, along with the crack and thwack of leather and wood meeting tender flesh, Oscar and Viktor stepped close to Jax, their voices dropping to a confidential murmur. I stood perfectly still, straining to hear their words over the growing cacophony of pain and pleasure.
“Our men are in position,” Oscar said, his voice barely audible. “The guys marked for elimination are all here, as promised.”
Viktor nodded, his cold eyes sweeping the room. “The moment you give the signal, they will be taken care of. Permanently.”
