Chapter 28

Evangelina

Have you ever had a bad feeling about something? Like, so bad you know you should run for your life, but your legs refuse to move? That’s exactly how I feel right now, standing here, giving Benedict a lap dance. My body is on autopilot, swaying to the rhythm of the low music, while my mind is screaming at me to flee, to get as far away from this place as possible. But I can’t. Not with all these eyes on me, not with Benedict gripping my hip so possessively.

His touch sends a different kind of shiver down my spine, one that makes me want to melt into him. We haven’t spoken about what happened between us before I was attacked. Before everything went to hell. But right now, with his firm hand pressing into my skin, that tension between us feels electric. It’s almost too much to handle.

Part of me wants it again. All of it. The feel of his skin on mine, the heat of his breath against my neck, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered. My heart pounds in my chest as I move against him, and I can feel the intensity radiating off him. I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same.

But even as my body craves his, my stomach churns with fear. I’m terrified—scared to death of being in this room, in this situation, with the Delgado family watching us. Lazarus sits at the far end of the room, his gaze like a predator’s, always calculating, always watching. Enzo is no better, his leer making my skin crawl. I can feel their eyes on me, sizing me up like a piece of meat, and it takes everything in me not to flinch, not to show how much I want to crawl out of my skin and disappear.

Benedict tightens his grip on me, pulling me closer, grounding me. His face is calm, but I can feel the tension in him. He’s angry—furious, even—and I know it’s because of the way these men are looking at me. It’s like he wants to tear them apart, one by one. But we’re playing a dangerous game, and we both know it.

I keep moving, my hips swaying gently as I pretend to be lost in the music, but my heart is racing. The fear of what might happen next is nearly paralyzing. What are we even doing here? Why did we agree to this? I glance around the room, seeing nothing but shadows and faces I don’t trust. These people… they could kill us if they wanted to.

Benedict’s hand slides up my back, a reassuring touch that’s meant to calm me, but it only intensifies the internal conflict raging inside me. I want him so badly. I want to forget everything else and lose myself in him. But I can’t. Not here. Not now. Not with Lazarus Delgado smiling at me like he’s already decided my fate.

I glance down at Benedict, his eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, the fear loosens its grip. He’s here. He’s got me. But even as I cling to that thought, the reality of where we are, the danger we’re in, seeps back in like a cold, unwelcome fog.

The music shifts, the bass deeper, more intense, and the men around us start clapping, egging us on, their voices slurring with alcohol and power. I try to focus on Benedict, to block out everything else, but it’s impossible. I can feel Lazarus watching, his gaze heavy and expectant, waiting for us to slip up, to give him a reason to strike.

I force myself to keep dancing, to keep pretending everything is fine, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to go horribly wrong.

“Suck his dick,” Lazarus bellows from across the room, calculating and controlled.

My eyes widen as I gaze back at Benedict. I shake my head slightly, like we can’t possibly agree to something so drastic.

Lazarus stands, crossing the tiled floor of the club with purpose until he’s standing right next to me. “Do it,” he whispers close to my ear.

“On your knees,” Benedict commands, and my eyes nearly pop out of my eye sockets. He can’t be serious. “Don’t make me tell you again, Lina. On your fucking knees.” His voice is demanding, powerful, but I know it’s the part he’s playing.

I sink to my knees, knowing full well I’m going to have to do this.

I spot other Greedy Girls in the room doing the very thing I’m being asked to do with no protest.

Lazarus’ hand makes contact with the back of my head as he pushes me closer to Benedict’s lap. “Be a good little girl and suck the Father off.”

I can’t believe this is happening. Don’t get me wrong, I want Benedict more than words could ever convey, but not like this. Not with everyone watching.

I glance over my shoulder at Enzo, making sure he’s not videotaping this whole thing. That’s all we need. A video of us floating around to be used as blackmail.

I make sure my wig isn’t going anywhere, reminding me of my new persona. Lina. The Greedy Girl.

Benedict undoes his pants, pulling his dick out, and Lazarus slinks away. “Eyes on me. It’s only me and you right now,” Benedict says and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

The tension coiled deep inside me settles slightly at the sight of him. He grips his long shaft with one hand, pumping it slowly as his eyes glaze over.

“Open your mouth,” he demands of me, and I do as he says.

I stick out my tongue slightly as he pushes the tip of his dick against my open, waiting mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

The gravity of the situation isn’t lost on me. This man is a priest, putting aside his vow for the sake of the greater good. A part of me should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel so guilty about something that feels so right.

So good.

So unbelievably unattainable. This amount of pleasure should be the real testament that there’s a heaven.

Benedict groans, bringing my thoughts back to the present, and his eyes roll back into his head as he closes his eyes. His mouth hangs open as I swipe my tongue over the tip of his dick, letting my tongue nestle in the groove there. “That’s it,” he says through gritted teeth.

I raise my hands, my fingers wrapping around his girth. I wonder what it will feel like to be stretched by him. Have his dick so deep inside me. My core tightens as the thoughts invade my mind like a tidal wave.

I work his dick, not caring about anyone else in the room except Benedict and me. His thickness swells, and I grip him, swirling both my hands, letting my grip tighten slightly the closer I get to his head.

I then move my face closer, opening my mouth, taking as much of him as I can toward the back of my throat.

He groans. “Fuck, Lina.”

I tug on his balls as I move my mouth over him, creating a tight suction, hollowing out my cheeks. I pump his balls, my tongue tracing over the seam of his sac before returning to lick up the underside of his shaft. His whole body pulses as I continue my assault on him.

His fingers fly through the black hair of my wig, and as if he remembers it’s a wig, he brings one hand to wrap around my throat.

Our eyes connect as he squeezes gently.

“You like this, you dirty slut, don’t you?”

I nod, slightly, my tongue tracing over the crown of his head.

“You’re so fucking filthy,” he breathes out, his eyes closing slightly, his breath hitching.

“Swallow him whole,” someone shouts out into the room.

I keep bobbing my head, working his balls with one hand, the other working the base of his dick. My mouth covers him completely, sucking along his hardness as best I can.

I must be doing a great job because Benedict’s whole body vibrates, his thick thighs spreading slightly as his hand grips around my throat tighter.

“You like being my dirty plaything?”

I nod, tears threatening to spill from my eyes due to nearly gagging on his girth. I love being his anything. Plaything. Slut. Anything, as long as I’m his.

I keep working his dick and I can tell he’s getting close. His balls tighten in my grip and his eyes crash into mine.

“I’m close,” he whispers.

I suck him deeper, taking him until he hits the wall of my throat. I tighten my hold on him, massaging the base of his balls.

“I’m gonna come,” he says, trying to pull himself from my mouth, but I don’t let him.

“Suck his cum down your throat, you whore,” Lazarus says.

Benedict’s eyes squeeze shut as spurts of hot cum fill my mouth. I immediately swallow him, milking every last drop. He releases my neck and groans as the last of his release spills into my mouth. His eyes blaze into mine and he lifts me up from the floor, and I straddle his lap. He crashes his mouth against mine, kissing the hell out of me. Our bodies intertwine like two lost lovers, and his hands roam over my body. “I need you. I…, uh, I need to be inside you.”

I just stare into his blue eyes, wondering if we can really do this. I nod, and he growls.

“Not here,” he whispers. “I need to own your body, but not in front of these assholes.” His voice is low, threadbare, only for me to hear.

We remain undercover, blending into the background as we listen to the men around us, trying to catch any mention of the bids Lazarus spoke about earlier. The murmur of their conversations is a mix of drunken laughter, crude jokes, and the clinking of glasses, but nothing seems to reveal more about the mysterious bids. The longer we stay, the more I feel the oppressive weight of the room, the danger thick in the air.

The lights dim even further, casting wild shadows that seem to creep closer with each passing minute. The men are becoming increasingly rowdy—some are already too intoxicated to care about anything but their own pleasure, while others are deeply engaged with the women. A few have even slumped over, passed out from excessive drinking. The scene is chaotic, a drunken carnival of excess and depravity.

Benedict’s jaw is set with a hard, determined line as he scans the room. After what feels like an eternity, he suddenly stands, his movement sharp and purposeful. He grabs my hand with a firm grip, his eyes scanning the room one last time. “We must go,” he says, his voice low and urgent, but to no one in particular.

The crowd’s noise and confusion mask our departure. Nobody pays us any attention as we make our way through the tangled mess of bodies. Benedict keeps his gaze straight ahead, his expression a mask of controlled urgency. We navigate the dimly lit hallway with swift, determined strides.

As we push through the heavy, velvet-clad door of Club Greed, the night air is a welcome relief. Benedict doesn’t slow down, his grip on my hand firm as he guides me swiftly toward the parking lot. The silence of the outside world feels almost surreal after the raucous chaos we’ve left behind.

He practically shoves me into the front seat of his car, the interior cold and sterile compared to the warm, sweaty club. Without a word, he slips into the driver’s seat, his movements precise and quick. The engine roars to life, and the car surges forward with a burst of speed, tires screeching slightly as we race away from Club Greed.

The streets blur past us, the city lights streaking by in a wash of neon and shadow. Benedict’s focus is laser-sharp as he drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The urgency in his demeanor is unmistakable, and I can sense the adrenaline coursing through him, mirroring my own racing pulse.

As we speed across town, heading toward my apartment, I steal a glance at Benedict. His profile is tense, eyes set ahead with an intensity that is both reassuring and alarming. The cityscape outside seems to stretch endlessly.

The familiarity of my apartment building comes into view, and the sight offers a small measure of comfort. We’re not safe yet, but we’re a step closer to figuring out what’s next.