Chapter 3

Ryker

I'm fucked.

Storming back into my club, I weave through the tightly packed bodies and shove myself through the staff only doors to get to my office.

Tara. Fucking. Reed. Her name grinds my last nerve. I'm going to annihilate this woman by any means necessary for what she's done. Not only did that woman screw me with that deal, she's fucked my club out of making a lot of goddamn money tomorrow night.

And she's pissed all over my integrity.

Okay, that last accusation may be more my fault than hers. I let my pride talk for my bank account tonight. I didn't have to take the deal and could have walked away, refused to give her what she wanted. Instead, I shut my mouth and let her think she's won.

And while her sweet ass glided down the stairwell and back to her car, I imagined everything I'll make sure happens to her as the Butterfly. By the end of the month, she won't be able to sit, walk, or crawl.

Which leads me to my biggest problem.

The Butterfly gets to choose who they want as their Dom. That means not only do I have to rig this auction for her to win, but I'll have to coach whoever she chooses.

Or become her master myself. I shake the thought away before it turns into a full-blown temptation.

Too bad I'm not on the roster of available Doms.

She might have looked at me with those victorious Fuck Me blue eyes tonight, but the way she scuttled away from me suggests she's terrified of our little deal.

As she should be.

Grabbing Dmitri by the shoulder, I guide him down the hall. "Change of plans."

His stride matches mine effortlessly. "What's the problem?"

"The ceremony needs to be rigged."

He stops short. "That's…"

"Against my rules. Yeah, I fucking know." And I hate myself for doing it. "I need Tara Reed to be the Butterfly."

Dmitri's dark brow furrows. "You're not serious."

"It's important." My word is gold, and we made a deal. Tara's right. My pockets are nowhere near as deep as Brisbane Realty and they've bought up so much property already, I'll be damned if I lose this building to them.

The fuck are they going to do with it, anyway? Level it?

Jesus, what the hell am I going to do with it?

That's a problem for another day, I remind myself.

"Do I even want to know what you did in the past…" Dmitri glances at his watch, then back to me. "Two fucking hours that's turned you into a cheat?"

Getting called out by my best friend cuts deep.

"Tara Reed works for Brisbane Realty, and she tried to go after something I want." It sounds pathetically childish even to my own ears. But my reasons for wanting that building are no one else's business. "There's got to be a way to manipulate this." Because I don't want to cheat.

My entire life, I've hustled, swindled, and done things most men wouldn't want to do. I didn't climb the ladder of success. I scraped, clawed, and fought my way to get where I am now.

Tara Reed just knocked me down a few notches, but it's nothing I can't come back from.

My integrity, however, says otherwise.

"Fuck." I pinch the bridge of my nose and drop into my chair while Dmitri shuts my office door. "I need to figure this out. I can't lose what I've built by cheating her way to a win."

"Maybe we can put a twist on it? Let the bidders go in blind so they don't see which woman they're bidding on. Then make it her at the reveal?"

"That's not a bad idea." But it won't sit well with my clients. Many of them bid on their own wives and girlfriends. They want their woman trained by my Doms in specific ways, so their new fuck toys turn into upgrades for them to play with after their month as our Butterfly is up.

As far as I can tell, Tara's not with anyone at the club. No one will specifically be there for her. She's also stunning and fucking ballsy. Maybe I can work all that to my advantage.

"Once she wins, however that happens, I need to make sure she pays for putting me in this position."

I want revenge.

Dmitri leans against the door and doesn't look happy. "How far you want me to go with her?" Because we both know even he has his hard limits, as do I. We also both know that D is the top Dom in the club. Women would happily give their soul for a night at his mercy.

My god, I'm becoming a monster. And for what, some crumbling brick and mortar? "We'll have to see."

Imagining her under Dmitri's care shoots fiery ice through my veins. Not that I'll ever admit it.

If she chooses Dmitri, which most Butterflies do, we'll have to come up with a plan that meets both our requirements. He's not one to hurt a woman, and neither am I, but part of me wants to teach her a fucking lesson about… what was it she said? Oh yeah, never biting the hand that fingers her.

God. Damn.

She punched my pride tonight. I'd love a chance to return the favor.

???

"Good evening, Mr. Hudson."

"Good evening, Mr. Hudson."

"Good evening, Sir."

I'm too wound up to respond to any of my staff and all but storm through the growing crowd gathering in the club. Dmitri and I stayed up late last night devising a plan that will hopefully work. Time to put it into action.

I shoulder my way through the private doors to the suite where all the Butterfly competitors are getting ready. Tara's sitting between two women who are younger than her.

Perfect.

"How are you this evening, Stella?" I bend low and kiss the cheek of the twenty-four-year-old to the right of Tara. She's built to fuck, and her cuckold husband pays a lot of money to make that happen.

"I'm so nervous," she says, smiling. "I hope I win."

"Look how stunning you are." I practically purr against her ear. "The bidders would be insane to not pay top dollar to have you spoiled."

Tara's cheeks blaze red, but she doesn't say a word. Keeping my cool, I move onto the woman sitting on Tara's left. "Deseri, if you were my Butterfly, I'd spend hours with you on my tongue so I could gorge on your sweetness." I drag my thumb down her mouth, smearing her lipstick. "Keep it like this. The men will go feral for it." With a wink, I add, "As will Dmitri."

Her eyes darken with lust.

Giving them hope they might win weighs my heart down with guilt, but what I'm saying isn't a lie. There is an excellent possibility that either of them could win, just like any other woman here.

Because I'm not cheating tonight. Fuck that.

Nowhere in our verbal deal was it stated that Tara had to be this month's Butterfly. For all I care, she can compete every year until she finally wins or gives up and goes home. I'll be damned if I let my honor, or the integrity of my club, get smudged because little miss mouthy wants to play hardball with me.

I finally turn my attention to the woman who's gone from my little obsession to the bane of my existence. "How are you this evening, Tara?"

She may have to win this on her own, but that doesn't mean I can't nudge her in the right direction. Just like I gave Stella a boost of confidence, and Deseri a tip to appease the bidder's desires, I'll give Tara a secret weapon too.

Dragging my gaze down her back, disdain drips from my voice when I say, "Your dress is a bold choice."

She stalls with her lipstick poised just in front of her mouth. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Blue doesn't necessarily say fuckable. It's giving…" My gaze narrows and I frown with disapproval. "Frozen ice queen vibes."

She scoffs. "This is Dior."

"And that's Gucci," I say, pointing at the woman over by the three-way mirror. "That's Versace." I jab my finger at Deseri. "And that's…" I pause and contemplate what this other girl is wearing. "Jessie, what is that?"

"Balenciaga," she says, twirling for me. "Do you like it?"

"Love it," I purr appreciatively. Backing away from Tara, as if she's old news, I kiss Jessie's hand and parade her around the room. "You look like a goddess that every man and woman should fall on their knees for and worship."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tara throw her lipstick on the vanity.

Awww. That was too easy.

Making my way back to her, I stuff my hands in my pockets. "My clients like to make bold statements on behalf of their women, Tara. And going off these outfits, I think you can see they all have very, very deep pockets."

Not to mention the club fee is a cool two-hundred thousand a year, per guest, but Tara would have known that already since she forked that amount over herself to be here.

"Your competitors also have the advantage of bringing someone who is eager to throw money at this." I tilt my head and purse my lips. "Is anyone here for you tonight, Miss Reed?"

Her cheeks blaze red, and guilt wraps its hand around my throat.

Time to leave.

"I wish all of you good luck tonight." I step back from Tara again, but not before hearing her mumble something under her breath that's sounds an awful lot like, "I'll show you bold, asshole."

Taking my leave, I close the doors, knowing I've just set up the craziest game of mind fuckery of my life, and am left with one question.

How bad does Tara Reed really want to be the Butterfly?