Free Sin City Goddess by Barbra Annino

hair and flung her against the cement wall, hoping she would smack her head.
    His partner wouldn’t like that, but he didn’t care.
    “You think it’s funny? I’ll show you funny, you fucking bitch!”
    He grabbed a knife, the one he was going to use to carve his initials into her stomach when the game was over, and held it to her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, but he could smell a trace of fear. It wasn’t strong like the others’. It didn’t last long, and this one’s scent was herbaceous, floral, even, though he couldn’t identify the plant.
    “Look at me!” he hissed.
    She opened one eye. It sparkled for a moment. Almost… illuminated. Then she shut it.
    This one was harder to break, but he had every confidence he would be able to break her, given enough time. He had broken many. She wasn’t anything special.
    Then again, he could always kill her and find another. But no, it was too late for that. His partner had promised the plan would be enacted soon.
    He pressed the tip of the knife to her swan-like throat, his other hand gripping the back of her head. Her breathing was steady, calmer, and her eyes were still closed.
    Then one of the other playmates said, “No, please, don’t.”
    That’s when he felt the tension shift beneath his hold on the newbie’s head. That’s when he learned what her currency was. She actually gave a shit about the others. She didn’t just fear for her life. She feared for
theirs
.
    He swung his head back, dropped her like a water hose, and made his way over to the one who had interrupted his game.
    He dragged that one—the one with the mouth—kicking and screaming, tears running down her face, over to the handcuffs that dangled from the ceiling. He gripped one skinny wrist and then another, binding her to the ceiling. Then he duct-taped her feet as she whispered, “Please, please, not again.”
    Ignoring her, he watched as she swayed gently, like a side of beef in the Chicago stockyards.
Fresh meat
, he thought. She was firm, well toned. A dancer, maybe.
    Then he turned back to the one who had bitten him. She tried to appear defiant, but he saw the emotion when she opened her eyes again. That sparkling was there still, but he saw what she was feeling just the same.
    Empathy, remorse, and anger. Oh, yes, there was a lot of anger there. If she had been a man, he might have befriendedher. Could have coaxed her to join his team. He could use that kind of piss and vinegar. Too bad.
    He said to her, “This is your fault. I want you to remember that. Every plea, every scream, every scar—it’s all on you. It should
be
you.”
    Then the fun began.

Chapter 13

    “You’re kidding, right?” Archer asked me when I met him back in the common area of our suite after I had changed.
    “Look, I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s just say I need to go shopping as soon as possible.”
    I was wearing—not by choice, but rather out of necessity—a much-too-tight orange sequined tube top, jeans that looked to have been painted onto my thighs, and leopard platform heels. I couldn’t believe my sisters even owned this kind of garb, let alone wore it out in public. Honestly, what did this city do to all who entered? I had never known Meg or Alex to be caught dead in such attire. It had to be theirs, too, because of the fit. Not many goddesses came close to my height.
    “Well, there’s plenty of dough in the safe for that,” Archer said.
    “Why is there dough in the safe?” I asked. “Shouldn’t it be in the refrigerator?”
    “Money, Tisi, I’m talking about money. Coin. You’re going to have to start picking up some colloquialisms if you’re going undercover. Which reminds me.” He crossed over to the sofa, picked up a fancy shopping bag tied in ribbons, and handed it to me.
    “What’s this?” I asked.
    “Your uniform.”
    I peeked into the bag. It was rather small to hold much of anything, let alone a uniform.
    “Do I