2

IVY

I stepped out of the bathroom, towel clinging to my damp skin.

I threw open my box and stared.

“What do sluts wear again?” I muttered.

Jeans? Too boring. Floral dress? Ew. My old debate team blazer? I actually gagged.

Then I found it — that one black dress. The one my mom once called “too tight for a family dinner.” The fabric hugged every curve. Sleeveless. Tiny slit up the side. Low-cut enough that I’d need tape to keep the girls from spilling out.

Perfect.

I dropped the towel and slid into the dress, feeling the way it clung to my hips, the curve of my thighs.

At least something about me still looked good.

I moved to my vanity, pulled out the small makeup bag I hadn’t touched in weeks. My hand hesitated over the mascara. Then I grabbed everything at once.

Eyeliner is sharp enough to cut. Red lips. Highlighter on my cheeks.

By the time I finished, I didn’t even look like Ivy anymore.

I ran my fingers through my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders.

“Let’s give them something to talk about,” I whispered.

I slid into my heels, grabbed my small black purse, and tiptoed downstairs.

The living room was empty. Mom was probably passed out with a wine glass on the couch, pretending to be tired from “work.” She wouldn’t notice if I left. She barely noticed when I came back.

The front door creaked slightly as I opened it.

I didn’t even care.

I slid into my car, started the engine, and blasted music as I drove.

The city lights shimmered in the distance.

My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white.

If they already thought I was a slut—if she thought I was a slut, when he forced himself on me, if the whole school pointed fingers—then screw it.

Let me be one.

I pulled up to a club I’d never been to before. Didn’t matter. It was loud, packed, and nobody knew my name.

Perfect.

I walked in and let the music hit me.

The guy at the bar looked me up and down as I sat.

“Martini,” I said, cool and fast.

He grinned. “Rough night?”

“Rough year.”

He slid me the drink. I tossed a bill on the counter and walked away before he could flirt.

I needed the beat.

I walked straight to the middle of the dance floor and let the sound swallow me.

Hands in the air. Hips moving. Hair sticking to my back. Eyes closed.

For a minute, it felt like nothing mattered.

And then I felt someone behind me. No—two someones.

One of them leaned in. “You’re kinda stealing the whole damn show, babe.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Two guys.

The one behind me had messy dark curls and gold chains. The other one had green eyes.

I smiled.

“Oh?” I said. “Didn’t mean to.”

They stepped closer.

“You here alone?” Green-eyes asked, voice low in my ear.

“Does it matter?”

He laughed. “Not to me.”

Gold-chain guy moved in behind me again. His hands hovered over my waist.

I looked back at him. “Don’t touch unless I say so.”

He held up his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

I turned around and let the music take me.

My body moved with the rhythm, with the heat of their eyes on me, the way they watched me like I was something forbidden.

One of them pressed closer. I didn’t stop him.

His voice was at my neck. “What’s your name?”

I turned my head just enough.

“Tonight? I’m whoever you want me to be.”

Green-eyes laughed, surprised. “Shit. Okay, mystery girl.”

I tilted my head back, let my hips roll.

Their hands were everywhere.

One slid up my thigh, slow and teasing. The other cupped my waist, pulling me back into his chest. My body burned. My heart was racing.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” one of them whispered against my ear.

Another hand tugged at the hem of my dress.

I let out a soft gasp. My lips parted. I didn’t stop them.

I didn’t want to. My body was enjoying this way too much.

Their mouths were hot on my neck. My back arched. My hands tangled in one of their shirts as the other pressed his palm between my legs—over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Oh, fuck…touch me,” I whispered.

They were making me forget everything. I would soon get stuffed by two cocks..good enough for me.

One guy laughed. “Damn, babe, you’re wild—”

Suddenly I was yanked back.

“What the—?!”

Strong arms. A rough grip.

Then I was upside down.

Thrown over someone’s shoulder.

My heel slipped off.

“Put me down!” I screamed, pounding my fists on his back.

“Let me the fuck go!”

People turned to look. Music still blared, but the stares were everywhere.

The bouncer didn’t even stop him. Because the man carrying me looked like he owned the whole damn city.

“Dominic?!” I shouted, furious. “Are you fucking serious?!”

He said nothing.

Out of the club. Into the parking lot.

I kicked harder. “You can’t just grab me like this! I’m not a kid!”

He didn’t respond.

He opened the car door, threw me into the back seat, and slammed the door shut behind him.

I sat up, shaking, eyes wild. “You’re crazy! You’re actually—”

He turned, face close, breathing hard.

I spat at him.

A thick, wet spit landed right on his cheek.

He froze.

For one long second, the air in the car went still.

Then his hand snapped out and grabbed me by the throat.

Not tight. But firm enough to make my breath catch.

His voice was low. Dangerous.

“Spit on me again and see what happens.”

I stared at him.

His hand held me steady. My thighs clenched without thinking.

What the hell was wrong with me?

His gray eyes searched mine like he was trying to figure something out.

Then he let go.

We both sat there breathing hard.

I rubbed my neck slowly. My lips tingled.

“What the hell is your problem?” I snapped.

“You are,” he growled.

I scoffed. “You’re not even my real dad.”

He leaned closer, voice like fire.

“That’s why I won’t hesitate to spank the fuck out of you.”