Do what whores do.

"You're just another whore now." He sneered. "And you'll do what a whore is paid to do."

The words struck me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

For a heartbeat, I could only stare at him.

Five years ago, Braxton had glared at any pack member who dared look at me for too long. He used to drape his jacket over my shoulders whenever he thought my dress showed too much skin, muttering that I belonged in his arms, not beneath another man's eyes.

Now those same eyes looked at me with nothing but contempt.

The ache in my chest spread until it became difficult to breathe, but I forced every tear back. Crying wouldn't change his mind, and it certainly wouldn't pay for the treatment waiting for my son.

Braxton leaned back against the leather sofa, every movement slow and deliberate. He spread his legs, his posture calm, commanding, and utterly merciless.

"You asked if I'd let you leave," he said, his voice frighteningly even. "Here's your deal."

He reached into his jacket, withdrew a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and dropped it onto the glass coffee table.

The sharp thud echoed through the room.

"Satisfy me." His eyes never left mine. "The money is yours."

I stared at the cash.

It was enough.

Enough to cover another surgery.

Enough to buy Micah more time.

My fingers curled into my palms until my nails bit into my skin.

I had promised myself that no matter how desperate life became, I would never let it strip away the last piece of my dignity.

But promises were easy to make before a doctor looked you in the eye and told you your child couldn't wait.

Micah's face filled my mind.

His bright smile.

His tiny fingers wrapped around mine.

"Don't worry, Mummy," he'd whispered before I left for work that morning. "I'm going to get better soon."

He'd said it to comfort me. Not because it was true.

I closed my eyes.

Forgive me.

When I opened them again, the decision had already been made.

Without another word, I slowly stepped towards him.

I dropped to my knees before him, the cold hardwood biting into my caps through my thin stockings.

Braxton’s heavy, leather-bound shadow swallowed me whole.

He didn’t reach out to touch me. He just watched, his jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line, demanding my complete submission without saying another word.

My hands shook so violently I could barely grasp the metal buckle of his belt.

The metallic click rang out in the tense silence.

I unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down his thighs, my stomach twisting into tight, painful knots.

When I freed his heavy, thick length, the heat radiating off him felt like a burn against my freezing skin. He was already fully erect, pulsing and hard, completely betraying the cold indifference on his face.

I paused, swallowing down the bitter lump in my throat, my eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“For Micah,” I whispered to myself like a mantra. “Do it for Micah.”

I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and wrapped my trembling fingers around the base of his cock. I brought my lips to the scorching head of his shaft, flicking my wet tongue over his tip to lubricate him.

A sharp, ragged breath dragged out of Braxton’s throat, his entire body locking up above me.

“Mmm…” he growled.

I parted my lips and took him into my mouth. His cock was already oozing pre-cum.

I was clumsy. The sheer size of him stretched my lips past their limit, filling my mouth entirely.

I fought my own body's natural urge to reject it, taking him down into the back of my throat until I gagged softly.

I pulled back just an inch, my eyes snapping open to catch a frantic breath of air, a thin line of saliva slipping down my chin.

Looking up, I met his gaze through wet, tangled lashes.

Braxton was staring down at me, his fists clenched tight against the armrests of the sofa. His jaw twitched, and his dark eyes burned into mine with a sudden, sharp intensity that made my breath hitch.

I couldn't tell if he was angry at my hesitation or disgusted by how badly my hands were shaking against his thighs.

Before I could drag my mouth over him again, his face hardened into a dark sneer. His large, searing hand shot out, tangling violently into the roots of my hair.

"Don't hesitate," he rasped, his voice dark, gruff, and thick with rising lust. "Work for it."

He tightened his grip, taking complete control.

He pulled my head forward, forcing my mouth flush against his base as he began to dictate the rhythm himself.

“Just like that… like the little cock washer you are..” he groaned.

He thrust upward into the heat of my mouth, a steady, punishing pace that forced me to take all of him over and over again.

“Fuck…” he said, his voice husky and breathless.

The taste of him filled my mouth, dark and overwhelming. Every stroke was a fresh wave of humiliation, my fingers uselessly gripping the fabric of his trousers near his knees just to anchor myself.

I couldn't stop the tears from finally slipping over my eyelids, hot trails tracking down my cheeks as he used my mouth, my breathing turning into breathless wet gasps around his thick length.

“Suck it…” he demanded. “Just like that..”

He stroked himself deep into my throat, his thumb pressing hard against my jawline to keep me open for him. The rhythm grew faster, harder, his hips twitching as his restraint entirely snapped.

"Scarlett..." he growled, the raw sound ripping from his chest—a momentary slip of the man he used to be, before his grip locked in tight, holding me pinned flush against his lap.

He came with a heavy, violent shudder, his hot seed flooding the back of my throat.

I choked, forcing myself to swallow the warm, thick liquid down, every swallow feeling like a piece of my soul breaking away. He held me there for a few agonizing seconds longer as he rode out the crest of his release, his chest heaving heavily above me.

When he finally loosened his harsh grip on my hair, I stumbled back onto my hands and knees, gasping for air and wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve.

Silence settled over the room.

It pressed against my ears until all I could hear was the sound of my own uneven breathing.

My hands trembled as I straightened my clothes, refusing to look at Braxton.

I couldn't.

If I met his eyes now, I was afraid I'd remember the boy who once swore he'd spend the rest of his life protecting me.

Swallowing hard, I reached for the stack of cash on the table instead.

The crisp notes felt strangely heavy in my hands.

"Thank you," I whispered.

The words held no gratitude only exhaustion.

I slipped the money into my handbag and turned towards the door, desperate to leave before the tears I'd fought so hard to hold back finally won.

"Wait." His voice stopped me.

I froze, my heart dropping straight into my stomach. "I kept my end of the deal, Braxton."

"You did," he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet as I heard the rustle of his clothes and the click of his belt buckle behind me.

I relaxed my shoulders just a fraction, taking a small, quiet breath.

It's over. Just walk out.

"Quit your job," he ordered.

I turned around slowly, staring at him in utter disbelief. "What?"

He stepped around the coffee table, towering over me like an inescapable shadow. "Pack your things."

My brows pulled together, my mind racing to make sense of his words. "I don't understand."

"I'm taking you back to the pack."

"No!" The refusal ripped from my throat before I could stop it. I took an instinctual step backward, my head shaking frantically. "No, I can't."

Braxton’s eyes narrowed into dangerous, lethal slits. He closed the distance between us in a single, silent stride, trapping me against the wall of his glare.

"Because of him?" he snarled, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone.

I bit my tongue, locking my jaw shut. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't let him anywhere near Micah.

His eyes flared with a sudden, ugly heat at my silence, his chest heaving as if my refusal had struck a deep, agonizing nerve inside him.

Before either of us could say another word, a sharp, loud chime shattered the silence.

My phone was ringing inside my bag.

The moment the upbeat, specific chime echoed through the room, every muscle in my body locked up. A cold shock ran down my spine.

I knew that ringtone. I had set it specifically so I would never, ever miss it.

The hospital.

My hand shot toward my open bag in a blind, hysterical rush.

Braxton was faster. Driven by pure, aggressive instinct, his arm shot out, his fingers crushing around my wrist while his other hand snatched the phone right out of my bag.

"Give it back!"

The quiet, stoic wall I had built all evening completely shattered. My voice cracked into a wild, shrill scream.

Braxton stepped out of my reach, holding the blaring phone high above his head as he glanced down at the screen.

"Your boyfriend?" he sneered, his thumb hovering over the glass.

"No!" I thrown my entire body against his massive chest, clawing wildly at his arm. "Please, Braxton! Give it to me! Please!"

He shoved me back effortlessly with one broad hand, his face twisting in disgust at my frantic breakdown.

"Begging for another man's call now?" he taunted, his eyes dark with cold jealousy. "Is he the one waiting for you?"

I couldn't breathe. Air was coming in short, ragged, hyperventilating gasps. Hot tears finally spilled over my cheeks, blurring my vision as the ringing sound drilled into my brain.

"It's not... it's not what you think!" I sobbed out, lunging for him again, my fingers uselessly scraping against his chest.

"Then what is it?" he demanded, his voice booming over the music.

I reached for him, every last shred of my dignity, my pride, and my strength crumbling into dust right in front of him.

"Please..." My voice broke into a desperate, agonizing sob as the phone kept ringing. "Please, just let me answer it!”