Madness Contract Marriage With the devil

Do you want to do that?" Lanka Camet, my dramatic friend, asked for what felt like the millionth time. She shook and played the role of a wench in this underground club, a dark, seedy labyrinth of velvet and secrets.

Lanka was my rock, my lifeline to sanity when the world was going to fall apart at the seams. And it was falling apart with terrifying speed. Her real name was Princess, but she'd switched it the day she reached the age of maturity. No one called her by that name except her parents unless they were seeking a fight. She was breathtakingly beautiful-a goddess with long, silky black hair, an hourglass figure, and legs that seemed to stretch on eternally. But she strutted like a biker queen and her motto was "test-drive all the models." I loved her with an ardor as fierce as blood. And as for what I was going to do for my blood, that was something.

"No, I am not sure, Lanka," I spat, the shake in my voice giving away my bravado. "But I have to. So keep questioning before you caution me out of it and I am running out of here like the cowering little girl we both know that I am really being."

She never let my biting retorts get to her, not because she was immune, but because she was just as full of passion. "And you're really going to lose your innocence to a total stranger? No dinner, no candles, no. other types of pleasure?" Her pushiness irritated me, but I understood that she was coming from a position of love and wanting to know that I had weighed every risk in my mind.

We'd gone over every plus and minus with a fine-tooth comb, but the unknown hung in the shadows.

I was a sex slave-a human being a slave to someone else's ownership, completely at the mercy of a domineering influence. "Whore" is a more appropriate term to describe what I was becoming. I had made myself completely available to one man, one man, for financial gain. This included my loyalty, discretion, and utilization of my body in every possible shape, form, and way that it was required.

The irony was that I had not been forced into this life; I had chosen it. Not that there had been a better opportunity in time, but I had volunteered anyway. He did not make me do it. He did not find me. I had not been kidnapped or beaten into submission.

I did everything to keep a life. My brother, Jackson.

For my brother's life?" I asked, as she led me down a hidden passageway into the actual underbelly of the club. This was the point of no return.