his fir
Weston twisted his fingers deeper into Georgia’s hair, pulling her head back until her scalp burned with sharp pain. His grip was cruel, yet his expression remained calm, almost gentlemanly, as if he were leading her into a ballroom instead of dragging her into hell.
“Georgia,” he drawled, his voice soaked in mockery, “should I invite you inside, or will you walk in on your own?”
She felt a sharp, cold clarity settle over her chest. There would be no escaping this today. Weston was a man who took what he wanted, and he would never let her go.
With her throat scraped raw from silent screams, she spoke slowly, each syllable rasping out in resignation. “Mr. Merrick, I’ll save you the trouble.” She pushed his hand away from her hair with trembling fingers and stepped past him, forcing her battered body to move with whatever dignity she could still summon. Her steps felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as she walked into the room.
Only then did Charlotte realise that something was deeply, irrevocably wrong. Panic flickered through her chest like a trapped bird, and she hurried after Georgia, her heels clicking anxiously across the polished floor.
Weston strode into the suite behind them, the door clicking shut with an ominous finality. He turned to his friends. lounging on velvet sofas, smiling like a showman unveiling his grand finale. “Hey, everyone, look who I’ve brought. Come and meet Georgia.”
The men in the room turned to stare at her, their gazes sliding over her body with greedy, mocking interest. She felt her skin crawl under their eyes, as if they could see every secret bruise hidden beneath her clothes.
Charlotte swallowed her rising horror and stepped forward quickly, her voice tight but polite. “Mr. Merrick, it seems you know Georgia. Unfortunately, she has other commitments today. I’ll take her to see you another time. We’ll be leaving
now.”
She reached out to clasp Georgia’s hand, her irreversibly cruel.
her away before this turned into something
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But before she could tug Georgia toward the door, Weston shoved her back with sudden, brutal force. Charlotte stumbled, nearly falling against the table. His eyes glimmered with contempt as he barked, “Charlotte, step aside. You don’t get to speak here. Watch if you want, or get the hell out. And if you want to take her, ask my friends first–see if they agree.”
Charlotte’s face drained of all colour. The men in the room were hot just any guests; they were the future Alphas and Betas of the most powerful packs in Gabbs. They were men who believed the world was theirs to take, and today, Georgia was their chosen entertainment.
Charlotte turned her wide eyes to Georgia, her voice cracking as she whispered, “Georgia… do you know Mr: Merrick?”
Georgia didn’t answer. Her silence pressed down on the room like suffocating smoke.
Weston’s smile curved into something venomous. “What do you think, Charlotte? You’ve never heard of her, have you? The daughter of the Alpha of the Silver Stream Pack–Miss Cooper herself. The one every werewolf in Gabbs knew.”
Georgia’s voice cut through his words like shattered glass, hoarse and trembling. “Mr. Merrick, that’s all in the past. It’s
over.”
Weston’s chuckle was dark and cold. “Over? You think you can just say it’s over and make it so?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “I heard from Charlotte that someone under her is desperate for a hundred thousand dollars. That’s you, isn’t it? The once–proud Georgia Cooper, now begging for scraps.”
He pulled out a chequebook with a flourish, scribbled quickly, and slapped the cheque down on the glass table so hard it rattled. “I’ll make it easy for you today. Get down on your knees and slap your face a hundred times. For each slap, say, ‘I, Georgia, am a slut who can sleep with any man.” Do that, and the money is yours.”
Silence fell like death in the room. Georgia stared at the cheque, her vision swimming with silent tears she refused to shed.
Weston’s sneer deepened as he leaned back against the table. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to do it?”
“Mr. Merrick, come on,” one of the other men said with a mocking laugh. “She’s from Silver Stream Pack, after all.” But his
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Georgia scanned the room with dead, tired eyes. Faces blurred before her, none familiar, none kind. These were the men she had once called friends–men who had laughed with her at pack banquets, who had clapped her back in training fields, who had once sworn to protect her because she was their Alpha’s daughter.
Lennox pulled out his wallet with a sneer, flicking through the crisp bills before pulling out a few notes–five thousand dollars at most. “Here,” he said, holding the money out toward her like an offering to a beggar. “Think of this as my personal reward for your little performance later.
The other men watched in silent delight. Unlike Weston and Lennox, they didn’t jeer or push. They simply sat back, drinks in hand, enjoying the spectacle like a private theatre performance.
Weston’s gaze darkened as he tilted his head, his smile twisting into something sinister. “You’re not going to refuse, are you? Don’t be stupid, Georgia. We all know how desperate you are for cash. Charlotte wouldn’t have dragged you here otherwise.”
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