Chapter 99: Unfiltered Haze
Micah’s POV
This was supposed to be a high-end client meeting, a private party, or just a typical night working in a luxury club. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
It felt like I had been tossed headfirst into a lawless, suffocating orgy. The entire VIP lounge was drowning in a sickening cloud of heavy perfume, expensive liquor, and raw, shameless greed. Everywhere I looked, people were practically devouring each other. Lips were pressed together in messy, desperate kisses, and hands were sliding unchecked beneath silk dresses and unbuttoned shirts. A wave of intense, icy panic seized my chest, making my breath hitch painfully in my throat.
My lungs felt squeezed tight, unable to pull in enough air. I didn’t belong here. I was completely out of my depth.
I thought Camille was going to stay composed and quiet just so he could capture George Jenson’s attention, but I was totally wrong. Camille had already picked out the wealthy guest sitting right beside George, draping himself all over the man and entertaining him with fake, laughter while his sharp, desperate eyes stayed glued to George the entire time.
So that was his twisted strategy to get noticed.
I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest, digging my cold fingers into the soft fur shawl draped over my shoulders. The plush fabric rubbed against my bare back, but it did absolutely nothing to stop the violent shivering running through my skin.
I wasn’t just cold from the freezing blast of the air conditioner; I was freezing from the weight of George Jenson’s dark, heavy gaze locking onto me from across the room. He was watching me like a predator deciding when to strike. He clearly wanted me to walk over to him, yet he hadn’t issued an outright command yet.
I silently prayed with every fiber of my soul that he wouldn’t open his mouth until he left the building. I didn’t want to entertain him. I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want to entertain anyone in this godforsaken place. A heavy, sickening realization crashed over my mind, making my heart sink like a stone into a dark abyss. I wasn’t built for this kind of work. I was too weak, too fragile, too easily terrified. But the money... God, the money was just too good to walk away from, and I was so incredibly desperate.
Just survive this trial shift, I begged myself, my internal voice shaking with tearful desperation. Just finish the trial, get the cash, and look for a quiet, boring job at a diner or a restaurant. Anywhere but here.
"Oh la la," a thick, slurred voice suddenly cut through my thoughts, shattering my internal panic.
I gasped, snapping my head away from George’s direction. A tall, heavily intoxicated guy was stepping directly into my personal space. Panic flared like wild flames in my chest, and I immediately took a fast step backward, trying desperately to put space between us.
"You’re gorgeous, sweetheart," the guy drawled, his heavy eyes scanning up and down my body with disgusting hunger. "I didn’t even realize how hot you were earlier because of the dim lighting in this place."
He took another aggressive step forward. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I stumbled backward again, and again, until the sharp, hard edge of the wall slammed straight into my spine. I was trapped. Cornered like an animal. My breath hitched violently, a high-pitched gasp escaping my throat as a terrible tremor wracked my entire frame. My hands began to shake so hard I couldn’t even keep them still.
"What’s your name?" he asked, leaning his heavy upper body over me, closing the distance until I could smell the stale, sour stench of alcohol radiating off his skin.
My mind went completely blank with sheer terror. I parted my lips slowly, my jaw trembling as I squeezed out a tiny, barely audible whisper.
"Roxie..."
He leaned even closer, tilting his head and pressing his ear uncomfortably close to my lips, his hot breath brushing against my cheek.
"What did you say? Speak up."
"I... I said... Ro-roxie," I repeated, my voice cracking under the suffocating weight of my fear.
The guy turned his head slowly, his lips hovering mere inches from mine, right where his ear had been a second ago. My stomach churned violently.
"Roxie, huh?" he teased, his dark eyes dropping shamelessly down to my trembling mouth, then lingering on the neckline of my dress. "Come pour me a drink, Roxie."
"What? Wait... I..." I stammered helplessly, my fingers clutching the fur shawl so hard my knuckles turned ghostly white against my chest. "I... I can’t..."
The guy’s relaxed, playful expression vanished instantly, twisting into a dark, ugly scowl. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, hostile slits.
"Huh? Are you rejecting me?" he sneered, his voice dropping into a harsh threat.
"N-no, I... I just don’t want to..." I whimpered, my voice barely more than a squeak as I pressed my head back as far against the hard wall as it could go.
"You fucking useless little bitch!" the guy growled out, gritting his teeth in pure fury. He raised his heavy right hand high into the air, cocking it back as if he was going to slap me straight across the face.
I shut my eyes tight, squeezing my eyelids shut, my whole body cringing as I waited for the brutal, painful blow to smash into my cheek.
"Don’t you dare!"
George’s roar exploded through the entire VIP room, instantly cutting right through the booming bass of the background music. The sheer power in his voice made the air in the room freeze solid.
The creepy guy froze instantly, his raised hand left hanging awkwardly in mid-air. He blinked in surprise, slowly turning his head toward the leather couch where George stood up.
"G-George?" the guy stammered, his aggressive posture completely deflating.
"He’s mine," George growled out, his dark eyes burning with lethal, terrifying authority. "You’re not allowed to lay a single hand on him or any of the entertainers in this room. Have you forgotten the club’s rules, you idiot?"
"I’m... I’m sorry, man," the guy mumbled, lowering his hand immediately and turning to walk back toward his private booth.
George casually picked up a heavy crystal glass from the table, taking a slow, calm sip of his whiskey. "No one asked you to sit back down," George said coldly.
The guy froze dead in his tracks, turning pale. "Get out!" George ordered.
"But... my father is a major shareholder in—"
"I said... GET OUT!" George snapped, slamming his heavy glass violently against the side wall.
The crystal shattered into a hundred jagged pieces with an explosive crash, spraying liquor across the floor. Camille and the other two entertainers shrieked in absolute terror, covering their ears and flinching away. I didn’t scream. I was already far too used to the terrifying sound of objects being thrown and smashed from living with my father. My body just locked up, completely paralyzed.
We all watched in tense, silent horror as the guy scrambled out of the VIP room like a beaten dog, his teeth gritted in humiliation and rage.
My wide, terrified eyes drifted back toward George. He stood there, completely unfazed, before slowly raising his hand toward me. His long fingers pointed straight at my face, then arched twice in a clear, silent command.
Fuck. He was calling me over. The moment I had been dreading had finally arrived.
My chest tightened until it felt like a heavy iron band was crushing my ribs. I slowly forced myself away from the wall, stepping out into the open space. I kept my head down, completely ignoring the intense stares from the rest of the room, especially the burning, jealous glare Camille was shooting directly at the back of my neck.
Every single step felt like walking through wet cement. My legs were shaking so violently I genuinely thought my knees were going to buckle beneath me before I even reached his table.
The second I came to a stop directly in front of him, George’s thick, heavy arm shot out. His large hand wrapped brutally around my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh, and he yanked me forward with shocking strength. Before I could even gasp, he pulled me down to sit directly in the narrow, suffocating space between his parted legs.
"Don’t shake now, Micah," he whispered darkly into the shell of my ear, his hot, alcohol-laced breath brushing against my sensitive skin. A sudden, involuntary shiver wracked my shoulders in reaction to his touch. "I haven’t even touched you yet, so stop acting like you’re terrified. Do you understand me?" he added softly, his fingers stroking my bare shoulder in a fake, sickening display of comfort.
I nodded frantically, my chest heaving as I tried to control my violent shivering. "Y-yes..."
"Pour a drink," he commanded smoothly.
My trembling hand stretched out toward the low glass table. I grabbed a clean crystal glass, my fingers so unsteady the glass clinked loudly against the decanter. I dropped in two large ice cubes, filled it to the brim with dark amber whiskey, and turned to hand it over to him, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor.
George didn’t take the glass. He just raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk curling his lips.
"Me? The drink is for you, sweetheart."