The loud crash of the cart hitting the table shattered the quiet atmosphere of the Viper Room.

The men on the leather sofas stopped talking.

The man who had spoken stood up. He walked over to the cart, his face twisted in annoyance.

Under the red spotlight, Alaina saw his face clearly. It was Tucker. He used to be a low-level lackey who followed her brother around, begging for scraps from the Gay family.

Tucker leaned in close. He squinted at Alaina's heavy makeup.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. He threw his head back and let out a loud, obnoxious bark of laughter.

"Hicks!" Tucker yelled over his shoulder. "You are not going to believe this! Come look at the mighty princess of the Gay family!"

Another man stepped out of the shadows. Hicks. Another former parasite.

Hicks walked up to Alaina. He raised his hand, his fingers stained yellow from cigar smoke, and roughly grabbed her chin.

He tilted her face from side to side, inspecting her like a piece of meat.

"Well, damn," Hicks whistled, his eyes dropping to her exposed chest. "How the mighty have fallen."

Alaina jerked her head back, tearing her chin out of his grip. Her stomach churned so violently she thought she was going to throw up.

Tucker reached out and ripped the plastic nametag off her chest.

"Lexi?" Tucker mocked, reading the tag. "That is a great stripper name, Alaina."

Alaina grabbed the handle of the cart. She turned around to run back to the door.

The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, blocking the exit with their massive bodies.

"You do not leave the Viper Room until the guests say so," Hicks sneered.

From the deepest, darkest corner of the massive circular sofa, the sound of ice clinking against glass echoed again.

"Bring her here."

The voice was low, cold, and carried absolute, terrifying authority.

Alaina's lungs stopped working. Her blood literally froze in her veins. Her legs felt like they were made of lead.

Tucker and Hicks immediately stopped laughing. They stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

The man in the shadows leaned forward. The red light caught the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw.

Hardin Dyer.

He was wearing a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand. His dark eyes stared at her with the cold detachment of someone looking at a dead insect.

Alaina took a step backward. Her spine hit the cold, hard wall of the room.

Hardin swirled his drink. "Well, Miss Gay? Are you not going to pour the guests their drinks?"

Tucker grabbed Alaina's shoulder. He shoved her forward, forcing her to stumble toward the low glass table.

He pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to bend over the table.

The tight lace bodysuit stretched dangerously across her back, exposing even more of her skin to the room.

Alaina's hands shook violently as she reached for the heavy bottle of Louis XIII.

She moved toward Hardin's empty glass. Her hands were trembling so badly that the heavy crystal bottle slipped.

A splash of the amber liquid poured over the edge of the glass and landed directly onto the toe of Hardin's polished leather shoe.

The temperature in the room plummeted to zero. Tucker gasped and took a step back.

Alaina's face went completely white. Panic seized her throat. She instinctively reached for a napkin to wipe it away.

Hardin kicked her hand away.

He raised his foot. He pressed the hard leather toe of his shoe directly under Alaina's chin, forcing her head up.

He looked down at her heavy makeup and her trembling lips. A storm of violent, dark emotion raged in his eyes.

"Is this why you tore up my contract?" Hardin asked, his voice a lethal whisper. "So you could come here and sell yourself to anyone with a wallet?"

Alaina bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted her own blood. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Hardin pulled his foot back. He leaned back into the leather sofa, his face an impenetrable mask of ice.

He wiped his hands on his slacks, a subtle, dismissive gesture that made Alaina feel like absolute dirt.

Tucker watched Hardin's reaction. Assuming Hardin wanted to see her completely destroyed, Tucker stepped forward.

He grabbed a fresh, unopened bottle of Louis XIII and slammed it onto the glass table.

"Since you spilled Mr. Dyer's drink," Tucker barked, pointing at the floor, "get on your knees and lick the liquor off his shoe."

Alaina's head snapped toward Tucker. Her eyes were wide with pure, unfiltered shock.

Hicks laughed loudly. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and threw them directly at Alaina's face.

The heavy stack hit her cheek and burst open. The bills rained down around her feet.

"Ten thousand dollars," Hicks sneered. "Just get on your knees and use your tongue."

Alaina stopped breathing. Ten thousand dollars.

The image of her father's pale face in the ICU flashed in her mind. The heavy weight of the hospital bills crushed her chest.

She slowly turned her head and looked at Hardin.

She searched his dark eyes, begging him silently to stop this insane humiliation.

Hardin just stared back. He slowly lifted his glass and took a sip of his whiskey. He did not say a single word. He was going to let them do this to her.

Alaina's heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

She closed her eyes. Her legs began to tremble. Slowly, agonizingly, her knees began to bend toward the floor.

Tucker pulled out his phone, a wicked grin on his face, ready to record her ultimate degradation.

Just as her knees were an inch from the carpet, the heavy doors of the Viper Room burst open.

The club manager ran in, completely out of breath.

"Mr. Dyer, I am so sorry!" the manager stuttered. "There is a guy outside screaming. He says his name is Ashton and he is looking for his sister!"

Alaina's eyes snapped open. Her body jerked upward as if she had been electrocuted.

Ashton. Her older brother.

She shoved Tucker out of the way with a sudden burst of adrenaline. She ran toward the door like a wild animal.

The bodyguards moved to block her, but Hardin raised one finger.

The guards instantly stepped aside.

Alaina sprinted out of the room, down the hallway, and burst through the back exit of the club.

The cold rain hit her instantly. She ran into the dark, filthy alleyway behind the club.

Next to the overflowing dumpsters, she saw him.

Ashton, the golden boy of the Gay family, the Harvard graduate, was pinned face-down in the muddy puddles by two massive thugs.

His expensive suit was torn to shreds. His face was covered in blood and mud. In his fist, he tightly clutched a few crumpled, bounced checks.

One of the thugs raised his heavy combat boot and stomped down hard on Ashton's right hand.

Ashton let out a blood-curdling scream of pure agony.

"No!" Alaina shrieked.

She threw herself into the mud, grabbing the thug's leg to push him off.

The thug backhanded her. Alaina flew backward, landing hard on the rough pavement. The skin on her palms tore open, mixing blood with the dirty water.

"Your brother owes the underground bank three million dollars," the thug spat down at her. "If he does not pay tonight, we chop off his hand."

Ashton lifted his bruised, bloody face from the puddle. He looked at Alaina, taking in her cheap makeup and her revealing lace bodysuit.

Tears washed the mud from his eyes.

Slowly, Ashton pushed himself up. He got onto his knees in the filthy water, and he bowed his head to the thugs, begging for his life.

Watching her proud brother beg in the mud, something inside Alaina permanently snapped.

Her spirit shattered. She realized that serving drinks in a club would never save her family. The hole was too deep.

Alaina pushed herself up from the ground. Her eyes were completely dead, hollowed out by despair.

She turned around and walked slowly back toward the club's back door.

The heavy doors of the Viper Room opened again.

Every man in the room turned to look.

Alaina stood in the doorway. Her black lace bodysuit was soaked with filthy alley water. Mud dripped from her bare legs, and blood trickled from her scraped palms.

Tucker wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Get out! You smell like garbage!"

Alaina did not look at him. Her dead, hollow eyes were locked entirely on Hardin.

She walked forward. Her high heels clicked against the floor, leaving muddy footprints on the pristine carpet.

She stopped right in front of the glass table.

Without a single word, Alaina bent her legs and dropped heavily to her knees.

Her bare knees slammed directly onto the sharp shards of a broken glass that had fallen earlier.

The sharp glass sliced deep into her skin. Dark red blood instantly welled up and soaked into the carpet.

Alaina did not flinch. She did not even blink.

Tucker and Hicks froze. The room went completely silent.

Alaina tilted her head up to look at Hardin. Her voice was a dry, raspy whisper.

"I will sign it."

Hardin's hand tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned bone-white. For a fraction of a second, a flash of raw, agonizing pain tore through his eyes as he looked at her bleeding knees.

But he buried it instantly. His face hardened into a mask of pure cruelty.

He let out a short, dark laugh. "Now? You are too late."

Hardin leaned forward. He reached out and pinched her muddy chin between his fingers.

"The fifty million bridge loan is gone. I pulled it an hour ago. Your family is officially dead."

Alaina's pupils dilated in pure horror. She reached out with her bloody hands and grabbed the edge of his suit jacket.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "They are going to cut off Ashton's hand. You have to save him."

Hardin looked down at her bloody hands staining his expensive wool jacket. He slapped her hands away.

He reached into his inner pocket. He pulled out a small, stiff piece of paper with the logo of a Swiss bank.

He held it between his index and middle finger. He let it drop.

The paper fluttered down and landed directly on Alaina's wet, muddy face before sliding off onto the floor.

It was a cashier's check. A bearer check. The amount printed on it was ten million dollars.

"This is the price for your body tonight," Hardin said, his voice devoid of all humanity. "As for your brother's hands, that depends entirely on how well you perform."

Tucker sucked in a sharp breath. Ten million dollars for one night. Hardin was treating her like the most expensive whore on the planet.

Alaina stared at the check on the floor. Her soul was being crushed into dust.

She closed her eyes. A single tear fell. She reached her trembling hand out to pick up the paper.

Just as her fingertips brushed the edge of the check, Hardin's foot came down.

His heavy leather shoe stepped directly onto the check, pinning her fingers to the floor.

He pressed down. The hard leather crushed her delicate bones. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her arm.

Hardin looked down at her from his throne. "Use your mouth."

The air in the room vanished. The humiliation was so extreme it felt like a physical weight crushing her skull.

Alaina's body shook violently. Her stomach heaved.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. A spark of wild, desperate fury ignited in her dead eyes.

She yanked her hand back, ignoring the pain in her fingers.

She grabbed the half-full glass of whiskey from the table and threw the liquid directly into Hardin's face.

The amber liquid splashed across his eyes and dripped down his sharp jawline.

Before anyone could react, Alaina snatched the check from under his shoe, scrambled to her feet, and ran out of the room.

Hardin did not wipe his face. He sat perfectly still, letting the alcohol drip onto his shirt.

Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a dark, obsessive smile.