CLARE – POV
"AAGH! She's taking forever!" Thelia's voice sliced through the air like a blade.
Before I could react, she was in front of me, her speed a blur, her fingers yanking Blaze's shirt open.
Buttons flew like shrapnel.
"I call dibs on her wrist," she smirked at Lucas.
I scrambled to hold the shirt closed, trying to hide what little I could. A guy seated nearby chuckled at the pathetic sight of me clutching scraps to my chest like some broken doll.
Lucas laughed. "Let the fun begin."
And then his hands were on me—tugging, tearing, gripping like claws. The hollering from the table swelled around me, a grotesque chorus of clapping, hooting, cheering.
My pleas—my screams—meant nothing.
They were the soundtrack of their sport.
Lucas bent to yank down the sweatpants.
I kicked out, my foot slamming into his jaw with a snap.
"Bitch!" Thelia screeched. Her hand whipped across my face.
