The "dogs" had picked up our scent; they could see the tension in Sasha's shoulders and the defiance in my stance. We were the only ones still holding onto our dignity, and in a place like this, that was an invitation to have it stripped away.
I could feel the gaze of the Silver Fox and the oiled Amazon crawling over us, waiting for a crack in our armor. If I didn't take control of the narrative, the room would swallow us whole.
I turned to Sasha, pinning her between my body and the cold steel of the locked door. I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. Her eyes were shimmering with a terrifying mix of panic and plea, her breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.
"Sasha, look at me," I commanded, my voice dropping into that low, unbreakable frequency I used on set. "Forget them. Forget the masks. Look only at me."
"Druski, I want to go," she whispered, her lip trembling.
