“Did you hear that last scream?” Isabella asked, her wine glass clinking softly as she tilted it toward her lips.

Isla laughed, a cold, cruel sound as she leaned back against the velvet couch in the private upper chamber of the manor. “Oh, I did. Right on cue. That moan at the end? Delicious. I almost felt it ripple through my spine.”

Isabella grinned, brushing an elegant hand through her platinum hair. Her red nails gleamed under the low chandelier light. “He finally broke her,” she said with smug satisfaction. “Took longer than I expected, but Mike always gets the job done when he wants something. Or someone.”

Isla rolled...