Chapter Nine

“You’re going to have a very special role at the wedding.” Those words rattled through Kennedy’s pink-haired mind as he sat in the back seat of the black SUV with the Las Vegas skyline coming into view. What had Vincent meant by that? Why had the wedding been moved up? The entire scenario unsettled Kennedy. He shifted uncomfortably in the plush leather seat, his long pink pigtails brushing against his shoulders. They had been traveling for three days, with Vincent deciding against flying due to the escape of his now fugitive son.

Besides Kennedy, Alyssa Scaletti slumped in gagged silence. Her rubber catsuit creaked faintly with each shallow breath, her bright red ponytail poking out the top of her hood, and a leash dangling from the strict posture collar around her neck, with the other end firmly gripped by Vincent up front.

Vincent sat behind the wheel, his broad shoulders squared, a faint smirk tugging at his gray-stubbled jaw as he guided the vehicle into Sin City. Maria Russo chattered beside him in the front passenger seat, her voice a relentless drone about ‘how thrilling’ this trip was for her son’s big day.

“Ohh, Vincent. A Vegas wedding! How romantic,” she gushed, oblivious to the tensions radiating from the backseat.

Kennedy glanced at Alyssa, her blue eyes peering desperately from the hood’s slits, a silent plea he couldn’t answer. The undercover journalist tugged absently at the glittery crop top barely containing his F-cup breasts as Vincent pulled up to the hotel valet. The warm desert sun hit Kennedy’s bare midriff as the valet opened the door for him.

Vincent stepped out first, yanking Alyssa’s leash and pulling her from the car. She stumbled onto the pavement in her padlocked ballet heels, a muted whisper escaping her gagged mouth. The valet stared gormlessly at the trapped maid. He had seen a lot in this town, but this may have been a first.

Kennedy followed, his stilettos clicking unsteadily as he followed after them, the Luxe Paradiso’s neon glow casting shadows on his overtly feminine frame. Maria bustled ahead, cooing about the lobby’s gold-themed decorations, while Vincent led the way to a private elevator.

Moments later, they were inside a sprawling penthouse suite with panoramic views of the Strip framed by floor-to-ceiling windows and a plush sectional sofa on which Maria plopped down, still excitedly prattling about the unique wedding her son had planned.

Vincent released his trapped slave’s leash, instructing her to sink to her knees beside a polished mahogany table, her mittened hands useless at her sides. The patriarch turned to Kennedy, his dark eyes glistening with sadistic intent. “Time to get to work, Suzie,” he said, his deep baritone slicing through Maria’s chatter.

The pink-haired undercover journalist froze, his conditioned smile faltering as the intimidating man stepped closer, towering over his 5’5 frame. The older man’s proximity began triggering Kennedy’s new cursed conditioning. His soft skin prickled, a flush creeping up his neck as arousal stirred unbidden between his legs. He hated it, how his body betrayed him at the worst moments.

Vincent led Kennedy into the Master bedroom, taking a leather duffel bag with him. He then pulled out a bundle of black latex and thudded it onto the four-poster bed. “This is your outfit for tomorrow,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Kennedy’s manicured fingers hesitated before unfolding the shiny items: a tight black latex corset bodysuit laced up the back paired with thigh-high 6” stiletto boots that looked like torture devices. A coiled-up whip was atop the pile, its leather gleaming menacingly. He took a deep breath. The pink-haired bimbo didn’t like where this was going.

“You’re gonna be Bella’s maid of honor,” Vincent continued, stepping closer until Kennedy could smell the faint cigar smoke on his breath. The mob boss now knew Bella’s true identity, but he kept that to himself. “But not some sweet little flower girl. I want you sadistic, Suzie. You’re gonna make her squirm, keep her in line.” A gentle grin crossed the man’s lips. “You’re gonna use that whip, and make it hurt.” He stared the stacked, feminized man up and down. “You got a talent for it; I saw how you handled my little maid the other day.”

Kennedy shuddered. Kayla was his ex-girlfriend and the only one who knew his true identity. He wasn’t sure what the FBI agent had done to piss Vincent off so much, but he wasn’t sure he could go through with this. “Like, I… I don’t know if I can,” he stammered, his valley girl accent making his protest sound pitiful.

“You will,” Vincent cut him off, his tone brooking no dissent. “You’ve been a good girl so far, Suzie. Don’t disappoint me now.” His praise elicited a shudder down Kennedy’s spine and caused him to part his plump pink lips and gasp lightly. Kennedy’s reaction brokered a smirk from Vincent’s mouth.

“Ohh, isn’t this exciting?” Maria stepped into the room and saw the fetish outfit lying on the bed. “A kinky wedding! Alex and Bella are so creative. Suzie, you’ll look adorable in that outfit.”

Kennedy forced a smile, his mind screaming. Adorable? He was being molded into some monster for Vincent’s twisted game, and Maria thought it was cute. Vincent chuckled, patting Kennedy’s bare shoulder, a touch that sent another unwanted shudder down his spine. “Get some rest, doll,” he said, the pet name causing another soft moan. “Big day tomorrow.”

As Vincent returned to the suite living room to take care of his maid-slave, Kennedy clutched the whip, his heart pounding. He was trapped. Trapped in this body, this role, this nightmare. And tomorrow, he would have to play the role in front of Kayla or risk worse happening to him. He shuddered. It was an impossible situation.

❖

The second black SUV screeched to a halt outside the Oasis Mirage Hotel, a gaudy Vegas high-rise just a mile down the Strip from Luxe Paradiso. Kayla Connors slumped in the backseat between the Russo twins, her wrists and elbows still bound in cold steel cuffs, the skin beneath them tender from three days of struggling against the restraints.

The undercover agent’s leopard print PVC dress clung to her sweat-drenched curves, the tight fabric riding up her thighs and revealing her lack of panties, a humiliating detail Alex had enforced since they’d left Atlantic City. The harness gag was strapped tight around her head, wedging the large red rubber ball between her plush lips, muffling her ragged breaths into pitiful whimpers.

Beside her, Alex Russo lounged with a smug confidence, his arm slung possessively over her shoulder. Stefano sprawled across the opposite seat, his wild grin glinting in the neon glow seeping through the tinted windows. Dominic, up front, killed the engine; they had arrived.

“Welcome to your new life, baby girl,” Alex murmured, his voice dripping with condescension as he yanked the gag’s straps loose. The red ball popped free, leaving a trail of drool down Kayla’s chin, and the blond woman gasped for air. Before she could spit out a retort, Alex gripped her jaw, forcing her to meet his predatory gaze. Stefano chuckled darkly, licking his lips as he ogled her helpless form. Dominic stepped out of the vehicle to deal with the valet, leaving the twins to their twisted game.

“You’re mine now, Kayla,” Alex said, his tone chilling as he spoke her real name. “No more FBI games, no more undercover bullshit. We know exactly who you are,  Agent Connors, soon-to-be Mrs Kayla Russo.”

The undercover agent’s blue eyes widened, a jolt of panic surging through her chest, but the obedient conditioning held her tongue. “You’re gonna be my perfect little slut, my trophy wife, bound to me in every way that matters.” He grinned, brushing a platinum strand from her face as if she were a prized doll. “You’ll be a stark reminder of what will happen to anyone who tries to mess with my family again.”

Kayla’s stomach twisted, rage boiling beneath her skin. She didn’t know exactly what they knew, but she knew it was enough to obliterate her cover. How did they find out?

The blond tried to jerk her head away, but Alex’s grip tightened. He stared at her momentarily. “Get her inside,” Alex ordered, shoving her towards the door as Dominic returned. The elder Russo son hauled her out; her bare legs trembled as she stumbled onto the pavement.

They dragged Kayla through the hotel’s garish lobby, gold chandeliers, and mirrored walls reflecting her disheveled state to a private bridal suite on the top floor. The main bedroom was a decadent sprawl of red velvet and black marble, and a four-poster king-sized bed dominated the center. Alex placed a suitcase on the bed and opened it up, pulling out the unwilling bride’s wedding outfit piece by piece. Kayla’s heart sank as she watched him lay it out: a white, leather corsetted dress with a plunging neckline that would barely cover her nipples, let alone her enhanced breasts. The skirt was so short it’d expose her ass with every step, and that’s where it all got worst. Alex revealed a pair of white thigh-high ballet boots laced up to her knees and a new harness gag with an even larger ball that she was tormented with in the color, white this time. White leather cuffs dangled from his fingers, linked by a short chain, and a sleek metal vibrating butt plug with a red princess jewel gleamed in his palm, its remote in his other hand.

“Time to dress the bride,” Alex sneered, stepping closer.

Stefano laughed. “But the wedding isn’t until tomorrow,” he replied.

Alex grinned and shrugged as Kayla tried to thrash against Dominic’s hold, her protests garbled as the older brother held his hand over her plush mouth. “This outfit will take some getting used to,” Alex teased. “Let’s give her a head start.”

Alex stripped off the undercover agent’s PVC leopard print dress as Dominic and Stefano held her arms, leaving her naked and humiliated before forcing her into the corset dress. The leather cinched her waist painfully tight, thrusting her fake tits up like an offering, while the skirt hugged her hips, practically leaving her ass bare.

The ballet boots came next, the 8-inch heels forcing her onto her toes. Her legs shook as Dominic laced them up with as much strength as he could muster. Alex snapped the white cuffs around her wrists, binding them in front of her. The chain connecting them clinked as she tugged futilely.

Then came the plug. Kayla’s new groom gleefully coated the metal menace with lube, his grin widening as he prodded it against her ass, twisting carefully as it found its way inside of her. The jewel was on display as it sank its way inside. Stefano fumbled with the remote and pressed a button, a low buzz bringing it to life. Kayla’s eyes widened as she tried to thrash further.

“Perfect,” Alex purred, with just one item left to complete the set. As Kayla opened her mouth to plead, her ‘boyfriend’ forced the huge, white ball gag into her mouth, stretching her jaw painfully, as he began buckling the straps over and around her head, ensuring they were secured tight and making sure she couldn’t push the gag out with her tongue.

“Good girl,” his praise made Kayla shudder. She hated that damn conditioning. “You’re gonna walk down that aisle tomorrow just like this, all trussed up and buzzing for me. No one is here to save you, princess.”

Kayla’s eyes burned with hatred, despite her pussy throbbing with each sensual buzz inside her invaded ass. As the Russo brothers left her in the room to contemplate her nightmare, she knew this was just the beginning. She was a resourceful woman, so why was it so difficult to decipher a way out of this mess?

❖

The Little White Church stood incongruously on the Vegas Strip, its quaint steeple dwarfed by the neon chaos of casinos and strip clubs. Inside, the air was thick with incense and menace as Kennedy tottered down the aisle towards a small side room in his sadistic Maid of Honor costume.

The black latex corset bodysuit hugged his curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline showcasing his perky fake F-cup breasts, while the 6-inch black thigh-high stiletto boots clicked ominously against the hardwood floor. The whip coiled in his manicured hand felt heavier than it should, a cruel extension of the hated mob boss’s intent. Kennedy had spent the morning dreading this moment, his mind replaying Vincent’s orders: “Make her squirm; keep her in line.” Now, standing at the entrance of the church’s bridal suite, he faced Kayla, and the sight of her twisted his gut.

His former girlfriend was a vision of tormented beauty, trussed up in her fetish bridal outfit. The white leather corsetted dress cinched her waist painfully tight, her enhanced breasts spilling out of the neckline more than Kennedy’s. The short skirt could barely be classified as a skirt, almost totally revealing her bare ass.

Kennedy winced as he saw the strict, white ballet boots forcing Kayla onto her toes, similar to the torment Alyssa faces on a daily basis. White leather cuffs bound the beautiful blond’s wrists in front. The harness around her face stretched her plump, bright red lips around a massive white ball, silencing her into muffled whimpers, whimpers that escalated when she noticed Kennedy step through the door in his current attire.

Vincent loomed in the doorway as Kennedy tottered forward, his jaw set in a smirk, watching with predatory approval; it was the first time he saw the traitor in her bridal outfit. “Get to it, Suzie,” he rumbled, his voice deep and commanding. His proximity once again triggered Kennedy’s arousal conditioning. He hated how his body reacted around this monster, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Like, oh my gawd, Bella,” Kennedy chirped, his valley girl accent grated him even further in the current situation. “You’re gonna be, like, the hottest bride ever, sweetie!” The words were forced, disguised as fluff. Kayla’s glare sharpened, a silent accusation of betrayal.

Kennedy stepped closer, the click of his stilettos echoing as he circled her. He tightened the corset’s laces with a sharp tug, Kayla’s muffled yelp vibrating through the gag.

“Gotta make sure you’re, like, super perfect for Alex,” he teased reluctantly. He had been given a job to do, and he didn’t want to end up in Kayla’s position.

He unfurled his whip with a flick of his wrist. Crack! The leather snapped against the bride’s bare ass, leaving a red welt, and Kayla’s chained hands jerked, her body shuddering as the plug’s buzz intensified; Alex must’ve handed Vincent the remote. Crack! Another strike, harder this time, and Kayla’s eyes welled with tears, her muffled scream a dagger in Kennedy’s chest.

Inside, the undercover journalist was screaming, too. This was Kayla, his ex-girlfriend and the only one who truly knew who he really was beneath this pink-haired bimbo shell. She’d been his constant reminder of his previous life, and now he was her reluctant tormentor.

“Like, you’re such a good girl, Bella,” he cooed, the pet name slipping out instinctively. Kayla’s body twitched, her conditioning kicking in, a sick jolt of pleasure amid the pain.

Crack! The whip lashed her thighs, and she stumbled in the ballet boots, nearly collapsing but gripping the table to steady herself. “Like, sorry, but I gotta keep ya in line!” he giggled, the sound hollow to his own ears.

Vincent’s smirk widened, his approving nod a silent command for Kennedy to escalate. The pink-haired feminized man’s whip cracked again, this time across the blond’s lower back, and Kayla’s head thrashed, the gag swallowing her cries. The plug’s vibrations kicked up, her knees buckling as she fought to stay upright, humiliation etched in every tremble.

“Ohh, Bella, dear!” Maria Russo bustled in, her oblivious cheer shattering the tension like a glass dropped in a storm. She approached with Kayla’s veil, a sheer white scrap that she perched absurdly atop the gag harness. “You look so cute in this kinky getup! Alex and you are so creative!” She cooed.

Maria clapped her hands, beaming as if this were a playful costume party, blind to the tears streaking Kayla’s face or the red markings blooming on her skin.

Vincent chuckled, stepping closer to pat Kennedy’s latex-clad shoulder. “Good work, doll,” he said, the pet name sending another shudder of pleasure through Kennedy’s spine, his pretty gasp barely masked by Maria’s glee.

“Keep her ready. Ceremony’s in an hour.” Vincent commanded and turned away, leaving Kennedy clutching the whip, his heart pounding. Kayla’s eyes bore into him, filled with rage, pain, a plea he couldn’t answer.

The pink-haired man wanted to drop the whip, to rip off her gag and beg forgiveness, but Vincent’s assertions bored into him. He couldn’t end up like Kayla. He didn’t want to see harm come to his ex-girlfriend, but it was every man for himself. Besides, the FBI trains you for these situations, don’t they? He softly bit his glossy pink lip before resuming his forced role as the sadistic Maid of Honor.

❖

The Little White Church glowed faintly under the Vegas dusk, its steeple a pale silhouette against the flashing chaos of the Strip. Inside, the pews were packed with the Russo family’s inner circle, hardened men in ill-fitting suits, their leers cutting through the incense-heavy air.

Kennedy stood at the altar’s edge, his black latex corset bodysuit gleaming under the dim chandeliers, the 6-inch stiletto boots making his legs tremble with every step. His whip still dangled from his manicured hand, a constant reminder of Vincent’s sadistic commands. Stefano Russo stood beside his brother at the altar and flashed a smile at the feminized man. Kennedy’s pink pigtails framed a forced smile, but his gut churned as the organ wheezed to life, signaling the bride’s entrance.

Alex Russo waited at the altar, his expensive black suit impeccably fitted, a smug grin curling his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks. Beside him, Stefano shifted restlessly, his own suit crisp but rumpled from his careless antics earlier in the day.

After a few bars of ‘Here Comes The Bride,’ Kayla Connors stumbled down the aisle alone, a perverse mockery of a bride in her fetish outfit. The white leather corsetted dress hugged her curves, her enhanced breasts spilling from the plunging neckline, the short skirt fluttering to reveal her bare ass with each shaky step. Thigh-high ballet boots forced her onto her toes as she took tiny, mincing steps. White leather cuffs chaining her wrists in front. The harness gag stretched her plush red lips around a massive white ball, muffling her into incoherent whimpers. At the same time, the jeweled butt plug buzzed audibly. It appeared noticeable to anyone watching behind her, its vibrations, controlled by Alex’s remote, drawing crude chuckles from the well-dressed crowd. A sheer veil perched absurdly atop the gag, Maria’s naive touch to this nightmare.

Kayla half thought about running, attempting to make her escape while the three brothers were a distance away from her, but her shackles and extreme heels would have made it impossible to get far. Alex had added a padlock to the buckle of the FBI agent’s huge gag, meaning no one could have removed it easily, even if she had escaped.

Her tear-streaked eyes locked onto Kennedy’s as she reached the altar, her rage and despair noticeable under the veil. The undercover journalist tottered forward as Kayla’s Maid of Honor, his stilettos clicking sharply. His skin prickled from the attention of the leering men around him. Stefano, in particular, paid attention to the pink-haired bimbo.

Unwanted arousal flared through Kennedy’s body, but he continued. “Like, oh my gawd, Bella, you’re totally stunning, sweetie!” he chirped the unwanted praise; the valley girl lilt a humiliating touch in front of the humored audience. Kennedy guided the trapped bride to the altar.

The officiant, a greasy Vegas hire with a cheap tux and a leer, began the ceremony, his voice flat over Kayla’s muffled protests. Alex stepped close, gripping the blond’s bound wrists as he delivered his vows with chilling swagger.

“I promise to own you, to reward and punish you, to keep you as my perfect little slut,” he sneered, his words dripping with triumph. “You’re mine, Kayla Connors, in every way that counts.”

The crowd hooted, and Maria Russo wiped happy tears during the ridiculous ceremony. Kennedy’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure he had heard right at first. Did Alex call Kayla by her real name? That can’t be possible? He knew who she was; they all knew. Did they know about him? The pink-haired bimbo’s mind raced at a million miles an hour.

The officiant shrugged. “Unique vows there,” he commented before muttering, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Alex forced a gaudy ring onto her finger, the metal chain clinking as he did.

To complete the ceremony, the officiant dismissively announced, “You may now kiss the bride or whatever you pervs do.” Alex grinned and leaned in, possessively kissing Kayla’s helpless, gagged lips, sealing her fate as his wife and the new ‘Kayla Russo.’

Stefano hadn’t taken his eyes off Kennedy all ceremony, the fugitive flashing a cocky grin. He leaned toward Butch, his voice a low growl over the cheers.

“Fuck, that nanny’s hot as hell. Look at her swing that whip. I’m gonna get me some of that tonight.” His grin was feral, his dark eyes glinting with lust, oblivious to Kennedy’s true identity beneath the bimbo facade.

The feminized man caught the stare, his conditioned heat flaring hotter, a shiver running down his latex-clad spine. He forced his focus back to Kayla, her betrayed glare cutting deeper than ever.

Maria bustled forward, hugging Alex and cooing, “Such a creative ceremony! You two are adorable!” She adjusted Kayla’s veil as Vincent rose.

“Great ceremony and perfect vows,” the patriarch said approvingly to his son. Enjoy your night, and welcome to the family, Kayla.” Vincent smirked evilly as he turned away. Kennedy felt a knot in his gut; it was true: Everyone knew Kayla’s real identity.

Alex placed his arm around his distraught, bound, and gagged bride and walked her back down the aisle. The evening was only just beginning.

❖

Kayla Connors stumbled into their Oasis Mirage hotel suite, her slutty, white dress creaking as her new husband, Alex Russo, shoved her onto the king-sized bed.

The wedding ceremony’s echoes still rang in her ears, his crude, smug vows, the crowd’s cheers, but now, alone with her new groom, the real torment began. Her enhanced breasts spilled from the plunging neckline, the short skirt riding up to bare her ass, red raw from Kennedy’s whip.

Thigh-high ballet boots forced her legs into a painful arch, the 8-inch heels digging into the mattress while white leather cuffs chained her wrists in front. The harness gag stretched her plush red lips around a massive white ball, its padlock glinting, muffling her into desperate whimpers. The jeweled butt plug buzzed relentlessly inside her, Alex thumbing the remote with a grin, each pulse a humiliating jolt through her core.

“Time to consummate, baby girl,” Alex sneered, tossing his black suit jacket aside and unbuttoning his shirt. He climbed onto the bed, pinning her cuffed wrists above her head with one hand, his other roaming her exposed curves.

Kayla thrashed, her muffled pleas swallowed by the gag, but her conditioning betrayed her; a sickening twitch of arousal sparked at his pet name, Dr. Foster’s programming a leash he wielded effortlessly.

Alex pressed the remote again, the plug’s vibrations kicking up, and her body bucked, rage and shame warring with forced pleasure. “Look at you, my perfect little slut,” he taunted, his lips brushing her gagged mouth as he unzipped his pants, freeing his hard cock.

The door swung open, and Kayla’s heart pounded as Butch and two of Alex’s underling cronies, a fat, bald man named Raf and a wiry thug named Sal, stumbled in, their suit jacket’s already peeled off.

The intruders eyes glinted with drunken lust. “Thought we’d join the party, boss,” Butch rumbled, his gravelly voice thick with glee. Alex chuckled, not breaking his grip on Kayla.

“Why not? My bride’s got plenty to share.” He tossed the remote to Butch, who fumbled it with a laugh, cranking the plug to its highest setting. Kayla’s back arched, a choked scream vibrating through the gag as the relentless buzz tore through her, her pussy throbbing against her will.

Alex thrust into her, rough and deep, his cock stretching her as she writhed helplessly beneath him. “Good girl,” he growled, the trigger sending a shiver of unwanted pleasure through her, her conditioning twisting the violation into a sick reward.

Butch lumbered closer, slapping her tender ass with a meaty hand, reigniting the sting from Kennedy’s punishment as he leered. “Fuckin’ prime piece,” he grunted while Raf grabbed her chained wrists, pinning them harder, his sweaty palms slick against her skin.

Sal hovered near the bride’s head, groping her spilling breasts through the corset, his fingers digging in. “She’s built for this,” he rasped, his whiskey-sour breath hot as their laughs drowned her muffled cries.

Raf snatched the remote from Butch, pulsing it wildly, low hums to sharp jolts, and Kayla’s body convulsed, tears streaking her face, ruining her perfectly prepared makeup.

Butch unzipped his pants, stroking himself as he spanked her again, harder, his grunts blending with Alex’s thrusts. “Gonna ruin her all night,” he snarled, the gag choking her silent screams.

Alex finished with a groan, spilling inside of her as he squeezed her exposed fake tits, his “good girl” a final lash. He pulled out, smirking, and nodded to Butch. “Go for it.”

Butch climbed onto her, his bulk crushing her, his thicker cock brutal as he took her, the plug’s buzz relentless. Raf and Sal kept her pinned, their hands a barrage of slaps and gropes. As much as Kayla writhed, she couldn’t deny the overwhelming sensations of pleasure bombarding her.

Sal swapped with Raf, his wiry frame pressing into her as Alex lit a cigarette, watching with smug satisfaction. “She’s yours till dawn, boys,” he said, exhaling smoke as Raf fumbled with the gag’s padlock, prying it open with a key that Alex had handed him.

The harness fell free, and Kayla gasped, her jaw aching, but Raf didn’t give her a moment. He shoved his fat cock into her mouth, gripping her hair as he thrust, his sweaty bulk smothering her pleas. “Suck it, bitch,” he growled, her conditioning forcing compliance, and held back any gag reflex she had.

Kayla trembled, broken and spent, her body a battleground of rage and forced pleasure. The plug buzzed on, and her cuffs held firm. She was Alex’s trophy wife, an object for him to play with, and at least for tonight, a prized toy for his friends.

❖

Kennedy tottered into the dimly lit Neon Kitty strip club, the Vegas Strip’s chaos fading behind the heavy velvet curtains. His sparkling pink low-cut glittery minidress shimmered under the strobe lights, hugging his curves, the hem barely covering his ass.

The neckline plunged deep, his F-cup tits spilling out, while 6-inch matching stilettos clicked against the sticky floor. He’d ditched the latex corset from the ceremony, but the reception’s wild energy still set his nerves on edge.

The Russo crew packed the joint, ties loose, drinks sloshing, as strippers twisted on poles. Vincent uncharacteristically sprawled in a corner booth, Maria leaning against him. She wasn’t one for strip clubs, but this was a special occasion.

Kennedy’s gut twisted; he’d left Kayla to Alex’s torment, her betrayed glare burning in his mind. Now, the afterparty pulsed, and his conditioning flared, the room full of men igniting unwanted heat in his core.

Stefano clocked him fast, his dark eyes glinting with feral lust. The fugitive twin slouched at the bar, suit lazily open, whiskey in hand, his cocky grin defiant despite his wanted status. “Fuck, there’s my prize,” the twin growled, lurching off the barstool. He swaggered over, towering over Kennedy, his broad frame oozing reckless energy.

Kennedy froze, his stilettos pinning him as Stefano’s gaze raked his body. “Like, oh my gawd, hi!” he chirped, the valley girl’s tone humiliating under that predatory stare.

Stefano closed in, whiskey breath hot on Kennedy’s face. “You’re too damn hot in that dress, princess,” he rasped, his hand grazing Kennedy’s bare thigh, sparking a jolt of conditioned arousal. The pink-haired bimbo shivered, his body betraying him, heat pooling between his legs. Stefano’s fingers dug in, possessive, and Kennedy’s gasp slipped free, his conditioning raging.

“Been watchin’ you all day,” Stefano murmured, his other hand cupping Kennedy’s ass. “Gonna wreck that tight little body tonight, nanny.”

Kennedy’s mind screamed, run, fight, anything. However, his conditioning held him fast. “Like, umm, I totally gotta…” he stammered, cut off as Stefano squeezed harder, smirking.

Duke Alfonso barreled over, red hair flashing under the lights, jaw tight with fury. “Back the fuck off, Stefano,” he snapped, shoving between them, his tall frame bristling with jealousy. Kennedy had never been so pleased to see Duke in his life.

Stefano laughed, a harsh bark, standing his ground. “What’s your deal, man? She’s too fine for your sorry ass,” he taunted, his hand still on Kennedy’s thigh.

Duke’s fists clenched, his voice a low growl. “She’s mine, you obnoxious asshole. Been mine since she got here. Hands off.”

Kennedy’s heart pounded, trapped between them, his conditioned heat surging with two men so close. “Like, guys, chill, I…” he squeaked, but Stefano cut him off with a sneer.

“Yours? She’s beggin’ for a real man,” Stefano fired back, yanking Kennedy closer, his grip bruising. “Look at her, fuckin’ dripping for me.” The truth was that his pussy was dripping, all thanks to that damn conditioning.

Duke lunged, grabbing Stefano’s collar, face inches from the twins. “Touch her again, and I’ll break your damn jaw,” he snarled, his possessive rage boiling over.

The crowd hushed, necks craning, as the large-built Vincent Russo heaved up from his booth, his bulk silencing the room. He lumbered over, jaw set, dark eyes cold. “Enough!” The patriarch rumbled, his voice slicing through the standoff. He clapped a heavy hand on Duke’s shoulder, pulling him back with ease.

Stefano smirked, unfazed, brushing off his suit. “Just havin’ fun, Pops,” he said, tone thick with disrespect.

Vincent ignored him, facing Duke. “Let it go,” he ordered, pulling a thick wad of cash from his pocket and shoving it into Duke’s chest. “Take this, enjoy your night,” Vincent said, his tone final, no room for debate. “Don’t fuck with family over a piece of ass.”

Duke glared, fingers crushing the cash, pride warring with fear. Kennedy stood frozen, breath ragged, Stefano’s touch still searing his skin. A piece of ass? Kennedy didn’t want to be seen as a piece of ass. He gasped, the heat overwhelming.

“Fine,” Duke spat, stepping back, his eyes flicking to Kennedy with hurt and rage. He turned, stomping to the bar, cash crumpled in his fist.

Vincent’s gaze slid to Kennedy, a smirk tugging his lips. “Good girl,” he said, the pet name sending a shudder of pleasure through Kennedy, his gasp barely masked. It was as though Vincent knew precisely what that phrase did to him.

Stefano chuckled, stepping in again, undeterred. “See? Even Pops knows you’re mine tonight, babe,” he purred, his hand reclaiming Kennedy’s ass, squeezing hard.

Kennedy’s body trembled, conditioned arousal unbearable, his pussy throbbing as Stefano’s brash energy swamped him. “Like, I—I gotta check on Abby,” he lied, voice a weak squeak. It was a futile excuse. Abby was being looked after and had long been asleep.

“Abby’s fine,” Stefano dismissed, dragging him into a booth, grip iron. “You’re stayin’ with me, princess—gonna show you a real good time.”

The stripper on stage twirled as Kennedy’s world shrank to Stefano’s hands, his predatory grin, his relentless pursuit. His conditioning locked the feminized man in, heat surging, his mind screaming against his body’s betrayal.

Vincent watched from his booth, smirking. Maria was leaning on him, happy to see her boys enjoying their freedom. As Stefano slid his hand up Kennedy’s dress, the pink-haired bimbo moaned lustfully. Kennedy couldn’t hide the pleasure, and Stefano would ensure they had a night to remember.

End of Chapter Nine