Minjung's phone was already in her hand.
She wasn't sure when she'd taken it out. The camera app was open, the rear lens aimed at the bed, the red recording dot glowing in the corner of the screen like a tiny conscience she was choosing to ignore.
Raven looked at the phone. Looked at her.
"'Smart,'" he said.
She wanted to say something cutting about that. Couldn't construct one. The situation did not support coherent cutting remarks.
He moved to the second woman from the left.
Clara.
Dark hair, glasses that had already been removed and placed carefully on the narrow ledge near the headboard — the one incongruously neat gesture among the bound, waiting bodies. She was Indian, early thirties, the kind of body that wore business clothing well and wore nothing even better — the curves of her hips wide and real, her ass raised in the arrangement he'd organized, her pussy outlined through thin black fabric that had already gone dark at the center.
