TWO DAYS EARLIER
The sound of the door opening behind me stops me in my tracks. I can’t judge how far I’ve crawled, but it can’t be more than ten meters. Every inch brings me closer to Darius. Closer to rape, but despite the pain of whips and belts lashing at me relentlessly, I can’t bring myself to crawl faster.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” a voice, dripping with authority, vibrates the air.
Darius sounds menacing, but this man, whoever he is, takes the crown. The room falls silent save for choked-back sobs. Even the grunting stops and, along with it, their attack on me.
“I see you’re breaking in our newest shipment.”
“As always,” Darius replies, less venom layering his tone. He’s not as menacing as when he yelled at me a moment ago. “How can we help you, Boss? Would you like to join the fun?”
“You know better than that. I do, however, have a question. See…” The click of elegant shoes moves slowly along the line of the carpet. “I checked on our guest and found her bedroom empty. It doesn’t look like she spent one minute there… You wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”
It’s a seemingly innocent question laced with a threat that—judging by his answer—Darius doesn’t detect.
“Right here. I’ll be breaking this one in myself.”
“Oh, you will, will you? I don’t recall giving you permission to touch my guest. Guests,” he corrects, the word like a vial of poison. “Strike one, Matthews. Strike two, his daughter. You’re running out of strikes fast this evening.”
A nervous murmur traverses the room.
“Silence,” the man snaps. “Will my guest be auctioned with the others, Darius?”
There’s a scraping on the polished floor like someone’s nervously stepping from one foot to the other. The room’s so quiet you’d hear a pin drop. So quiet I hear Darius swallow loud enough to penetrate the rug.
“No, Boss, she won’t.”
“And which girls are you allowed to playdate with here?”
“The ones for auction.”
“Exactly,” the boss clips. A faint click fills the air, making my stomach somersault. I know that click. It’s the click of a gun’s safety being flipped. “Let this be a lesson.”
“Boss, it was—”
“Strike three.”
A deafening shot cuts Darius off.
My ears ring, girls scream, and there’s a shuffle of men’s feet scurrying away from the rug. And then, as if in slow motion… a heavy thud.
“Jax, consider this your promotion. You’re in charge here. Don’t make me regret it.” Another click, the safety being flipped back on. “What are you waiting for? Lift the fucking rug.”
Another shuffle of feet, and light breaches the darkness ahead. The first thing I make out is the sole of a black combat boot. Then the other.
Darius’s boots.
He lays where he stood, crimson blood pooling around his head and glimmering under the lights.
Angling my head, I see a man towering above the others. He steps closer, a perfect blend of strength and elegance highlighted by a black suit, tailored to hug every inch of his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He crouches on my left, slicking back his neatly styled hair before holding his hand out.
“It’s okay, Hailey,” he coos, his black eyes boring into mine, tone soothing, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “You’re okay.” He extends his hand further, bending two fingers in a come here motion. “Come on, let’s get you settled into your room.”
Part of me wants to stay where I am. I don’t know if I can trust this man but he killed Darius, who threatened to rape me and let others do the same.
I have a choice: stay in a room full of men palming their dicks, eager to assault the girls crowded by the exit, or take his hand and leave, not knowing whether he’ll just rape me in a less public setting.
There’s a softness in his features which tells me he’s young. Very young, considering he’s the boss around here. I doubt he’s Nash’s age. Probably a few years younger.
I swallow hard and start crawling on my hands and knees, my new mantra leaping from the depths of my subconscious: one man is better than thirty.
“Attagirl,” the boss says. “Just a little further.”
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Even the girls are fighting to stay quiet.
I bite my cheek, swallowing every sound that wants to escape my lips each time I move. There’s not a part of my body that doesn’t ache. I doubt I’ll be able to lay on my back for days. I wouldn’t be surprised if they broke my ribs with the carpet beater.
“Almost there, keep going.” He shuffles forward to reach me sooner. “That’s it. Take my hand.”
I do.
Lacking better options, I let him lace our fingers, expecting a sharp tug, then his hand fisting my blonde, damp locks so he can yank me to my knees.
But it doesn’t happen.
There’s no urgency in his touch. No brutality. His fingers gently weave with mine and he helps me up. I don’t stand for long. Bending down, he sneaks one arm under my knees, the other around my back, and scoops me into his arms, bridal style.
“You,” he barks at a man to our left. “Cover her up.”
The man drops his whip, tearing his suit jacket off. He drapes it over me, bowing his head low.
I hardly breathe, pulling in scraps of air because every deep breath sends a wave of pain screaming along my ribs. Once the jacket is tucked under me, covering everything I don’t want to show, the boss starts walking.
Desmond herds the girls into the corner, out of our path, his arms outstretched to grab any who might dare run. I lock eyes with the violet-haired girl, wishing I could do something. Anything to help her. Help them. They’re not escaping this fate. They’ll end up under the rug, crawling, crying… gagging.
Nausea twists my insides, intensifying further when she offers me a small, reassuring smile. She was just raped but here she is, helping me along. Where does she get her strength from?
“Look at you,” the boss tuts, exiting the ballroom. Two men in black sunglasses trail behind us like bodyguards, staring straight ahead. “You’re shaking. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. You have my word.”
The rational part of me knows I can’t trust him, but there’s a small, desperate part, the one seeking safety, that swells with hope. I don’t risk saying a word as his bodyguard steps forward, opening another door halfway down the hall.
Instead of being flung to the ground like Jonathan’s daughter was, I’m set down carefully, and the boss makes sure I hold my weight before he gives me space.
This plush-carpeted room isn’t the same one I’ve been locked in for the last four days. There’s only one bed, covered in fluffy pillows, the white sheets crispy clean. The sunset spills through a large bay window, bathing the small reading nook on my left: a single armchair and hundreds of books I could lose myself in under different circumstances.
“Where are your clothes?” the boss asks.
“Um… I don’t have anything other than what I arrived in.”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose, pushing out an exasperated breath. “Fucking dimwits. Rex, fetch something comfortable from the East Wing.” He looks over his shoulder, giving me a quick once-over that lacks any sexual innuendo. “The smallest size you can find.”
Rex nods, marching out the door, every move stiff, as if he’s the Terminator himself.
The boss turns back to me, his features softening. “We’ll get you out of this lace soon. You must be freezing.” He gently sits me on the bed and covers me up better with the black, oversized jacket. “No more tears,” he adds, swiping his thumbs under my eyes. “I gave you my word, remember?”
A tight nod is my only answer, my vocal cords tangled like the ivy hanging outside the window. I don’t trust myself not to break down into ugly cries the second I part my lips. My heart’s still fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s wings and I’m so fucking confused my head’s spinning.
Why is he so nice?
Because he wants the evidence.
“Terrence, get the cook to prepare a light meal. Soup and a cup of tea would be best. And send one of the maids up. I don’t think she’ll be able to dress herself.”
“I will,” I croak, panic slicing through me at the thought of anyone else putting their hands on my naked body.
Terrence marches out, closing the door behind him. I’m alone, locked in here with the boss, who spins on the heel of his elegant leather boot, eyes boring into mine.
I’m waiting for the curtain to drop and his temper to make an appearance. I’m waiting for pain, curses, demands, but—again—nothing happens.
If this is some elaborate way of fucking with my head, it’s working.
“How about a doctor? Have I arrived in time, or were they already on round two?”
Round two? They make them dive under the rug twice?
“That terrified look on your face tells me you didn’t know about round two, but I still need to know if anyone’s touched you since you arrived here.”
“Other than the dead man?” I whisper, staring at my fingernails. “No.”
“I see Darius deserved more than one bullet.” He crosses the room, taking a seat in the armchair. “My name’s Blaze Noretto. Do you know where you are, Hailey?”
“Somewhere in Pennsylvania?”
“That’s correct. And do you know why you’re here?”
I do, but the less I say, the better, so I shake my head, curling up when a lightning bolt of pain pierces every vertebra of my spine.
“You’re here because you have invaluable information that you don’t yet remember. From what I’ve gleaned, you’ve been recovering well since your accident and your memories are returning faster than your neurologist anticipated.”
“I don’t know what information you’re talking about.”
“I believe you met a certain Carter Willard recently, though Nash Wright might ring a louder bell. The information I need involves his father.”
I twist the hem of the jacket, blinking away another wave of tears. Nash isn’t even his real name. Nothing about him was real. They’re two people in one body.
Nash is mine, and Carter…
Carter is a monster.
There’s a rap on the bedroom door before Rex enters, holding a gray hoodie and gray tracksuit bottoms on the palm of his hand as if he’s presenting a king with a crown.
“Ah, good. We’ll finish this conversation once you’ve rested,” Blaze says, setting the clothes beside me. “Rex here is my personal bodyguard. I trust him with my life, so he’ll stand guard at your door. You can be sure no one will enter without my explicit permission—I don’t hand that out lightly.”
Another knock rattles the door and Rex lets in a maid. The smell of tomato soup breaches the room, making my rioting stomach somersault back.
“You should eat something. If you can’t eat, then at least drink your tea. It’ll help you sleep. I’ll stop by in the morning.”
With that, he marches toward the door, every step like a man on a mission. He stops in the doorway, where Rex waits, eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. “No one other than me and this maid enters this room. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. Orders?”
“Shoot to kill.”
My blood runs cold and my eyes dart to the guns strapped around Rex’s torso. There’s two more on his back and I bet he’s got another pair at his ankles. He looks capable of taking down twenty men without breaking a sweat. If he’s guarding my door, the information hidden in my broken synapses must really be invaluable.
The door closes behind them and I’m finally alone.
I hold my breath, listening for the characteristic click of the lock, but it doesn’t come.
The warm clothes on the nightstand beg me to slip into them while the fear coursing through my veins tells me I should curl into a ball or hide in the corner.
I don’t listen.
Fear won’t get me through this. If I want to walk out of here alive, I need to calm down and focus.
Aware of the cameras pointing my way, I hold the black, oversized suit jacket against my chest and slowly stand, every move igniting a charge of blinding pain down my back.
Getting dressed will be a challenge.
Tucking the clothes under one arm, I limp toward the bathroom. There’s a camera here as well… but there’s also a shower curtain to hide behind.
I take a moment to steady my breathing, then fling the clothes over the rail. Grinding my teeth, I grip the hem of the pink lacy negligee and cross my arms. I can’t lift it far, doubling over when pain lances my back.
It’s like I’m being whipped all over again, but with no rug to absorb the impact.
Once the pain subsides, I try again, and again, until sweat trails a path along my spine. If I can’t take this off, there’s no way I’ll get the hoodie on.
I’ve survived worse.
Centering myself, I recall the accidents that left me scarred. I remember what it felt like to wake up in hospital without any pain meds. I remember the agony of my dislocated shoulder. How tender the sprawling purple bruise on my thigh was after I tucked and rolled out of Nash’s—Carter’s car.
And then I remember how much it hurt when my mother was dying. How I had to go through it again, reliving it night after night as my memories returned. How much it hurt when I discovered Nash wasn’t who he said he was. The pain currently streaming through me as I realize I might never see Dad again.
I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and tug the pink fabric off like I’m ripping a Band-Aid. My knees give in, my vision blurs, but the negligee is off. I use that momentum to shove my hands into the sleeves of the hoodie like my life depends on getting dressed and no amount of pain can stop me.
It’s amazing how much the human body can withstand in life-threatening situations. Adrenaline pushes our limits, giving us strength we never had.
Resting my back on the cold tiled wall, I raise my foot, tugging the tracksuit bottoms half up one leg, then repeating the operation on the other until I can finally drag the pants over my hips.
Whatever size this is, it’s bigger than I usually wear, but it’s warm, soft, and creates the illusion of safety. I pull the curtain aside and almost jump out of my skin when I spot Blaze in the doorway, two wrinkles between his brows, anger simmering in his dark eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, lifting his gaze to the cameras. The diodes aren’t blinking anymore. “I switched them off. You have your privacy in here.”
As evidenced by you coming in without knocking…
“Now, I need to see your back, Hailey. It sounds like your ribs are broken.”
“I’m okay.”
I’m so exhausted and sleep-deprived there’s nothing I can do about the shaking. There’s also nothing I can do to fight him off if he decides to take a look without permission.
“You’re not okay,” he insists. “Can I help you out of there?”
I’m about to shake my head when I remember the pain.
“No, I’m fine,” I say.
I got in by myself, so I’ll get out by myself, too. At least that’s what I hope, but one thing I didn’t account for is that the wall behind the tub saved me from falling flat on my face while I was getting in. There’s no wall on the other side. Well, there is, but it’s too far away.
Still, I don’t ask for help, using the shower curtain to steady myself as I fling one leg over the edge. It takes everything I have not to wince. The moment my foot touches the cold floor, a wave of relief washes over me.
I can do this alone.
I lift the other leg, holding on to the curtain with both hands, and that’s when the rail snaps, leaving me falling, grasping at thin air, on course to add more injuries.
But instead of connecting with the floor, I stop against a hard chest. Blaze’s hands snap around my waist, saving my bones from breaking.
Well,those which aren’t already, because I’m pretty sure he’s right and at least one rib on either side is broken. Maybe more.
“Easy,” he says, steadying me slowly. “Rex!”
The bulky bodyguard appears in the doorway like a stealthy ninja. I’d expect his footsteps to thump across the bedroom floor, but I didn’t hear a single step.
“Boss?”
“Get me some pain pills.”
“No,” I protest quickly. “I’m okay.”
“You’re far from it. Painkillers will help.”
I shake my head, ignoring the stabbing down my spine. My imagination conjures all kinds of scenarios involving questionable pills. I can’t tell the difference between prescription and illegal drugs, and I don’t want to end up comatose, unaware of what’s happening around me.
Blaze narrows his eyes, clearly unappeased. “No one here needs to drug you to do as they please. You’ve seen that. Either you swallow the Tylenol, or I’ll force them down your throat. You can barely walk, Hailey. I want you to come for a ride with me as soon as possible. Right now, I don’t think you’d get to the end of the hallway. So? What will it be?”
“Fine,” I whisper, aware there’s no point arguing. “I’ll take the pills.”
He flicks his wrist at Rex who soundlessly marches away. “Now, let me help you to bed.”
Another protest dies on my lips. I can fight him all I want, but what will it accomplish? Nothing much.
Like he said, anyone who wants to can rape me here without drugs.
Blaze doesn’t have to act nice. He could manhandle me to suit his will. He could kick my legs from under me, undo his belt, and fuck my throat, but he’s being helpful.
Inhaling as deep a breath as my aching body allows, I hook my elbow with his when he offers. Whatever’s hiding in my mind is what will keep me alive.
I need to figure out what and where the evidence is so I can use it to get out.
