1,038 … 1,039 … 1,040 …

Each of those seconds passed with excruciating slowness, but Luna Santiago counted each of them from the very first when she had been forced to her knees, to the very last—a moment before the bitter taste of semen spilled on her tongue. Even three years later, she still had to fight the urge to vomit as soon as the milky liquid hit her tongue.

She refused to swallow, letting it drip from her mouth instead as Lawrence Kendall—her captor and abuser— grunted his approval, eyes riveted to the disgusting sight she must have made. He breathed rather harshly as he jerked his pants up around muscled hips, carefully tucking his now flaccid penis away.

Her job done, Luna waited until his back was turned before she grabbed the towel he allowed her to keep nearby, dragging the rough material over her face.

As he turned back to look at her, she saw the fine mist of sweat coating his brow, his eyes shining with a mixture of glee and dark amusement. Despite the last half-hour he’d spent in the room with her, he was ready to go again.

Once, that had been the most disgusting part about him—the casual way in which he went about preparing to leave as though he hadn’t violated her without care—but then she had learned to avert her gaze, pretending he didn’t exist for as long as she could.

But then she had learned that it was nothing compared to the way he came toward her once they were finished and pat her head like a good little pet—or sweeping his fingers over her skin as though needing to remind her of what they had just done.

It wasn’t nearly as vomit worthy as the actual pain that came when she clutched at sheets to keep from screaming out in pain as he grunted in her ear, but it was a close second.

“Get yourself cleaned up,” Lawrence said running thick fingers through cropped blonde hair. “You’ll be with me today.”

Luna didn’t respond—she didn’t even blink.

She knew better.

Instead, she just waited for him to go before stumbling to her feet and going about her routine.

First, she stripped the bed as she had been taught, dropping it all on the floor at the foot of it where someone would step in to take it all away.

It didn’t matter that this time the bed had gone unused—Lawrence had sat on it, and that was enough for her.

It was a ritual at this point—something she did without thought.

She longed for the day when the routine broke.

Glancing at the door, she contemplated turning the lock, but knew better—it wouldn’t be worth the beating she’d take if she did. Instead, she started for the bathroom, the chain around her ankle rattling as she walked.

It had taken a solid two months to get used to the feel of the metal when she had first been given to Lawrence. The chain links were thick and sturdy, the anklet just as wide. No amount of tugging and pulling had loosened it—and even when she’d lost weight, it still wasn’t enough to slide her ankle through.

The restraint was just long enough, allowing her to move through the space with ease, though she wished the weight wasn’t so familiar.

Turning the taps to the shower on, Luna went back to the sink to lean against, waiting for the water to heat. With her toothbrush in hand, and a healthy dollop of toothpaste, she scrubbed her mouth and tongue until she couldn’t taste anything but mint and cool air.

And only once steam billowed out from behind the glass door did she get in the stall.

The first lash of water across her bare skin was the worst—the scalding heat already reddening her naturally tan skin. It was almost unbearable, but she refused to move from the onslaught, letting it sink into her pores and purge everything out.

Under the spray of water, she washed it all away.

The filth.

The reminder that her life was no longer her own.

The evidence of what she had suffered.

Only when the bathroom was foggy with steam and her skin was sensitive to the touch did she finally step out and don the robe that hung from a hook on the back of the door, careful to avert her gaze.

Luna had never known shame the way she did when she saw her own naked reflection. If she were able, she’d avoided a mirror all together. The person she saw reflected in the glass wasn’t her. Not really.

There was no spark in her eye.

No lust for life.

Just emptiness.

Like she was a fucking ghost walking the earth.

Snagging a brush from a drawer, Luna worked it through her hair, tugging it through the long, tangled strands of her hair until all the kinks and knots were gone.

One of Lawrence’s goons awaited her when she walked out of the bathroom, and though he stared, she knew he wouldn’t touch her. There were other girls they could freely paw and maul, but Luna wasn’t one of them.

That didn’t mean Lawrence didn’t share her—he did—but it was only with men of his choosing, and usually because he wanted something from them.

Was that what this night was about?

Did he have another deal to make?

Once she was free of her restraints, Luna dressed in clothes left behind, frilly things that he insisted she wear.

What did whores need with anything other than lingerie?

At least, that was the question Lawrence had asked of her three years ago when she was dragged to this place against her will—not a single person moved by her tear-blotched face, or pleas for mercy.

It also hadn’t mattered that she had only been fourteen at the time, a mere child.

If anything, that had only made her more appealing to Lawrence.

Men—men like Lawrence—would pay more for the thrill of raping a minor.

They were sick that way.

Out in the hallway—or rather the breezeway since it opened to lush gardens, and the main house out front—with a hand wrapped around her bicep, the guard led her out of the guesthouse and around to another building where the parties were held.

There was a den, of sorts, on one end of the building where she, and the other girls kept there, could congregate. A television was mounted on the wall, big enough that it was the first thing anyone could see when they entered the space. Scantily clad women were sprawled across the couch and chairs, some watching the program playing, others just staring at nothing.

But it was to the girl that was only a few years older than Luna that she directed her attention.

Cat was sitting alone in a corner, a bottle of nail polish resting on the floor beside her as she carefully painted her toenails a brilliant azure.

Despite the noise around her and the constant movement of others, Cat’s concentration never broke. Everyone had their own thing, something that kept their minds from breaking in a place like this.

For Cat, it was nail polish. It was the only thing she hoarded. At this point, though she couldn’t be sure, Luna thought her collection was up to fifty-six bottles—one for each month she had been in this place—bottles she got to keep because she didn’t complain or fight against them.

For Luna, it wasn’t just the moments she got to spend alone, but also when she got to be with Cat, and the sea of information she possessed. Of course, there was no way for her to know if what Cat told her was true, but she still wanted to hear it all, no matter how far fetched.

There was also a bookcase in the corner of the room, the shelves lined with mostly fiction books missing a number of pages, but there were a few textbooks as well, though Luna still didn’t know how they had come to be there.

Those were her favorite, though.

It was always funny when she thought back to when she had been home and how much she had hated school. The work hadn’t been terribly difficult, but she had never fully enjoyed it.

Now? She wished she was stuck at a desk in a classroom for seven hours.

Luna also took advantage because it wasn’t often that she was allowed to even leave the room where she was kept. Usually, Lawrence kept her chained until he came to entertain himself—one too many times of her trying to run away. But she had learned her lesson the last time when he had shown her the error of her ways over the course of several hours.

There were some women here that embraced their fate, refusing to wallow in the shit hand they’d been dealt in life. Their compliance allowed them the opportunity to venture into this room and others like it.

And what had surprised Luna the most was the fact that no one had tried to run once they were granted this tiny bit of freedom.

No.

There had been one.

Jessica, her name had been.

She had played the part, pretending to go along with what Emmett—the real boss of this organization—had wanted of her, and she was given the chance to work for freedom that would never come.

Jessica had been one of the first girls Luna had befriended during one of the short bouts when Lawrence had let her roam free. They had been close in age, and it was easy to bond over that and more.

The girl hadn’t made it more than a week once her slice of freedom before she had attempted to escape, and for one very long hour, Luna had thought she’d made it—until Lawrence and Emmett returned with images of her mutilated corpse, warning anyone else who thought to run.

Luna hadn’t tried again after that day.

But she wasn’t broken.

She hadn’t submitted.

She hadn’t lost hope that she would one day make it out of this place—start over somewhere far, far away and try to find her family.

It was hope that both kept her going everyday, and weighed heavily on her.

“Remy brought me this,” Cat said as Luna dropped down beside her after grabbing the anatomy textbook from the bookcase, gesturing to the bottle she was using while careful not to mess up her work.

“I like this one better than the yellow,” Luna said with a smile, flipping the book open to the page she had dog-eared the last time she’d been in this room.

Had that been a week ago? More?

“You know when I was in school, I hated this fucking subject,” Cat said with a shake of her head. “How you enjoy that is beyond me.”

Cat was only twenty-two, but she had a habit of making herself sound older, as though they were decades apart as opposed to just a few years.

Every other Wednesday, Jason, a regular customer of hers, brought gifts and whatever else she asked for that Emmett allowed, showering her with affection that most of the men who frequented this place didn’t possess. He was one of those older, lonely men who sought the company of women who could pretend to care when he talked.

Cat was very good at pretending.

Luna didn’t know much about the man, or Cat even considering the amount of time she spent separate from everyone else, but they had become instant friends one night when Cat had found her sobbing on the floor of the bathroom trying to scrub herself clean.

That night haunted her most.

Instead of telling her to suck it up as someone else had, Cat helped her as best she could, then dressed her and offered a shoulder to cry on until the tears stopped. They had talked for hours that night, Luna telling her stories about her home so that she could remember that there was something else out there besides the pain and misery.

That night, she had also told Cat how much she missed school. The next morning, it had been Cat had told her about the textbooks, helping her learn from them as best she could.

“But you hated most of your classes, right?” Luna asked, recalling Cat having said something of that nature. “Was this worse than chemistry?”

If anything, her frown grew more pronounced. “Nope, chemistry is still at the top of the list.”

As she finished her last toe, Cat sat back and admired her work, then looked at Luna and whispered, “Did you hear about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Luna expected something, but maybe Cat knew more than she did. “Lawrence is coming back for me at some point, I think.”

“Emmett cancelled all the appointments for tonight.”

Not only hadn’t she heard that, but she could hardly believe it was true.

There was never a time that she could remember when Emmett had closed the doors to his estate.

Not since she had been there at least.

“Why?” Luna asked.

“Somebody’s coming. Don’t know who, but it’s supposed to be a business dinner, and—”

“Luna!”

Cat fell silent at the booming voice, as well as the rest of the room—Lawrence Kendall had that kind of reaction when he entered.

As Emmett’s son, he felt entitled to the women here—often doing what he wished without consequence. Luna wasn’t the only girl he brutalized by him, though hers occurred more regularly. She couldn’t count the number of times he had left one of the girls bloody and broken after spending a night with them.

At one time, Luna hadn’t understood why he acted the way he did. He wasn’t bad looking, nor was he unintelligent, and if he were a touch kinder, he could probably willingly have anyone there, but she had learned that it had nothing to do with looks—he was just a monster who liked to hurt things.

When dark eyes landed on her, he gestured for her to come to him with a crook of his finger and a smile on his lips. He had showered too in the time he’d been gone, hair neatly styled and suit freshly pressed.

Cat squeezed her fingers a moment before Luna shuffled to her feet and slowly crossed the floor. What could she do against him? He was bigger, taller, and had a gun that he kept in the waistband of his trousers—she didn’t stand a chance.

“And you,” he said, gesturing to Cat with a flick of his fingers.

He didn’t just stop at Luna and Cat, however, pointing at more of the girls, until they’d all lined up, waiting for his instruction.

Glancing back at the textbook still on the floor, Luna was forced to leave it behind as Cat tugged her hand, a silent command for her to follow along.

As Lawrence walked them through the building, not for the first time, Luna thought of how easy it would be if they all worked together. At the very least, they could kick his ass and attempt to escape, but that idea wouldn’t work well … not when Emmett had security all throughout the place to make sure no one stepped out of line.

It was one thing, trying to fight off someone who was unarmed—they had him in numbers—but those guards had guns, ones they weren’t afraid to use.

Filing into the spacious sitting room, they stood shoulder to shoulder as Lawrence walked a path in front of them, appraising them with cold eyes. When he reached Luna, a smile curled his lips, and right then, she knew she probably didn’t want to know what he was thinking.

The soft tap of Emmett’s leather shoes sounded on the floor a moment before he appeared, a thick cigar in his left hand, his eyes on them. He looked like an older version of Lawrence. Same hair, though his was peppered with gray, and the same eyes—though his were cold, they weren’t unforgiving like his son’s.

It was Emmett, actually, who was behind having Luna taken from her childhood home in San Jose—the only home she had ever known.

A life she longed to return to.

Sometimes, in the dead of night when Lawrence had finally passed out and his snores echoed throughout the room, Luna liked to close her eyes and try to picture that life with her mama and papa and sister.

Luna missed them the most.

Her memories were usually fleeting, only brief bursts of images and smells.

She missed the blazing sun on her face, the water from the sprinkler on her skin as she ran around the backyard, chasing behind the Labrador she had begged her mother for.

Oh, how Luna missed Blanco and his snow-white fur that he constantly got dirty, just from running through mud and dirt. She wondered if she ever found him again, would he even recognize her.

“Tonight,” Emmett began, dragging Luna from her thoughts. “There will be an auction held. You’re to cater to the guests’ needs, whatever they may ask of you. Is that understood? You will do as you’re told, no matter what is asked.”

While affirmations sounded around the room, Luna kept her mouth shut, not sure what to say. She didn’t miss that he hadn’t made mention of what kind of auction it would be, but if she had to guess, it wouldn’t be a worldly possessions they bid on.

“You have two hours to get this place spotless, and dressed standing as you are. Attire will be given. Do you understand?”

Again, they all agreed.

But Luna, once more, didn’t say anything at all.

---

A lot could be accomplished in a couple of hours, Luna thought as she carefully zipped up the side of the dress that had been left for her on the bed. It was better than she had expected—just a simple little black dress, though it did stop a little higher on her than past choices.

The main house had been scrubbed and cleaned by the staff, leaving the marble flooring clear and the fixtures sparkling. Appearances were important, and seeing this place, one wouldn’t have the slightest clue what took place on the premises.

All the girls were dressed the same, though some only wore shimmery lingerie that barely covered anything. Lawrence and Emmett had both changed as well, in fresh suits with hair gelled in place. By the time the first few guests started trickling in once the doors were opened, Luna already felt nauseous.

Most of the guests were men, though a few came in with women hanging off their arms, delighted smiles on their faces. Sometimes, Luna had seen, the women were worse than the men were.

“Don’t react,” Cat whispered in her ear as they stood next to the bar that had been set up.

Don’t react.

She tried to force herself to process those words, to do exactly as Cat had said, but she was scared of what the night would bring. She had never been to one of the events Emmett held—Lawrence usually kept her tucked away—but she didn’t think it would be anything good.

Luna was gripping the table’s edge so tightly her knuckles blanched. Carefully, she released her hold, taking a deep breath as she tried not to let her panic get the best of her.

Lawrence’s punishments were usually swift and unmerciful.

Cat, on the other hand, seemed to be processing it all pretty well, though there was a touch of apprehension in her eyes. At least until Lawrence came striding over to them, sending her darting off in the opposite direction.

“How’s my favorite pet?” he asked with a warm smile, as though those words were caring and complimentary.

Luna didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead, she blinked to let him know she was listening.

“There’s someone I would like you to meet,” he said, gesturing for the bartender to hand him the bottle of amber liquid that sat on a top shelf. “You’ll do any and every thing that I ask—and should he ask something of you, you know what to do.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her in the direction of her familiar hell. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else as she followed behind him, wishing she could escape to some part of her mind not affected by the trauma she would face.

But she had always stayed right in the present the entire time, feeling every last bit of pain offered.

Though she wasn’t able to leave her own mind, the tears had stopped.

A small consolidation.

As they neared, her senses perked up a bit, seeing the men who stood guard around the house. They weren’t anything like Lawrence’s guards, portly men who hadn’t eaten a vegetable in years—instead, they were tall and muscled, wearing more gear than she had ever seen.

Who the hell were they protecting?

“I suggest you not anger him, pet,” Lawrence said as he swung the door open. “You won’t like how he responds.”

He?

The minute she cleared the doorway, she saw him.

He sat with his back to a wall, just to the side of the windows where the moonlight that streamed in illuminated the planes of his face. There was definitely a difference between him and the men Lawrence usually brought into this room.

But Luna wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

As she came upon him, mere steps away now, she could see him more clearly—the strawberry-blonde hair, the chiseled line of his jaw, and the dark suit he wore.

He was pretty, in a masculine way, but pretty all the same.

“Pet, grab the glasses,” Lawrence said, his voice resonating around the room as he gave her a slight push.

Tearing her eyes away from the man who had yet to speak, she did as she was told, finding the set of crystal tumblers set on a serving tray that also held a freshly filled ice bucket.

She carried it across the room with her eyes on the floor, setting it down and waiting for her next instruction. Lawrence passed her the bottle—bourbon, the label read—twisting the top off and pouring two fingers of the liquor as he had once instructed her to do.

Once she finished, she first gave Lawrence his drink, then turned to the stranger, but this time, she couldn’t avoid his gaze.

For a moment, she thought she saw recognition in the dark depths of his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure.

It was uncomfortable, standing under his scrutiny, and if she wasn’t afraid of what would happen should she move away from him, she would have immediately tried to escape his presence.

“What’s your name?” he asked, picking up his drink, the heavy gold ring adorning his left hand making a clinking sound as it came in contact with the glass.

Give them whatever they ask for.

Those words rang in her head as she forced herself to answer his question—most didn’t ask, or care. “Luna.”

“Your entire name,” the stranger said carefully, an accent coloring the words, “if you would.”

Glancing back at Lawrence to make sure that she was meant to answer this, she spoke when he nodded. “Luna Aristoria Santiago.”

When was the last time she gave someone her name?

A corner of his mouth kicked up, but it wasn’t a true smile—there was something not so nice about it. Extending his hand, he offered, “Uilleam, but most call me The Kingmaker.”

Lawrence coughed, as though his drink had gone down the wrong pipe. Not sure what was wrong, Luna accepted the man’s hand with some trepidation, but as his fingers closed around hers, he didn’t squeeze and yank her to him, but rather just turned her hand over, his gaze dropping to her wrist and the birthmark that was there.

How did he even know to look?

And why was he called The Kingmaker?

What did that even mean?

When Luna attempted to pull her hand away, Uilleam held fast, and whatever kindness she thought he possessed, it vanished when he gave a command.

“Kneel.”

The command caught her off-guard, silence stretching between them as she just stood there staring at him.

“Did you not hear what he said?” Lawrence asked, the threat in his voice clear for anyone to hear.

Do as you’re told.

Gritting her teeth, Luna carefully sank down onto the floor, hands clutching at the hem of her dress to keep it from riding up further.

“Crawl to me,” he said, making her cheeks darken with anger and embarrassment, but she followed his direction, not stopping until she was mere inches from his seated form.

Once she was close enough, he reached for her, brushing strands of her hair out of her face, his voice low as he whispered in Spanish, “Play your part, and you may leave this place tonight.”

Not given a chance to question his meaning—or even to process that he knew she spoke Spanish—The Kingmaker looked away from her and to Lawrence.

“Where have you been hiding this one?” Uilleam asked and laid a hand on her shoulder, his hold possessive, but it didn’t feel sexual.

“She’s special,” Lawrence said with pride, as though he had been paid a compliment.

Uilleam’s expression changed, but Luna couldn’t read it. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

Lawrence must have noticed it too, but he ignored it. “Business, let’s discuss.”

“I’m not sure what’s left to discuss,” Uilleam returned. “It’s already done.”

“But when—”

“Very soon, but that matter isn’t of importance at the moment. Your payment for services has come due, and I’m here to collect.”

That easy smile that had once graced Lawrence’s face disappeared. “We agreed to after the job, not before.”

“Considering the circumstances, I thought it best to collect now.”

“Why? Do you think I’m going to lose it all once my father is dead?” Lawrence asked snidely, a touch of his temper showing.

“Well, yes.”

Lawrence, not liking this answer, nor the way Uilleam spoke, set his drink down. “This is not your place, Kingmaker. You play by my rules.”

“Your father’s rules, you mean,” Uilleam said, his tone never changing. “You’re not at the top just yet, Lawrence. So is it you who intends to check me?”

Luna didn’t notice it, not at first, not until the silence had become too much and she was forced to look up. She expected to find anger in Lawrence’s face, outrage even, but neither was there.

Panic, instead.

Even his men looked about nervously.

As though he had to force himself to say the words, Lawrence shook his head and said, “Not at all. Your payment, yes. Cash or wire—”

“I know with some certainty that you don’t have one-point-five million here in cash, Lawrence. Are you attempting to annoy me?”

Luna knew Lawrence’s family was rich, but that number still boggled her mind.

What had he bought for that much money?

“Perhaps, I can offer you something else,” Lawrence said, glancing in her direction. “For an extension, of course. If you would like her for the next hour—”

Uilleam made a humming sound in the back of his throat. “Or indefinitely.”

His words made Luna tense, but Uilleam’s hand on her shoulder tightened subtly, a silent command for her not to move.

Lawrence’s expression changed then, and unlike Uilleam, she could read him just fine. He didn’t like the idea of giving her to someone else—for a short period, sure, but not where she wouldn’t be there for him to torture when he felt like it.

“I’m not quite sure I understand.”

“I’m willing to forgive some of your debt should you give her to me,” Uilleam answered, his voice dipping low as though he were speaking to a child. “I’m not sure what’s left you don’t understand.”

Lawrence forced a laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “There are plenty of girls here, should you want one, but they’re for rent. What kind of businessman would I be if I sold off my best stock?”

“A smart one, if you were to name your price. Or have you forgotten the reason I’m here in the first place? Besides, after that unfortunate incident with the hacksaw, you’re not really in a place to argue, no?”

Luna knew of the ‘incident’ Uilleam referred to. It was only a few weeks ago that Lawrence had lost his temper, as he was prone to do, and killed one of the clients.

“That has nothing to do with this,” Lawrence said.

“There is also the small detail that the contractor I have doesn’t peddle in minors—and before you say a word, it is quite obvious this girl is underage.”

How the hell did he know that?

“Fake documents can be made,” Lawrence suggested.

Uilleam, who seemed to have an answer for everything, shook his head minutely. “And should we run her DNA, would it be found in any database? Missing persons, perhaps?”

It took every part of her being not to gape as she glanced up at Uilleam. Did he know who she was? Did he know that she had been forced here against her will?

Was he helping her?

“It looks to me, Lawrence, as though I’m doing you a favor. Because please understand, she is your problem, and yet I’m offering to pay to fix it—a far better deal than I usually offer.”

The vein in Lawrence’s forehead made an appearance as he ground his teeth. “Pick another—”

“I’ll have her, if it’s all the same to you.”

But it wasn’t all the same to him, and it was clear that he wanted to argue further, but after a heavy moment of silence, Lawrence finally answered.

“Seven-fifty.”

“Your father will die this evening,” Uilleam said with a glance down at his watch. “Would you like to join him in hell? Continue to waste my time, and I’ll have someone put a bullet in your head.”

It was clear who held the power in the room.

“Considering her … age,” Lawrence said grudgingly, “I can go no lower than five-hundred thousand. She would earn—”

“It’s quite time for you to stop speaking,” Uilleam cut in before he could finish. “I’m tired of hearing your voice. That’s acceptable. Now, for the rest.”

Though Lawrence was red in the face, he didn’t hesitate before reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone. Two minutes later, he was showing Uilleam the screen.

“We’re done here.”

Those words sounded innocent enough, at least until the sharp crack of gunfire sounded in the main house, the screams of the people inside just as loud.

Uilleam stood, helping her to her feet. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lawrence. Let’s hope we never cross paths again.”

Luna wasn’t given a choice as The Kingmaker made to leave, the fingers he had wrapped around her arm forcing her to follow at a rapid pace she could hardly keep up with.

People were running, fleeing from the gunfire that was still flying, but Uilleam didn’t run, nor did he particularly rush.

Like he wasn’t affected by the chaos around him.

Who the hell had she been sold to?