“Wake up! All yours, sir.” A bucket of cold water was thrown over Gray’s lifeless body, and he jolted awake. His head swam, shock held him in invisible bondage, and he was so disoriented that his eyes crossed and rolled back. There was no scratchy bag to shield his face, or rather, his eyes. Light exploded. A moan of pain slipped through his lips. He was rocking, or swaying—either way, the ground was unsolid.

The sound of calm waves registered.

The smell of the ocean, much stronger than last time.

Sea gulls. The sun.

“Ow…” He whimpered and shut his eyes. Even behind closed lids, the light was brilliant and white.

Before he knew it, someone was scrubbing him clean with gentle strokes. The sponge was soft and smelled of sandalwood and fresh soap. He couldn’t move an inch, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, he rolled with the movements and pushes of the person washing him and what he presumed was a boat.

The air was fresh. He couldn’t decide if it was crisp or humid. Maybe it was morning.

Definitely not in Washington.

No, this was the heat of summer in November. Or December now, he guessed.

The person who cleaned him spoke, his voice impossibly angelic. “Welcome to Miami.”

“I—” Gray couldn’t speak. He could barely form a coherent thought, but he managed to crack one eye open and squint. “Are…” you here to save us? The man couldn’t be more than twenty, and he looked so sweet, so innocent, and so pretty. His hair was the blackest black, his skin paler than snow, and Gray had never seen eyes that light blue before.

“Don’t speak, sweetling.” The guy cupped Gray’s cheek briefly, then returned to dragging the sponge over his body. “Everything will be fine. My name is Vanya, and I’ll take care of you.”

It was too much for Gray to process. He didn’t know if this was good or bad, so he sort of checked out.

* * *

Sometime later, he knew it was bad. The guy named Vanya had merely cleaned him up, given him a pair of white briefs, shaved his scruff, and put some shit in his hair to make it look shiny. A guard had taken over from there, and he’d brought Gray to the other guys, who’d undergone the same pre-auction makeover. Bruises had been covered, a few cuts had been cleaned, and the cabin they were locked inside smelled of disinfectants.

Along the walls of the otherwise completely empty cabin, all eight guys were shackled to metal hooks.

Their hope of escape had been shot straight to hell before they could even try.

The defeat crushed Gray. When the other guys made an effort to gather information on their new whereabouts, he stayed silent. They were on an opulent yacht, he learned. At least four decks. They were surrounded by water. Tight security with big men patrolling heavily armed. Milo had heard whispers about “buyers boarding at midnight,” and another guy had heard they were anticipating a bidding war for two of the boys.

Cole was an attractive guy who looked like a quarterback, complete with rich, brown hair and matching eye color. He was a realist too, and he guessed the two youngest boys—Milo and Jackie—would be popular.

That frightened Milo. “What makes you say that? I’m nothing special.” Maybe he wasn’t. He was scrawnier and fair-skinned, though his green eyes and dark, shaggy hair would probably draw a crowd. However, it was his age. He was sixteen.

“You’re jailbait on a boat that’ll be full of perverts,” Cole replied grimly.

Jackie bit his lip and turned to the wall, shivering in fear. Unlike Milo, Jackie was tall, blond, and blue-eyed. But he shared the same innocence, and he was only seventeen.

The door suddenly swung open, and all the guys whipped their heads around to see a voluptuous woman enter the cabin. Her presence was immense, and somehow she came off as more dangerous than the two men flanking her. Blood-red hair, matching her lipstick and long nails. A leather dress with a corset pushed her big breasts together. Yet, it was her eyes Gray got stuck on. Pale blue and shaped like almonds, like that Vanya guy. They had to be related.

She didn’t speak. Taking measured steps, she went from guy to guy to inspect them from head to toe and back up. Gray tensed his jaw as she paused in front of him. Her full lips twisted in amusement.

“Lower him to two hundred,” she murmured absently. “Maybe a shooter will want him.”

What the fuck did that mean?

She cocked her head. “My son has taken a liking to you. I don’t see it.” Vanya. Jesus Christ, they were mother and son. “You won’t be easy to handle.” With a dismissive wave, she continued to the next guy, and Gray let out a breath.

The word shooter went on repeat. It sure as hell didn’t sound like a good thing.

* * *

The entire day was a mindfuck. Absolutely nothing happened. They remained shackled to the wall in the empty cabin, and after Red had left with her security, no one else came in. They weren't fed. No bathroom visits. No nothing.

A few of the boys had slid down along the wall to sit on the floor. Every now and then, Cole or Gray would tell them to stand up in order to get the circulation back in their elevated hands. Gray stood stoically for the most part, just looking out one of the two small windows as the sun dipped lower and lower.

It was disappearing from the horizon when the engine started, causing a rush of nervousness to surge through the guys. Eyes more vigilant, muscles tensing up.

“Is this it?” Milo’s eyes welled up. “Are we gonna be slaves?”

No one answered.

They shared a heavy silence for another couple hours until they reached a marina. Or they guessed it was a marina. Those who were closest to the windows could spot a handful of boats, and more than that, land. It made sense they docked at the edge of the marina, though. Easier to escape if it came to that.

“I can see the dock,” Jackie said eagerly. “Can we scream for help?”

Gray doubted their voices would carry, but there was a way to test it out and stay somewhat safe. Fingers crossed. “We can ask if they’re gonna give us food,” he suggested. “If anyone out there hears us shouting, maybe we have a shot.”

“Wait till you see someone who doesn’t look like a guard,” Cole told Jackie. “Then we’ll try.”

“Okay.” Jackie nodded.

So they waited. Above them, they heard the clicking of heels and heavy footfalls of security. There was an air of anticipation that Gray feared. He hated not knowing how badly this was gonna go. The hell did he know of trafficking? Fucking squat. Should he expect people to die? How hurt was he gonna get? Was he gonna be taken to another country?

What was it going to take to make Gray agreeable to someone else? Nothing short of death and being permanently locked up in a dungeon would keep him in a place against his will.

That’s not entirely true.

He flinched at the memory of what Bob had done to him. No, Gray had a limit. It wasn’t just death that made him obey, and he hated himself for it.

“I only see those fucking guards.” Jackie sounded like he was as close to tears as he was to a fit of rage.

The waiting was getting to them. Exhaustion, malnourishment, and thirst played a part, and the combination was breaking them down. One boy started crying, begging for his mom and dad to come get him. I just want my mom, I just want my mom. No one was unaffected because everyone could relate, and none of them did anything for the same reason.

At some point, there was more commotion above them. The guys exchanged glances, and at least Gray could count on Cole for sharing similar thoughts. The buyers had arrived. Midnight had been mentioned, hadn’t it? Maybe that was the time they were set to arrive.

Faint sounds of laughter traveled below to their cabin. For shithead slave owners, this was a joyous occasion. It made Gray sick.

Only moments later, the yacht was moving again.

“There’s no one on the dock.” Jackie’s eyes shone with panic. “Do we scream anyway?”

What was the point?

Gray swallowed hard. Every rumble of the engine, every little turn out of the marina…every yard farther away from land was a stitch in sealing their fate.

It was another couple of hours before the door opened and Red appeared with two goons, one of them the guard with a scar. She snapped her fingers and pointed at Charlie.

“Him first.”

For reasons unknown to Gray, that was when he lost it. As Charlie began begging to be saved and swearing he’d do anything to go home, the fury in Gray was unleashed.

He turned his first glower at Red. “You fucking bitch, didn’t your parents teach you to pick on kids your own size?”

“Please don’t hurt me!” Charlie sobbed as a guard worked to unlock his restraints. “Please, please, please—nooo!”

“Hey! You steroid-pumped needle dick,” Gray snapped at Scarface. “You’ve been dying to have a go with me. Come at me, motherfucker.”

Red tittered a laugh, her voice too deep. “Don’t fall for this, Benny.”

Scarface—or Benny—was easily goaded, and he faced Gray with a dark grin that tugged at his scar. “You talk a lot, kid.”

“I understand if the words are too difficult for you,” Gray replied. “That’s what happens when family members procreate.” The mouth that had given him a lot of action on the ice in his years as a hockey player was about to give him a world of pain, but in this moment, he couldn’t find it in him to care. Right this second, he had nothing to lose. “Is Daddy also Gramps?”

Cole piped in with a taunting chuckle and smirked at Benny. “Is that it, dumbass? Are you one of those inbred sumbitches?”

Benny had already zeroed in on Gray, and as Red demanded her goon to stand his ground, he flew forward. Gray tensed up, and the last he heard was a cacophony of shouting and chains rustling. Then he inched back only to push forward and ram his forehead against Benny’s nose. The force was enough to send the guard flying back, and Cole was quick to kick Benny in the ribs. Jackie followed, then another kid, and Gray drew in a deep breath through his nose. Adrenaline pumped freely, making it easy to ignore the pain in his head.

“What the hell are you just standing there for, ya fat fuck?” Gray shouted at the other guard. “Don’t tell me they only hire slow mama’s boys around here—”

“That’s enough!” Red’s voice became startlingly shrill when she shrieked. Next, she revealed a thin handle in her hand that ejected and became a cane. A torture device.

Yet, Gray pushed it. Hysteria bubbled up, his pulse skyrocketed, and he spat at her as he struggled fruitlessly against his shackles. “You’re next, you ugly fucking hag. Don’t think for a second I would hesitate to get my hands around your neck and snuff you out like a motherfucking candle.”

The illusion of control and conviction belonged to him and the other boys for about ten seconds. It lifted their spirits and made them mentally stronger. Unfortunately, it made the fall more severe. Because when the cabin flooded with four other guards, everything came crashing down. Red whacked the silver cane squarely across Gray’s face, then three times rapidly along his back as he hunched over. The screaming and cursing were drowned out by henchmen who took pleasure in silencing the guys.

Sharp pain shot through Gray, and blood trickled from his split eyebrow.

Red took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of Gray’s hair. “This is why I lowered your price. Rebellious little fools are worthless.” Her painted claws dug into his jaw. “I think we’ll have to make an example out of you and offer you up as entertainment tonight.” With that said, she pushed him away and stalked out.

Benny was next in line. His nose was broken, if not crushed, and he grabbed Gray’s head before he slammed up his knee. Acting on instinct, Gray managed to tilt his face to save his nose, and the solid kneecap hit his cheek instead.

After that, he was a heap on the floor. More pain surged through him as he landed, effectively dislocating his shoulder because his hands were still fastened tightly to the wall.

His body screamed in protest, and he screwed his eyes shut so he didn’t see when they dragged Charlie out of the cabin.

I’m sorry.

* * *

They were saving Gray for last.

With each guy they hauled out of the room, he grew more despondent and withdrawn. He’d managed to get on his feet again, but he could barely move without an explosion of hurt unfurling inside him. So he stood silent, face impassive and smeared with blood, eyes unseeing, as another guy was up.

The worst part was when they screamed wherever they were. Gray guessed a deck or two above him.

Were they getting raped yet?

He knew it was coming.

He stiffened as the door opened once more, and this time, it was Cole’s turn. His features were set; he’d braced himself for whatever was to come. Or so Gray hoped. He couldn’t imagine any of them had a clue what they were in for.

Least of all Gray. Were they gonna kill him? He’d watched enough movies to know what “make an example of someone” usually meant.

Milo was next, and he looked pleadingly at Gray. “Please do something,” he whimpered. “I’ve never—I can’t—please, Gray. P-please!”

Gray clenched his jaw and said nothing, because what the fuck could he do? The door was shut, leaving him alone. He listened. He couldn’t not listen. Compelled and beating himself up, he strained his ears to hear every torturous plea.

It was quiet for some time, and then…then the screaming began. It mingled with muffled sobs and sharp, choking sounds. And low rumbles of laughter. There was even applause. Gray’s stomach revolted and tightened. Nausea crept higher and higher. Milo was being abused, and low-life perverts found that funny.

The world became a dark place for Gray. Hope had dwindled enough that he couldn’t see it anymore. He lost faith in humanity and sent a glance skyward as his eyes welled up. Mom, I love you. Gage, Gideon, Gabriel, Aiden, Isla, the little niece or nephew I never got to meet…I love you, and I’m sorry.

When the door was opened a final time, Gray was resigned. Benny stood there with sinister glee in his eyes, and of course, the brute wanted his fun, too. Gray accepted two fists to his face before he fell back against the wall, pain spreading like wildfire. Memories from better times that had been rolling past slowly gained speed as if he somehow knew time was running out.

Two men had to support Gray’s weight on the way out of the cabin. His head hung, flickers of memories battling against fatigue and hurt. He couldn’t see where they were going, and when they encountered a set of stairs, he stumbled and lurched. He focused on the faces of his family. Mostly, Mom and his three brothers. The recent additions were his stepdad—Aiden—his daughter Isla, and Isla’s fiancé, Jack. Gray loved the expansion of their family. The day he’d learned Isla was pregnant, he’d been so fucking thrilled. Now he’d never get to spoil his niece or nephew.

Something warm trickled down his face. He didn’t know if it was blood or tears. Maybe a combination of both.

Gray was shoved into a large room, and the first glance with blurry vision made it look empty. Then he blinked and noticed there were booths along the far wall. The lighting was poor and focused on the middle, shadows cast everywhere. And he didn’t care anymore. He gave up registering things.

“Your toy, sir,” Benny said gruffly.

Vanya approached from the sidelines with a playful little smile, and the meatheads dropped Gray in the middle of the floor. He swallowed hard, his bleary gaze getting stuck on spots of red on the gray carpet. Once he saw a couple splatters, he noticed more. They were all over the center of the floor. Blood, then blotches of darker gray—maybe tears, sweat. Semen. The room reeked of it. A long silk robe came into view, the red fabric dancing around Vanya’s feet. He squatted next to Gray and patted his head.

“There, there.” Vanya’s voice was still angelic and impossibly sweet. “Maybe we’ll get to play more in another life. Mother said you’re a bit of a moron.”

Jesus, he was deranged.

Red sauntered closer, her thin metal cane ready to be used if needed. She didn’t treat Gray as gently. Fisting his hair, she yanked him up on his knees, to which he hissed through clenched teeth.

They faced the darkened booths.

“Dear guests,” Red purred, “I value my customers more than anything, and I would never lie to you.” She slid the cane under Gray’s chin, lifting it slightly. “This young man is more trouble than he’s worth. Should you make a bid, you need to know you’ll be getting a mouthy, rebellious hellion.” With a sharp rap of the cane against his stomach, she ordered Gray to stand up.

He did so on wobbly legs. He’d reached his limit for torture for the moment and didn’t want another bruise to his name.

“If there are no buyers on this animal,” Red continued, “I’ll offer him up as a treat for anyone and everyone—provided that you don’t take him to your staterooms. He’ll be available here in the central den throughout our journey.” She paused. “Now. Let’s see if there are any takers first. Starting at two hundred thousand, this wild boy could be yours. He’s got gorgeous skin that scars nicely, doesn’t he?” She shifted the cane along Gray’s torso, and he swallowed against the vomit that rose. “As you can see on the menu, he is twenty-one years old and built for hot, sadistic grapples. He’s six feet tall, weighs in at one hundred and eighty-nine pounds, and has the temper of an Irishman. If you keep him chained, he could bring you immense pleasure for years.”

Gray steadied his breathing. Aside from a few barely there sounds of rustling and a throat clearing here and there, he wouldn’t know there were people sitting in the booths.

“Lovely abs…” The whisper came from Vanya. Gray had almost forgotten him. Then the psycho kid from hell was tracing the muscles on his lower stomach. “My last toy called them come gutters.” He giggled in delight.

Gray shuddered.

Someone coughed. “Two hundred.” That someone was British and had a meek voice.

“Ah, we have a bidder.” Red sounded both surprised and pleased. “Two hundred—”

“Two-fifty.”

Gray swung his tired gaze to the corner, the first booth there, and tried to see who it was. That man’s voice was like low thunder doused in whiskey.

“Two hundred and seventy-five,” the Brit said impatiently.

“Three hundred.”

“Well, well,” Red purred. “Three hundred for the handsome Mr. B.”

The British man got irritated. “Three hundred and twenty.”

“Three-fifty.”

Silence.

Red ordered Gray to kneel again, and he merely dropped.

There was an insufferable huff coming from the booth where Gray believed the British man sat, but nothing else.

Gray didn’t know what to think. This was his life. His freedom. Yet, two men were bidding on it. It was incomprehensible.

“Going once,” Red said in a teasing tone. After a pause, it was made clear. “Mr. B, the heathen is yours. We hope to enjoy your show.”

Oh fuck. Gray connected the dots. The auction was through, and once his life was no longer his own… It’d happened to the other guys. Eventually, he’d heard most of them scream in terror and agony.

A large man stepped out of the shadows in a swirl of his own cigarette smoke. Gray’s eyes flicked between his briefcase, bespoke suit, and cut jaw. The rest was hazy. He couldn’t focus. A headache was beginning to pull him under, and it was gonna be a big one. Mr. B didn’t speak. Under the low light, his brown hair took on a lighter shade.

A stool appeared, delivered by a goon who quickly backed off. The man who now supposedly owned Gray set his briefcase on the stool and flicked open the lid.

Red and Vanya backed away, too.

Gray had lost all his strength. He remained kneeling on the floor and averted his gaze. This was it.

Mr. B approached and stood before a defeated Gray. There was a grip on his jaw, and Gray was forced to look up. His double vision prevented him from registering anything other than a set of hazel eyes brimming with severity and determination. He swallowed weakly as the man dipped and leaned in close. There was a whisper in Gray’s ear.

“Forgive me.”

A heartbeat later, Gray took a hard blow to the temple that shot his head sideways and knocked him out.