Baldy’s palm struck me across the cheek, bringing tears instantly to my eyes. I refused to let them fall, though.

Instead, I just looked straight up at Isiah’s henchman. “Fuck. You.”

A devious grin came across his face, and he leaned over the bed, his hand going to my throat. I grabbed his wrist, trying to tear it away as he squeezed and squeezed a little tighter with each second, cutting off my air supply. I gasped, trying to suck in more oxygen as my body battled against him, fighting back, kicking and scratching but not making him give up anything.

“Kero, cut it out, man. Isiah wants her as unharmed as possible,” Henchman Two ordered as he leaned against the wall.

Kero grinned widely before letting me go and sitting back.

I coughed, rolling onto my side on the bed, trying not to vomit as I struggled to breathe, dry-retching over and over again.

“You’re lucky, Meyah,” Isiah announced, stepping into the room while I was still vulnerable. I didn’t like it. I wanted to put my back against a wall so I knew I had at least a fighting chance of protecting myself. But I was still struggling to breathe. “I’ve got someone interested before I’ve even gotten around to putting your pictures up.”

The bed dipped beside me, and a hand grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking it back uncomfortably and forcing me to look up at him.

“Be a good little bitch and smile when he comes in,” he ordered. “Nobody wants a moody little cunt, that’s far more work than needed.”

He climbed off the bed, his hand still in my hair, and pulled.

I screamed, trying to grab the sheets but not able to get a hold of anything as I was pulled off the edge of the bed and down on to the hard wooden floors, pain vibrating through my hip and thigh as I landed directly on it. My hands pulled at his wrists where he held my hair as he dragged me from this bedroom, down the hall, and into some kind of separate living area.

Tears streaked down my face as I was pulled past room after room, catching flashes of half-naked girls, men in business suits, and guys with guns.

The pain was excruciating.

I felt like my hair was being torn out strand by strand from my head.

But I also didn’t want him to think he was winning, I didn’t want him to think I would even lay down and play a good little girl, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let some buyer think that.

I was going to raise hell, make it appear I was uncontrollable, that I wouldn’t be silenced, and that I would be too much trouble.

I needed time.

Because I’d been knocked out for so long—I had no idea what day it was, whether it was morning or night, or even where the hell I was.

I knew Ham would be looking for me. That my uncle wouldn’t rest until he found me. And that Ripley was going to lose his shit when he found out what they’d done to Huntsman.

My body slammed into the back of a sofa, and the tension on my hair was released.

“Get her up, have her looking pretty for when he comes in,” Isiah ordered.

Another man grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet and dragging me toward a sofa that looked like it was straight out of the Queen’s palace. The floral pattern was pretty, the shape of it more like a bed you would see in a shrink’s office for people to lay on.

He pushed me down onto it. “Try and look pretty.” My whole body screamed in protest. It wanted to rest. It wanted to just roll over and sleep. I couldn’t keep fighting them because they were stronger, and I was running low on energy.

I was going to have to do something. Something that would stall them. Maybe something which would make them lock me back up when the buy said no.

The buyer wants her as unharmed as possible.

I was already cringing at the thought of the pain, but if I could get him to hurt me, bruise me, split my lip or something, then maybe the buyer wouldn’t want me. Perhaps that would give the club more time.

Isiah walked over to the edge of the room where there was a small wet bar and poured himself a drink.

“Did your mom leave you on a street corner when you were a baby or something?” I asked loudly. The men who were standing on either side of me were ready to grab me if I ran stood a little taller, their eyes widening. “Because you have some serious control issues with women.”

Isiah chuckled softly as he continued to pour his drink.

Whiskey.

No rocks.

“My mother was actually a wonderful woman,” he responded, turning around to face me. “And this isn’t about control, it’s about respect. I’m a busy man. Why shouldn’t I know I’m coming home to a clean house, dinner cooked, and a pussy to fuck raw at the end of the day?”

My body tingled with anger. “And that’s what your mom was? A maid, a cook, and a piece of ass?”

Isiah’s eyes flashed, and I knew I’d hit a sore point. He walked toward me, swirling his drink in his glass.

How much fucking alcohol did this guy consume?

Constantly needing to have a drink in his hand.

Maybe it was a nervous thing. Did men like Isiah get nervous?

Or maybe it was just so he felt fucking fancy as he sold women off like he was an auctioneer at the county fair.

“My mother respected my father,” Isiah affirmed through tight lips as he came forward.

“No, your mother was a weak-ass bitch,” I countered.

The glass half full of whiskey went flying across the room, smashing against a large, expensive looking painting. Everything came crashing to the ground. My heart started to race, but I didn’t let it faze me. I was going to have to deal with a little pain if I was going to get out of this one. Which meant making this man angry as hell.

“I hit that weak point? You still think your mom was this amazing woman when she was just too weak to stand up for herself. She wasn’t an amazing woman. Keep telling yourself that if you want to sleep at night, but just know that the reality is she was a slave. She was someone’s bitch.”

He walked toward me, and my mouth kept running even when I saw him pull back his fist.

“She was your asshole father’s little bitch, and the only reason she looked after you, was because if she didn’t, he would beat her into next we—”

His fist hit me in the side of the face, throwing me off the fancy sofa and onto the wooden floors again. My ear was ringing. I couldn’t hear anything or get my bearings, and it instantly felt like my cheek was two times the size it should have been.

Hands grabbed my arms, lifting me back on the sofa.

I shook my head, trying to get the ringing out. Attempting to open my eyes through the pain, the room was blurry and rolling.

I grabbed the side of the sofa to help keep me steady while Isiah pulled over a glass top coffee table and sat on the edge of it. His eyes were dark like his pupils were fully dilated.

Was he on some kind of drugs?

Or did he just get off on causing others pain?

I always thought men like Isiah were too proud to sink to the level of the people who they sold shit to. They always needed to feel like they were better than other people. But this guy was fucking crazy. He was either on something heavy, or he had some serious mental issues with the way he viewed women.

The club cherished their women, even the club girls were always treated with respect and were never forced to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable with.

They had a choice.

The women he brought here didn’t have a choice.

They were broken down, day by day, beating by beating, until they had no will left.

“You’re worthless, you know,” he murmured, studying me as I tried to gather my wits. “Just like your mother. Stupid. With these big fucking dreams. Maybe I should turn down the buyer and just give you to my men like I did with her. Then you two will have something to bond over.”

“I hope you rot in hell,” I growled, my skin prickling at his words, reminding me of what he put her through, and how he was responsible for the woman she’d become. How he took away her beauty and her soul.

I wouldn’t let him do that to me.

Or any other fucking man.

I had one who loved me, who wanted me to succeed, who would always stand behind me and support me no matter what. Ham would never break me down. Never treat me like a piece of ass who wasn’t worthy.

I needed to get back to him.

I needed this to end.

“Maybe my men will have just as much fun, or maybe even more. No doubt the whore runs in your veins.”

I threw my body forward, slamming into him with every ounce of energy left inside me. My momentum pushed him onto his back, and with the weight of us both, the glass table shattered into pieces beneath us.

I wouldn’t let him speak like that of her.

She wasn’t a whore.

She would have seen through Isiah. She was far too smart to think a man like him could be anything more than deadly.

Whether she really cared for Huntsman or not, I wasn’t sure. But what I did know was that he got her out.

The both of us hit the ground with a thud, in a pile of fucking broken glass. I rolled to the side, across the shards, groaning in pain.

“You stupid little whore,” Isiah screamed as two men helped him up off the floor. He shook, whether in rage or shock, I wasn’t quite sure, but there was a deep gash across his palm, blood already streaming down his arm and a couple little cuts across his face. If he had any more injuries, I couldn’t see them, and he seemed to be standing pretty well, even with blood dripping continuously onto the carpet.

I instantly knew I was in trouble, though.

Deep fucking trouble.

I’d let my anger and need to protect my mom’s name get the better of me and hadn’t thought about what I was doing. A blinding pain in my leg alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t exactly got away scot-free. And that I should probably have thought twice about throwing myself at this fucking psychopath into a glass table. Because there was now a four-inch gash in the side of my thigh, and the blood was already beginning to come to the surface and drip over the sides.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Romeo’s voice boomed through the room, stalling the crazy for a moment, and in that second, I thought everything was going to be fine.

I was going to get out of here.

Isiah was going to get what he deserved.

That’s what I thought.

“My buyer said he wanted her uninjured.”

I thought wrong.