My life has finally turned around. Things are looking up. Coming to New York has always been a dream for me, and now here I am, on a photo shoot for my upcoming film no less. And this time, it isn’t for some shit role, or a porn flick being shot in the back of a dank warehouse where I would be freezing to death because the director wanted my nipples to constantly stick out. No, I’m here because of the major new contract I recently landed for the film Turned. I plan on working my ass off to prove to the world that Midnight Drake has what it takes to be taken seriously as an actor.

Gazing out the window of my hotel room, the New York City skyline is even more stunning than I’d imagined. LA is great and I love it there, but nothing beats the Empire State Building. I don’t care what anyone says. My phone rings, interrupting my musing.

“Hello?”

“Midnight, it’s Dex McCloud. Just wanted to let you know we’re all meeting downstairs in five minutes.”

Dex is the photographer. “Oh, thanks. I’m on my way.”

We’re meeting in the lobby to take some promo shots for the film. It’ll be the lead male actor, the producer, and me. I’ve never been this pumped up about anything in my whole life.

Grabbing my coat, purse, and a handful of gummy bears, I head for the elevators. The last thing I want is to be late. We’re supposed to meet by the huge floral arrangement and I’m the first one here. Points for Midnight. Glancing around, I notice lots of business types hurrying by, but then there are tons of elegantly dressed people meandering around. It makes me feel slightly out of place, and even happier that I wore the outfit I chose. The conservative black pants and black sweater are perfect for where we are.

The only thing that stands out is my red lipstick. It’s sort of my trademark. I feel naked without it. Maybe it goes back to when I was young and remember my mom always wearing it.

Shoving those memories aside, I scan the room.

A man approaches me with a warm smile. He has a camera strapped around his neck, but I’m still wary. You never know with the paparazzi these days.

“Hi, I’m Dex McCloud,” he says, extending his hand. I offer my own smile and take his hand, shaking it.

“Hi, Midnight Drake.”

“Yeah, I recognized you.” His friendly tone puts me even more at ease. “Glad you’re here. I usually have to wait on everyone.”

“Ah, I hate to be late. Is Danny here?” I ask. He’s the producer.

“He should be. And so should Holt.” He checks his watch, then looks back at me.

“How long do you expect this to take?”

“Not long at all. I thought we’d go across to Central Park. I usually can get what I need in about thirty minutes. And the lighting is perfect for outdoor shots today.”

“Sounds great,” I say.

He eyes me for a moment. “You’re a lot smaller in person than on camera.”

“Oh.” I don’t quite know how to respond to that. Does he mean I look fat on screen?

Then he shuffles his feet and adds, “What I meant is on screen you look a lot taller. You’re actually quite petite.”

“Yeah, I always wanted to be five ten, but only made it to five four. It’s why I usually wear heels, which I didn’t today.” I sigh. “I had these illusions of becoming a famous model when I was a kid and you can see how well that worked out for me.” A weird laugh bubbles past my lips. I ended up doing B-rated movies after porn, which isn’t exactly modeling’s first cousin. I leave that tiny detail out though, because no one is aware of the porn bit. Having my nose slightly altered, ditching my brown contacts along with the bleached hair helped to alter my appearance, so no one realizes I was the former Lusty Rhoades.

“I think the modeling industry is crazy. You’re beautiful and would make a perfect model. They want their models to look emaciated. Consider yourself fortunate.”

Raising my eyes to his, I inhale the breath of fresh air that he is. “Wow. You have a very unique opinion, you know that?”

“I spend a ton of time behind the lens and recognize what true beauty is. Those poor scarecrows are not beautiful. They’re pitiful. Anyway, congrats on your upcoming movie.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m super excited about it.”

Holt and Danny stroll up and our sweet conversation halts. “Hey, kids,” Danny says. “Thanks for flying out here, Midnight. We were on such a tight schedule with Holt’s last film, there was no way we could squeeze in a flight back to LA.”

“No problem,” I say. Holt zeroes his icy stare on me. He despises the fact I’m in the film. He wanted someone famous who could guarantee a box office hit, but he ended up with a girl who is almost unknown. His disdainful glare has me feeling like I’m a virus.

I sort of don’t blame him. He’s the sexy, hottest man of the year. He reigns as king when it comes to leading men. When I secretly inspect him, it’s easy to see why. Brown hair kissed by the sun, eyes so green they look like gems, perfect teeth and a mouth to match. The man is pure sin on two legs. And he ends up with a nobody for a costar. Nope, it’s hard to blame him one bit. But I’m going to win him over, little by little, even if I have to buy him a fucking puppy.

“Everybody ready to take a little walk?” Dex asks.

“Why the fuck not?” Holt says sourly.

Danny shoots him a glance but says nothing.

“Sure,” I chirp. “Let’s go.”

We exit the hotel out the main entrance. The Plaza is gorgeous. I’ve never stayed anywhere this fancy. We follow Dex across the street into the park. True to his word, he’s finished in thirty minutes. We return to the hotel and Dex wants to get some shots of us drinking coffee in the restaurant.

Holt grumbles and then says, “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why don’t you make it tea? Don’t they serve tea here? Maybe add a biscuit or something.”

Dex looks extremely uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ward, but if I don’t get enough shots, everyone will want to bring you back together. It’s best we get everything now while we’re here.”

An impossibly long sigh roars out of him. Jeez, you’d think Dex was asking him to pull his fingernails out, one by one, with the way he’s acting.

Smiling, I say, “I’m fine with whatever you decide, Dex.” I decide to be the one to make his job less difficult.

“Go on there, Little Miss Sexpot, score some brownie points while you can.”

What the fuck! I totally expect Danny to step up and say something, but he’s such a wimp, he acts like he didn’t hear a thing. Well, I won’t stand for that. I’ve had enough of Holt’s surly act.

“Holt, I’m sorry you don’t like the fact I was cast in this role, but that does not give you the right to insult me.”

A nasty grin curls his lip. He lowers his eyes and they skim over my body. I instantly feel dirty.

“Is that right?” Then he takes a step toward me and invades my personal space. He leans in close and whispers so that only I can hear him. “What I’d like to know is how someone like you got cast in a film with me. What did you do, Midnight? Did you put that hot mouth of yours around Danny’s dick and do him a few dirty favors?”

A red ball of fury nearly blinds me. I’m not sure how to respond to this asshole without sinking to his level. I do know one thing: I haven’t encountered someone this vicious in a long time. It takes me back to a time I can barely force myself to think about.

Shaking myself out of that memory, I grit out, “Step away from me, Holt.” When he doesn’t, I walk away, toward Dex, and ask him where he needs me.

“Why don’t we get a table at the restaurant,” he suggests.

On the way, I question how I am going to tolerate working closely with Holt for the duration of the film. The man is revolting.

Once seated, the three of us smile as if we’re the happiest people around. I cover up my dislike for Holt by pretending I’m in a happy place. But I notice the steely glint in his green eyes, the disdain imprinted on his expression. The curl of his lip that I used to think was sexy I now only see as cruel. Dex is quick, and soon, the session is wrapped.

Danny, who finally takes his eyes off his phone, asks, “So, what are you two up to tonight?”

Holt mutters something about meeting friends. I hardly pay attention. My mission is to stay as far away from him as possible.

“Midnight? What about you? You interested in grabbing a bite to eat?”

“Sure. What time?”

“I’m all about early. Is six okay?” he asks.

When I check the time, I see it’s already five thirty. “That’s fine. I’ll meet you back down here then. Do we need a reservation?”

“No. There’s a great place right around the corner.”

Dinner with Danny turns out to be great. One on one, he’s very outgoing and friendly. I decide to take a chance and ask about Holt.

“It seems Holt isn’t very excited about my role in the film.”

Danny nods. “He wanted his main squeeze. That’s how Holt is. Every time he makes a film, he pushes for his girl of the moment to be cast as the lead female actor. I keep telling him his women don’t have any experience.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but what made you choose me?” My curiosity is killing me.

“I don’t mind telling you at all. Your presence on-screen is unreal. When we looked at your screen tests, we were blown away. And you were the perfect fit for Christine. Your hair, your eyes, your stature. You were born for the role. Don’t worry about Holt. He does this to everyone he works with—tries to intimidate them. Don’t let him. Ignore him. He’ll get over it as soon as he works with you a couple of days and catches your emotion on the set.”

“That’s comforting, but he makes me want to punch his face.”

Danny takes a sip of his bourbon. “Yeah, I get that from all the women who work with him at first. He’s an asshole. What can I say? But wait until you watch the finished product. You’ll be raving about him then. Especially when you see your bank account.”

“Good to know.” Admittedly, Danny’s calmed me down about Holt. We finish dinner and he invites me to go for a drink. I’m more than a little leery about this.

“Midnight, I’m not into sleeping with my actors, if that’s what’s holding you back. I don’t believe in that shit. It spoils a good working relationship.”

“I did hear that about you.” I checked him out before I agreed to take this role. After you’ve worked in the porn industry, you think everyone’s out for one thing.

“So?”

“Sure, why not?”

We hop into a taxi and go to a really cool club. Danny grew up in Manhattan so I’m comfortable with him leading the way. We dance, have a couple more drinks, and I excuse myself to use the restroom.

When I return, I can’t find Danny. Then I spy him out on the dance floor with someone. I’m alone at the bar when a nice-looking guy approaches and asks me to dance. We weave our way through the throng and claim a piece of the real estate. He’s not bad, but I know how to move. I used to imitate my mom, who was a stripper, so my exotic-dancer skills are pretty damn good.

Not wanting him to get the wrong impression of me, I tone it down and move like everyone else does, swaying my hips to the beat.

A few songs later, we walk back to the bar and he leaves. Danny returns with his new friend and introduces us. She recognizes my name from some TV work I did. She gets excited and we chat. Then he leans in and asks if I mind taking a taxi back to the hotel alone. I’m cool with that. I guess he got himself a hookup for the night.

The guy I danced with, who says his name is John, returns.

“How about I buy you a drink?”

One more can’t hurt. I’m only slightly buzzed. “Sure, why not?”

“So, what’s your poison?”

“I’ll have a vodka tonic with extra lime.” I figure after this one, I’ll have the guy out front grab me a cab. As I wait for my drink, I take in the scenery. John hands me the glass and I sip the tasty concoction. We chat a bit, but then halfway through, I’m not feeling so hot. The room tilts and I get dizzier by the second. I begin to sweat and feel sick.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks.

“No. I think I need to leave.” But I’m not sure I can make it to the door.

He takes my arm and says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He quickly ushers me outside as I slur the words, “The Plaza,” and my mind goes blank after that.

The next thing I know, I wake up—sort of. I’m on a bed, and everything is fuzzy. When I try to get up, I can’t move. My limbs are weighed down, as if I’m stuck in concrete. I hear voices, only my brain is so foggy I can’t tell what they’re saying or who is speaking. What the hell is going on? Focus, Midnight. Focus.

Blinking to clear my vision makes things worse. The room spins, so I keep my eyes closed. Maybe waiting will help. The mattress depresses next to me—someone climbs on the bed. Am I back in Phoenix? What’s going on?

“She’s waking up.” It’s a man’s voice, but whose? Is it the guy from the bar? I swallow and my throat burns.

“Good. Now we can move to stage two. This is getting old.”

What’s getting old? I want to talk, to ask questions, but my mouth won’t work.

“I’m freezing. Can I get dressed?” A woman is talking now.

“No, you can’t get dressed. You still have work to do.” Another man speaks, a different one this time. His voice sounds deeper and harsher than the other one’s. I open my eyes again and the blurred images are a bit more distinct. My mouth and throat are dry, so dry. I lick my lips and they see it.

One of them slaps my cheek. “Hey, wake up. You need to get in the game, lover girl.”

“Get her some water,” someone says.

The bed moves and then I feel a bottle pressed against my mouth. I drink greedily.

“Slow down, Nelly, or you’ll throw it all up.”

He’s right. I’m suddenly sick to my stomach as it churns with the unwelcome liquid. It soon passes and I ask for more. This time I sip.

I open my eyes again but someone blindfolds me. “What’s going on? Where am I?” My voice is hoarse and I can barely speak.

“No questions. You only get to play.”

“Play? John, is that you?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “Start the camera again.”

Oh, fuck. As the hazy edges of my brain fade, things begin to click. Someone shoves something cold between my legs. I try to close them, but I can’t because my ankles are attached to something that won’t allow it. I’m so exposed and it brings back terrible memories from long ago.

“No, please don’t,” I beg.

“Gag her.”

Something is shoved in my mouth and there’s no way I can scream for help now. The scene progresses and I’m lost in a sea of hopelessness and terror. But then something stings my arm. Did they just drug me? When the rush hits, I have my answer. What the hell did they give me?

Then I’m instantly aware, floating on a cushion of tranquility, but I don’t really care. They remove the gag and do all sorts of things to me. It’s three-on-one and more sex than even I’ve experienced. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s wrong, but this feels so damn good. I hear myself telling them, “More, more. Harder, yessss.” Even in my drugged state, the questions are in bold italics. Who is doing this? Who are these people? And why? What do they want? And though it’s horrific, I don’t really give a fuck. All I want is for it to keep going.

“Ahhh, yesss, don’t stop,” I say. I whimper when something ends, but am happy when they start something else. Every part of my body is attended to and I hear one of them say, “We need to get her to do this again.” I’m in the throes of an orgasm so I can’t answer him.

The drugs make me lose track of time. I float above an abyss, emotionless and uncaring that people are raping me on video. My mind is present, but not. All I feel is a sense of being cradled in a cozy blanket and someone rocking me. No hallucinations, no magic, I just am. And it’s the most wonderful sensation I’ve ever had.

I’m not even sure when all the sex ends because I’m high and don’t really give a shit. The high is smooth, magnificent. All I want is for it to go on and on. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Reality gut punches me so hard. When I figure out that I’m free of my bonds, I take off my blindfold and crumble into a heaping pile of ragged tears.

I’m weak, shaking, and lying on a bed next to a pile of sex paraphernalia. They are not your normal, everyday toys. I never even used some of this stuff in the porn industry. A spreader bar, which was why I couldn’t move my ankles, butt plug, nipple clamps, ball gag—everything imaginable. Fuck, there’s even a flogger. Did they whip me? When I try to move, my limbs are so fucking sore, I can barely budge.

And then to my utter horror, my phone sits next to me. It can’t be. But it is. On top of it sits a sticky note with two words: Have fun, followed with a smiley face. Grabbing my phone, the first thing I notice when I pick it up is a text message.

I don’t waste time reading it as panic explodes in my chest. My eyes dart about the room erratically, in search of my clothing. Initially, I can’t find my pants or sweater, but then I see them peeking from underneath the duvet heaped on the floor. Feeling like a drunken crab by the way my sluggish arms and legs move, I grope my way off the bed. My cute black sweater is torn in places, but my pants are okay. Luckily my coat will hide the damaged sweater.

I quickly dress and then check the room for some indication of where I am. It’s a hotel in Midtown, not far from the club I went to with Danny.

Without a backward glance, I’m out of the room in search of the closest exit. It leads to a stairwell, which I’m leery of, but I rush to get out of here. I’m on the second floor, and I stumble down the steps and out of the hotel where I hail a cab back to The Plaza.

Once I’m safe in my room, I look at my phone. When I open the text message, bile rushes up my throat. It contains three video attachments. I hit the play button on the first one and throw up before I can finish watching. They recorded everything. I shake so badly, my finger can’t hit the play button to resume watching. My heart fills with dread as I realize my career is ruined.

I place a call to my agent, Rita Clayton, because I don’t know what else to do. Calling Danny isn’t an option. What would I tell him? That I have three nice videos to show him? He’d fire me on the spot. When word gets out, my short-lived career with Alta is history.

“Hey, Midnight, what’s going on?” my agent asks.

I can’t even talk because I’m sobbing and hyperventilating.

“What’s happening? You have to stop crying so I can understand you.” Instead, my shaking hands send her the first video.

“I ... I was drugged and w-woke up in a hotel room.”

She’s quiet for a minute. “What do you mean?”

“I ... I just sent you a video.” I try to explain the rest, only I’m sobbing too hard to go on.

“Oh, shit. Hang on.” She’s quiet but finally says, “This is twenty minutes long.”

“Rita, th-there are three of them.”

“Where are you now?”

A giant sob bursts out of me. “Back at The Plaza.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No! I ran. I was afraid whoever did this would come back.”

“Hang on. I know someone who can help. I’ll call you right back.”

I’m pacing when my phone rings. Rita says, “Someone will be there to clean up this mess.”

“Who?”

“Someone who’s going to help fix this shit, Midnight. Just hang tight.”