Chapter Two
I MAY HAVE only been worth fifty dollars a hole, but they were spending a lot more than that on this party. I was taken in through the freight elevator, as if I was a piece of furniture instead of a person. The man in the suit escorted me the entire way, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of my arm. I wasn’t sure I could have walked without his support. I’d never worn four-inch heels before.
They had tossed me a bag full of used makeup after they’d shoved me into the car. My hand had shaken as I’d used the stubby eyeliner in the cracked mirror, making myself pretty so that they could enjoy hurting me more.
By the time we got to the door of the suite, I was sore and hungry—and mad.
The man who opened the door looked about the same age as my father. He wore the same kind of suit, though his was rumpled now, his shirt loosened at the neck. He even had the same gray around the temples.
But he didn’t look at me with benign affection. He didn’t look at me with bemusement, the way my dad sometimes did when he came back from a late-night card game, like he couldn’t figure out who I was and how I’d ended up in his house.
No, this man looked at my body with pure lust.
“Entertainment’s here, boys,” he shouted behind him, not taking his eyes off my cleavage.
A cheer went up from a group of men I couldn’t see. Then I was stumbling forward, pushed there by the man who had brought me. I expected him to follow me inside, to make sure that I complied. Instead he left, shutting the door behind him.
“Please,” I whispered to the man who’d opened the door. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
There was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. A flare of hope in my chest.
“They made me come,” I said urgently, knowing I only had minutes, seconds. I could already hear the sounds of the group moving, converging on me like pack animals.
And I was prey.
“Bring her to the bedroom,” one of them called.
“My parents—those men. They’ve been holding me. They brought me here.”
One of the other men appeared, this one younger, closer to my age. Like the sons of my father’s work friends. “What’s the holdup?”
The older man frowned. “I don’t know. She said there’s been a mistake.”
A mistake. Yes, that was what we were calling kidnapping these days. A sob caught in my throat. “Please.”
The younger man smiled at me, cold and cruel. “You’re pretty enough. I say there’s no mistake.” Other men crowded behind him, all in rumpled suits, all reeking of alcohol, lust like a fire in their eyes. “Let’s show her how we do things, boys.”
“No, wait—” My words were swept away by their shouts of appreciation, by their dark promises of what they’d do to me. Firm hands propelled me toward a bedroom. As I was pushed along, I glimpsed another girl surrounded by at least five men. We were outnumbered.
The bedroom was almost impossibly large, the bed like an island.
A hard shove and I landed face-first on the soft satin bedspread, ankle twisting out of the high-heeled shoe. A cry of pain and shock and humiliation tore from my throat.
The younger man pressed his hands on my shoulder, keeping me from getting up, and leaned down by my ear. “That’s the idea. You’re getting it now.”
Rage was the first feeling that formed inside me, pure and hard as a diamond. Toward the men who held me down. Toward my father who had put me in this position. And even toward my nameless, faceless birth parents who had given up on me before they’d even known me.
Anger and helplessness collided inside me, turning me into a weapon.
I slammed my elbow back and connected with flesh. It was hard with muscle, but my bone and my desperation were even harder. He grunted and loosened his grip. I sucked in sweet air and whipped around.
Then I realized my mistake.
The pack had been circling before. Now that I’d struck them first, they smelled blood.
And they pounced.
This was when I learned what it was like to be prey, an antelope torn apart limb from limb. This was when I learned how it felt to bleed. To die.
Let them, let them…
I knew the best thing was for me to let them touch me, that it would go easiest for me that way. I also knew why the antelope fought anyway, kicking and biting in a desperate bid for life.
I knew that I should let my mind float away so I couldn’t feel anything.
But I was grounded in this moment, feeling every bruise and cut, every tear.
The door opened.
My frantic, wide-eyed gaze caught sight of a beautiful blonde woman standing in the doorway. For a split second I felt hope. Maybe she would help me. Maybe she would save me. Then the moment passed, and I realized I was alone. The man who’d opened the door hadn’t helped me. The men who’d held me captive in that bathroom hadn’t helped me.
“Hello, gentlemen,” said a smooth, sultry voice. “I see you’ve started the party without me.”
Immediately, a few of the hands holding me down eased up. The men were distracted by her.
Some of them.
Some were still focused on me, the downed prey. I fought harder, blurring my vision.
“There’s always room for one more girl,” a man said.
“Always, honey,” she replied, crossing the room to us, “but not before the big show.”
The man holding my wrists looked up. “The show?”
“Didn’t you know about that? I wouldn’t want you to be late.” Then I felt something—more hands on my body where I didn’t want them. These weren’t the cruel hands of the men, though. This was the soft stroke of a woman, the bite of a manicured nail. She ran her finger up the middle of my body.
I froze, barely breathing. The whole room seemed to stop moving, the men enraptured with her. Not before the big show. What show?
Then she kissed me, her lips soft against mine.
And suddenly, my hands weren’t held down anymore. The weight on my legs eased up. They let me go.
She pulled back, a pout on her beautiful face. “We had it all planned out. Practiced it just to show you.”
I could have believed that the men who’d brought me here hadn’t told me about some show. They hadn’t told me anything. But for her to say we’d practiced—it was a lie. She was lying to them. She was distracting them. She’s helping me.
She gave a little shrug. “But I guess if you’ve already started, we don’t have to do it. We can just get it over with, if you want.”
My heart dropped. No.
But the men were getting up already. They were leaving the room, heading for the living room.
They were listening to her.
Somehow she had them under her spell. It might have been her amazing body or her beautiful face. More likely it was the sensual confidence she exuded. I could never match that.
And I needed to get the hell out of here while their attention was off me.
The last man left the room, and we were alone, just me and this woman. I grabbed my torn dress and shoved it on with trembling hands. “Who the hell are you?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Your fairy godmother. Who do you think?”
Her sarcasm was like a knife, and my skin was already ripped to shreds. The whole world was too sharp, and I made myself sharp in return—it was the only way to survive. “I think you’re just a dirty prostitute. Like the other girl out there.”
And that was all I was now. I could see from her sad expression that she understood. “Look, hon. It won’t be that bad. I’ll take the rough ones for myself and—”
“Fuck you.” My heart threatened to break my ribs. “I’m not doing that.”
It shouldn’t have been possible for me to feel betrayed by her. She was a stranger, even if we had just kissed. Somehow I had expected her to try and save me, to protect me, and she was doing that—just not enough. She would take the rough ones, and I should have been grateful for that. It was more help than I would have gotten without her. Except I couldn’t. I couldn’t lie still and spread my legs. I couldn’t let them, let them.
She sighed. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Like she cared. I made my voice hard. “Go to hell.”
“You’ve at least had sex before, right?”
No. A few make-out sessions in the corners of the club hadn’t prepared me for this. “Of course I have.”
And then I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t bother me that my father’s debts got me into this, that I was paying for a family that never really wanted me. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t hurting everywhere, my body aching and broken. I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter that this stranger could have helped me get away—and instead was trying to convince me to give up the last piece of myself. Tears tracked down my cheeks.
It was almost worse. If she had been cold and cruel, I could have kept my facade. But her fake kindness was more painful, gently encouraging me to give up, to give in, sweetly leading me to my ruin.
She patted my shoulder, and something inside me snapped. A week’s worth of terror and abuse fueled my punch, and I hit her flush in the face. I stared as she stumbled back, her perfectly manicured hand covering the red mark on her cheek.
Oh God, who have I become? What have I become?
Then I was off like a shot, running through the hallway. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t really care. I’d run until I fell over dead—anything to get out of this place.
I half expected the men in the living room to form a barricade, to keep me in, but they seemed too surprised, too sluggish with drink and smoke, to get in the way. Or maybe they thought this was part of the show.
Somehow I made it out of the room and into the elevators—the regular ones this time, with their mirrored walls and marble floors, cold on my bare feet.