Lauren had no idea where she was.

After the bag had been thrown over her head, and she was carried out of the alley—one person holding her feet, and another with their hands wedged under her armpits—she was thrown into the boot of a car. Before she was able to try to fight her way out again, there’d been the distinctive rip of tape, and then her arms had been taped together behind her back, the strong material wrapping around her wrists, drawing them together enough that it hurt. She’d heard the engine start up around her, and had heard the clunk of metal on metal as it was slammed down, encasing her within.

She went crazy, kicking her feet against the side of the boot, screaming until her throat burned, wriggling and bucking until she thought every inch of her body would be bruised. Still she didn’t cry, holding on to her fury to keep her strength. Giving in to tears felt like a weakness, and after all her years living from one place to the next, often never knowing where her next bed, or meal, or job would be, she’d learned that showing weakness was never a good thing. Right now, she was too fucking angry to cry.

Her screams for help hadn’t attracted any attention. London was a noisy place, and the wail of sirens of police cars and ambulances filled the night air, drowning her out.

The car stopped. They hadn’t gone far, though it had been difficult for her to keep track of the time when she was locked in pitch black with a bag over her head. Who the hell had done this to her? What did they want? Had it been a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had someone deliberately chosen her? She had no idea why someone would choose her. She was a nobody.

The car boot opened, and the cool of the night air touched her skin. She became aware of space around her where there hadn’t been before. Rough hands grabbed her arms again and hauled her up.

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” she yelled from beneath the scratchy bag she wore over her head, but her words were muffled.

The hands tightened, fingers digging into flesh, undoubtedly bruises of their own.

Her ears sharpened, trying to pick up clues about what was around her, in case it might help her figure way out of this. The distinctive thud of music, loud, but still muffled, as though behind a closed door. She’d heard this sound many times before. She’d been brought to a club of some kind.

Instead of any more clues, a voice sounded, but it was as though someone was in her head, speaking directly into her mind.

What is that? I need to follow it. I need to be with it.

Alarmed, Lauren automatically replied in her head. Who are you? What the hell?

Was she going crazy? Yet it was a male voice, she was certain. And somehow, she recognised it, just as she instinctively knew he recognised her, too. No, she was losing her mind. She was going to end up like one of those people with a split personality, who thought they were an eight year old boy called David half the time. Except this voice in her head wasn’t a boy’s. No, he was all man.

If she hadn’t already been tied up with a bag over her head, she would have run for the voice, pushing between people, trying to locate whoever it belonged to. Because she somehow knew it did belong to someone. She hadn’t imagined it. Though the voice had sounded in her head, she knew she picked up on it from someone who was very real, and, as every second passed, that person was getting further and further away. The distance made her want to weep. It felt as though she’d had a lifeline dangled in front of her and someone had snatched it away.

Right now, however, there was nothing she could do to find the person the voice belonged to. She prayed it wouldn’t be the last time she heard it. If it was, she thought she might end up spending the rest of her life searching for it. Of course, the way things were currently going, she wasn’t sure the rest of her life would amount to much anyway. She might end up dead within the next hour.

As well as the dull thud of a bass, she caught the whiff of old rubbish, and the ground appeared to be damp underfoot—she could catch sight of it from beneath the bottom of the bag. The stale stink of old beer—something she recognised from one of her jobs working in a bar, where she had to empty out the drip trays from beneath the beer taps. Yes, she’d definitely been brought to a bar or a club of some sort, though she had no idea why. What did these people want from her? She hated feeling so goddamned helpless.

Rough hands pushed her forward, and Lauren staggered on. With her hands tied behind her back and her face covered, she was terrified she was going to trip and fall. She wouldn’t be able to put her hands out to protect herself if she did.

Ahead of her, a door opened with a click, and the thump of the music immediately grew louder. It wasn’t loud enough to make her think she was being ushered into the main part of the club, however. The music was still muffled, though not as much as before. The observation only gave her a little comfort. She didn’t want to think what sort of club she’d be going into if they thought it was okay to push someone who was bound and with a bag over her head right into the middle of it. No, they must have brought her through the back way.

Lauren tried to take in everything as best she could, constantly alert for the first opportunity to try to escape. Her feet hadn’t been tied, so she considered trying to make a run for it, but she knew she wouldn’t get far. She couldn’t see where she was going, and her hands were bound. They’d catch her in an instant.

The hands on her arms roughly pulled her to a halt. She sensed a second door opening and was pushed though. It grew quieter again, only her heavy breathing, and the footsteps around her. They stopped once more, and she heard the sharp knock of knuckles on wood. Then a male voice with a deep timbre called, “Come,” and she was pushed through the door and into whatever fate held for her.

“Everything went smoothly?” the same deep voice asked of her captors.

“As smoothly as it could have gone.”

“No one saw you?”

“No. Not a soul.”

The deep voice again. “Good.”

“This one will go for a good price. Can you smell it?”

Alarm shot through her. Price? Smell it? What the hell were they talking about? Was this some kind of weird kink? Oh, God. Was she about to be sold into the sex industry? She’d heard of people trafficking but had always assumed it happened to young, foreign women somewhere remote. Not in the middle of London.

In front of her, the man with the deep voice inhaled, long and deep. “Ah, yes, you’re right. I can. Good job.”

She heard the smirk in the other man’s voice. “You know I have a good nose for these things. She’s going to get us a pretty penny. Considering the ... special circumstances ... I think I should be able to renegotiate my cut?”

“No. You’ll be paid the same as before.”

“I want forty percent this time, not thirty.”

“You’ll get the thirty, just like every time before.”

“You won’t be seeing any more like this one from me, then.”

A cold laugh. “There are hardly any more like this one even alive. And if they are, they’re certainly a lot better protected.”

Lauren’s mind swam. What the hell were they talking about? It didn’t feel as though the men were discussing her, though she knew they were. Special? She wasn’t special—far from it. Her own mother certainly hadn’t thought so, so she couldn’t see why anyone else would. But now wasn’t the time to start reminiscing about her lack of parentage. The only thing she could think was that they had the wrong person. Maybe they’d been expecting one of the other girls at the hostel to make an appearance, and she’d been taken by mistake?

“Please,” she managed, hating the begging tone of her voice. She also hated that she wasn’t able to see the people she was addressing, as though, by having her eyes covered, she existed in a different realm than the men who’d taken her. “This is all a big mistake. I think you’ve got the wrong person. If you just let me go, I won’t say anything about what happened here. We can all go on our way. No harm done.”

Men like these didn’t just let people go. Deep down, she knew that. They’d be more likely to kill her and be done with it than take the risk of putting her back on the streets, only for her to report what had happened. Still, her survival instincts meant she had to try. She’d been through a lot in her life, and she’d never given up, whatever had happened. She was a fighter, and she’d continue to be a fighter right through to the bitter end.

The men ignored her.

“Take off that bag,” the one with the deep voice instructed. “I want to make sure the face matches that tight little body, and the scent of the blood running through it.”

His words made her want to weep. The idea of sex was bad enough, but why was he talking about her blood?

But to her relief, the hood was pulled off her face. Lauren blinked against the sudden glare of light, her eyes watering, unable to see anything clearly for a few moments. But then her vision cleared and she was able to look around. She was in an office—well decorated, all leather and chrome, with a large desk and a couple of expensive looking couches. She was standing in the middle of the room, two men at her shoulders, and a third standing at the front of his desk, leaning back in a casual stance that went well against her own situation.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him. She knew this man, recognised him from earlier in the day.

The man whose wallet she’d stolen.

Lauren knew this was no accident. She hadn’t just been unlucky or at the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been taken deliberately. They’d known what sort of person she’d steal from, what time and place she’d be.

Someone had planned for this.

The question was—why?