“Are you filming?” somebody asked.

“No shit, man. You think I’d miss that?” The second guy laughed. It was a deep unnerving sound, one which I instantly recognized. It was the same guy who had threatened me after I broke the glass.

“Let’s get the new one in here. What do you think?” the third guy said. His voice was deep and hoarse. A smoker’s voice.

The first one spoke again. “Remember the rules? Dante wants her for himself.” From the way he said “her,” I realized they were talking about me. But who was Dante? Danny’s words that someone wanted me first crossed my mind, and a shudder ran down my spine. Maybe he had been talking about the same guy—Dante.

“If we drug her, she won’t remember. Problem solved,” the smoker voice said. “No one would believe her anyway.”

Shit!

My heart began to pound against my ribcage, and I forced myself to take slow, measured breaths. Panicking wasn’t going to help anyone.

“No, that’s not a good idea,” the first one said. He sounded tense, anxious even. “Dante wants her in the condition she’s in now. He was clear on that.”

Laughter, then a clicking sound, like a belt buckle.

“You don’t have to do it,” the guy with the smoker voice said. “But I want my fun. You in, Stu?”

“Count me in,” the second voice replied. “But take her to the wheel room.”

The wheel room? What kind of room was that? Come to think of it, I didn’t want to find out. The voices continued to speak, their words no longer reaching me because the sound of my blood rushing in my ears drowned out all noise. I scanned my cell for a place to hide and escape but, like before, there was no secret entrance. No hole in the wall I could fit through.

With trembling hands I made sure the glass shard was still hidden in the inseam of my suit. My breathing made a whistling sound as I sat down on the mattress, waiting to see how events would unfold.

Life or death. Because if I failed, I was sure I wouldn’t survive the night.

The door slammed open, and in walked two men. They were big, their expressions relentless. Both carried a gun, and I realized my chances were pretty slim. But maybe that was what the guns were for: to intimidate so a woman wouldn’t put up a good fight. The blond one—the one who had picked up the glass shards—had the sunken cheeks, mottled skin, and hollow eyes of a meth addict. The other one with the smoky voice, who didn’t seem to care about Dante’s rules, was broad with a cropped military hairstyle and a crooked nose. I recognized him as the guy who had held the gun in my face in the parking garage.

My mouth opened to scream and closed shut because there was no purpose in screaming when no one would hear me. I wanted to fight, scratch their faces, even though I probably stood no chance against two males with guns.

The dark-haired guy pulled me up, removed the ropes, and shoved me. Weak from a lack of food, water, and sleep, I stumbled forward. But my mind was sharp enough to take in my surroundings.

The corridor was long and narrow, with doors on either side. It looked like an empty storage building with locked cells, from which a corridor led into an open space with two doors. The sound of my kitten heels resonated from the walls as I was led through one door into an adjoining parking garage with three parked trucks. On the eastern side, almost hidden by the largest truck, were a dozen adjustable shelves lining the wall. Stashed on the shelves were boxes. I craned my neck, but they were too far to peek inside.

“You go in—I’ll bring the rest,” the dark-haired guy said. I peered over my shoulder to see him walking over to the shelves and rummaging through the boxes.

The blond guy’s hand clasped around my upper arm and urged me forward to the truck in the farthest corner, then pressed a button. A ramp descended and he gave me another shove, urging me to walk up.

Inside, the light was dimmed, but I could see that the truck had been decorated to resemble a plain room with white walls and a double bed. Cuffs and belts dangled from each bedpost, and a brown rug covered the floor. My mouth went dry as realization kicked in.

This was the wheel room—a moveable transporter serving the sick purpose of holding women captive, and probably worse.

I didn’t want to die in here.

This was my chance.

Probably the only chance I’d get.

Damn it, I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

Slowly, I squeezed my hand into the seam at my waist and grabbed the end of the glass shard so tight the sharp edge cut into my skin, sending a pang of piercing pain through my nerve endings. But I didn’t care. Without thinking, I turned and plunged the tip as hard as I could into the man’s throat and sliced to the right, cutting through skin, flesh, and nerves. His body instantly doubled over, and his hands moved to his throat. A gush of blood covered his skin and trickled down his arm onto the floor.

“Stu!” His voice was muffled by the gurgling sound of blood. His widened eyes betrayed his panic as he raised his hands to his face.

I left the shard in his throat and ran down the ramp, in the direction we had come from—and the only door I had seen.

“Bitch.” I heard the dark-haired guy let out a long string of expletives, which were quickly replaced by approaching footsteps. But I didn’t care and didn’t turn. All I cared about was escaping. Get out of this place as fast as I could.

Through the door, I reached the open space, but instead of heading in the direction of my cell, I dashed for the other door. It was a risk. A gamble I didn’t want to take, but I had no other choice. The drumming of my heart stifled all other sounds, which only made me run faster. I charged through the door, thankful that it wasn’t locked, and realized I was in a stairwell. I yanked at the emergency exit door. It was locked. A curse escaped my lips.

I couldn’t retrace my steps because I had no idea where the other guy—Stu—was, so I ran up the stairs, trying each door as I passed. By the time the door opened again, I had reached the third floor and my lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen. I had no idea how long I hadn’t eaten anything, but I knew I couldn’t go on much farther. To my right was a door leading into the third-floor corridor. This one was unlocked. I walked through and closed it behind me as silently as I could.

The corridor looked just like the one with the cells, only the doors stood ajar. I quickly scanned one of the cells as I ran past and realized they were storage boxes, just like the ones downstairs. Whoever ran this business clearly thought big. I headed for the last door to my left, almost expecting another parking garage. Instead I entered a large open space with lockers.

The door leading from the stairwell into the corridor opened, and the pounding steps told me I had no time to lose, so I opened a locker door and squeezed in. The space was tiny but big enough for me to fit inside.

My breathing came labored. Loud, even. Trying to slow down my thumping heart, I pressed a hand against my chest. Footsteps thudded down the corridor, heading for me.

I held my breath as the room fell silent. Through the tiny slits in the locker, I could see Stu’s shape. And then the footsteps departed again, and the door to the stairwell slammed shut.

As much as I was tempted to stay hidden, it was only a matter of time until Stu came back. The thought of him opening the locker and finding me after what I had done to his friend terrified me. So I stepped out of the locker, and had just headed for the other end of the corridor when someone grabbed my waist and something pressed against my mouth.

I kicked and punched as hard as I could, fighting the iron grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Stu hissed. His breathing came heavy as he punched the side of my head, sending me against the wall. Instinctively, I curved into a ball to protect my baby, but his hands curled in my hair, pulling me back to my feet. My eyes fell on a guy I hadn’t seen before and on the syringe in his hand. As if sensing my sudden panic, he smiled, and I realized there were only two outcomes.

I’d be punished by paying dearly for my out-of-order behavior. And, judging by the look on his face, he no longer cared to follow Dante’s commands and leave me unscathed.

The second outcome was even bleaker than the first, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, not wanting to think about it.

My scalp burned, but the pain didn’t stop me from fighting and punching the space around me. My foot connected with something soft, and Stu let out another string of curses. His hand let go of my hair, and for a moment I relished the sensation of being free. Then my legs were kicked from beneath me and I collapsed, knocking my head against the floor in the process.

My vision blurred. I struggled to get up but fingers moved around my throat, cutting off my air supply. Pinned to the ground, unable to move or breathe, I peered into cold dark eyes. Stu’s face was a mask of fury and arousal as he cut off my air supply. The other guy kneeled next to him. I winced when a needle pierced through my skin.

Within seconds, the anesthetic drug coursing through my veins made my body weak. I fought and kicked hard, until I realized there was nothing I could do. The realization didn’t come from fear. My body was ready to give up, slowly turning into a shell of numbness. It was as if my body had no choice. I accepted that anything could happen now—that everything was my fault and I’d brought this upon myself.

Stu’s hand pulled up my business skirt and tore away my panties. I felt the air between my legs and heard the sound of his zipper. I closed my eyes to hide behind my eyelids—inside my mind. Whatever happened, I didn’t want to witness it.

Not even the loud gunshot made me open my eyes. Nor the thudding footsteps around me. Nor hearing Jett’s name and someone shouting, “This is how it’s done, Jett. You seem to have forgotten.” Then another gunshot, followed by another. It was only when I heard Jett’s deep voice that I forced my heavy eyes open, and my lips curled into a weak smile. He was so beautiful. A beautiful dream. At least I wouldn’t feel the pain because I was dreaming of him.

“Brooke, baby.” His green eyes were filled with so much worry that I wanted to assure him I’d be okay just to take away his pain. I wanted to touch him, to see if he was here or whether his beautiful face was just an illusion, but my fingers wouldn’t follow my brain’s command.

“I’m sorry, Brooke.” He lifted me in his arms and pressed me against his chest. Through the pain inside my head and abdomen, I inhaled the scent of his aftershave as he kept repeating, “We’ll get you out of here.”

“There’s a girl downstairs,” I whispered. “Please help her. And Jett, your father—” I fought against the overwhelming feeling of losing control. Every word was a struggle. I tried to keep my eyes open, but all I saw was darkness. “He’s still alive.”

The last thing I heard was Jett shouting, “Call for an ambulance, Brian.”

And then darkness descended upon me, swallowing me up whole.

Chapter 19

I WOKE UP in a bed with Jett sleeping in a recliner to my right. I watched the deep worry lines on his forehead, the way his stubble cast a shadow on his face, darkening his features. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt that built a strong contrast to the pristine whiteness of the bedsheets and the walls. His hair was a knotted mess, reminding me of the many times I had run my fingers through it, but the memories quickly dissolved in favor of reality.