by Skye Warren
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
.
Chapter Three
DURING THE LATTER part of my rebellious phase, I’d learned how to steal things—lip gloss, wallets. Kristy could even swipe cell phones. By the time I made it through the busy lobby and into the staff-only kitchens, I had myself a fancy new wallet and a security pass so I could get out of locked exits without setting off alarms. All in all, I thought I was doing pretty well—until a beefy security guard saw me. I tried to run, but without shoes I just ended up sliding on a spill of some kind of food sauce. He caught me by the arm, his grip bruising.
I kicked his shin, but that only made him angrier. He snarled at me and shouted into his walkie-talkie for backup. Backup would inevitably call the cops, who I would be kind of relieved to see. Except that the men who brought me here would find out what I’d done—and they would know exactly where to find me.
Look, hon. It won’t be that bad. I’ll take the rough ones for myself, and—
Even if these people couldn’t get to me in a police precinct or a hospital, they could definitely get to me when I got home. And now they’d know I’d messed up their party. They’d think I owed them even more than my father already did.
Shit. I couldn’t see a way out of this.
Then I turned and saw someone running up to me—the woman who’d called herself my fairy godmother. Relief filled me because I doubted she was coming after me just to insult me again. I needed help, and for whatever twisted reason, she had decided to give it to me.
“There you are,” she said, and the guy holding me immediately froze.
He checked her out—of course he did. She was a bombshell blonde, one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in real life. And judging from the way this guy’s jaw dropped, his too. The asshole had had no trouble hauling me up against him, but he wouldn’t touch her that way.
“Ella,” she said in a chiding tone. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I had no idea who Ella was, but I was going along with whatever game she was playing. She was one of the only people I’d seen in the past week who wasn’t manhandling me or trying to rape me.
“You know Daddy doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she added as if I knew who that was either.
It seemed to be the magic trick, though, because the guy released me. I suppose that, between her looks and confidence, it seemed like he should defer to her.
“She dropped this,” he said, picking up the black leather wallet that had fallen from my grasp. Damn it. I needed that money to get home, to get safe. Walking out into downtown dressed like this with no money was asking for trouble—as much trouble as I’d had in the penthouse or even worse.
“I assumed it wasn’t hers,” he added, sounding a little nervous now. Because if it was mine, and if I was rich and powerful—or at least part of a rich and powerful family—he might be screwed.
The woman sighed. “Really, Ella? Wrecking the Mercedes wasn’t good enough? Now you have to steal something? Where’d you pick that up—the hotel restaurant?”
The lobby actually, but I assumed that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Apparently we were playing some kind of wicked-stepmother game to get away from this security guard. She wasn’t even that much older than me, but I guessed that worked for the game.
I crossed my arms, playing along. “Bet Daddy didn’t even notice I was gone.”
A flicker of amusement crossed her eyes, but at least she didn’t smile and ruin the charade.
“So, you know her?” the guard asked, appearing reluctant to give me up now that he’d caught me.
The woman sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. We’re family.”
Family. I knew she was just playing a role, the same way she’d played the sultry bisexual in the penthouse suite, but the word still pinged in my chest. I didn’t have a family. Just adoptive parents who had taken me in as a last resort, only to realize they could have a natural-born son after all. And then they were stuck with me.
Except I was supposed to be playing a role here too, and unlike the penthouse, I wasn’t planning on slugging her a second time. “You’re not my real mom,” I shouted because that sounded like something a teenager would say to her only slightly older, gorgeous stepmother.
“But you’re stuck with me, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with venom.
The man was clearly uncomfortable around feminine bickering. He shifted, almost releasing me. Almost. “Right. Well. I don’t want to get involved with a domestic dispute.”
“Oh no,” she said. “It’s too late for that. She stole something. Isn’t that like, a felony?”
Damn, she was good.
The guy opened the wallet, revealing a stack of twenties. “I don’t know. It looks like it’s all here. No harm, no foul, I say.”
I smirked, because after the hellish week I’d had, this was actually almost fun. “Guess not every old guy falls for your fake boobs.”
A horrified expression crossed her face, and she clasped her breasts. Breasts that were probably not fake. “They’re not—” She broke off with a glare, then turned to the man. “You can’t just let her go. Call the police. She needs to be locked up. She’s horrible!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, and I knew then that she had solidified our exit by insisting I get in trouble. She definitely knew how to work men to her advantage; I’d give her that much.
We’d be able to leave with no suspicion now. If this story ever got passed on, it would be told about two rich brats the security guard would like to fuck. But considering he would probably pocket the money in the wallet, the story most likely wouldn’t get told at all.
As if confirming that, he added, “It’s hotel policy not to involve the authorities unless there’s been property damage, and since I’ve recovered the wallet, I’m afraid I’m going to have to release her into your custody.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m telling Daddy. He’ll cut you off.”
I almost stuck out my tongue. “Bite me, Mother.”
Apparently that was our cue to leave, because she grabbed my arm and we hightailed it into a hallway leading away from the kitchen. She glanced back, and the guy must have been leaving us alone, because we made it into a hallway.
“You little brat,” she said more mildly—and not entirely part of the charade. “I can’t believe you hit me. I was helping you.”
Helping? I snorted. “Yeah, helping me whore myself. No thanks.”
She seemed startled, a little taken aback. I wondered if I had actually hurt her feelings. I would have said sorry, but she spoke first. “Jail won’t be any better for you, sweetheart. Not if Henri’s pissed, and he will be once he hears you bailed on the VIPs.”
I had no idea who Henri was, but unlike the fictitious Daddy, it seemed Henri was a real person who was calling the shots. Was he one of the men who had dragged me out of the club, one of the men who’d taunted me when I was chained to the pipes in the bathroom? Or was he someone higher up, the true person my father had accrued all that gambling debt to—the one who had wanted fifty dollars a hole.
Either way, he wasn’t a man I wanted to meet again.
After a moment of walking in silence, she asked, “Are you at least going to tell me your name now?”
It’s Claire. Please help me. Someone help me, want me, love me. I want to be part of a family.
I want to feel safe.
I didn’t say any of that. Instead I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, struggling for some of the confidence she seemed to wear with ease. “I’m Polly-fucking-anna,” I said instead. “Pleased to meet you.”
She sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m calling you Ella.”
Great, she had named me. Like a pet.
I pulled my arm away. “Whatever you want.”
“Sweetheart, if you’d said that twenty minutes ago, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
If I’d said that twenty minutes ago, I’d have been torn apart by a group of stockbrokers.
“What’s kee
ping you?” I wasn’t sure I would have ever recovered from that. I shivered, chilled just by the possibility. “Leave already. I don’t give a shit.”
“Come on,” she said with a thin thread of patience. “We need to get you out of here before Henri shows up.”
I winced at the mention of that name again. Henri. How could I trust her? If she worked for him, she would have incentive to rein me in. Maybe she would even get a bonus. “I’m not going with you.”
“We don’t have time for this,” she said. “Let’s go.”
She seemed sincere, but in the past week I had learned not to trust anything or anyone. “Why, so you can take me to him?”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Then she shook her head, something world-weary and devastated in her expression. “The truth is, I’ve been thinking of getting out myself. Well, now I’m out. Maybe you did me a favor, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.” Not after what I’d seen in that penthouse. And I seriously doubted getting out would be as simple as walking away. “And isn’t he going to be angry at you too?”
“‘Favor’ may have been too strong a word,” she admitted. “I’m going to try to keep you safe.”
“Try?” It didn’t inspire much confidence. Then again it was the best offer I’d gotten in a while. Even my adoptive mother and father couldn’t have cared too much about what happened to me—if they had paid their debt, I would have been free.
She met my eyes, her gaze steady and sure. “I can promise you this: you’ll be as safe as I am. Now, how the hell do we get out of here?”
There was a maze of doors, all with little black plastic rectangles beside them that required security clearance to get through. At least I hadn’t dropped the security card I’d swiped, unlike the wallet. I held it up. “Got it covered.”
Chapter Four
HER NAME WAS Shelly. And she had transportation in the form of a nice Mercedes.
Apparently working for Henri paid well.
There was a lightness in my chest I did my best to ignore. I couldn’t count on her. She was a stranger to me. She could just as easily turn on me as help me.
Even with her help, my odds weren’t looking too good. Helping me had made her boss angry. Henri. She took us to a friend of hers—or maybe he was more than a friend. And he was a cop, so he could help. Until we found out that the cops were looking for us too. Apparently Henri had dirty cops on his payroll, and it wouldn’t be safe for us there—not even in police custody.