Letting go of her wrist, I briefly close my eyes, concentrating on the digits of pi—a method that never fails to diminish my arousal. But in that short moment of distraction, I feel a push on my chest, causing me to lose my balance and fall backward onto the bed. Before I can react, Meifen is straddling me, right on my erection, which gives no sign of subsiding.
“No! Get off me!” I try to shake her off, but she still manages to launch her small body onto my chest, her head flung onto my shoulder. For such a tiny, frail thing she is stronger than I expected.
“Help me,” she whispers in my ear, in a tone of desperation. “Please.”
I freeze. My hands are on her shoulders, ready to push her off, but only now do I notice the tremors wracking her body.
Knitting my brow, I turn my head toward her and whisper back. “What’s going on?”
“Please, they have my baby.”
I blink my eyes. “What?”
“I have to do this, with you. Or they hurt my baby boy.”
I swallow. Meifen has a baby? Are there babies in here, too? Then it hits me: it must be the crawling baby in the courtyard that I saw Flat Face snatch under his arm.
My insides turn to ice. Meifen is barely legal. If she’s a prisoner here like me, it is unlikely she would fall pregnant willingly. The horrific truth enters my mind: those beasts must have forced themselves on her. And now they’re using her baby against her, to get her to do whatever they want.
A flash of anger wells up inside me. Those assholes, they’re sick—evil. I ball my fists. I’m not a violent person, but if any of them enter the room right now, I’d beat them to a pulp. And that would be the least they deserve.
But I will myself to keep it together, for Meifen’s sake as well as mine. I take a deep breath and tell her, “We’ll pretend. All they need to hear is us making some sounds.”
Meifen shakes her head. “No, they make film. They see everything.”
She motions to the corner of the ceiling, and when I look up, there is something I’ve never noticed before—a green dot.
Shit. Have they been filming me all along? Have they seen me open the window? If so, why did they let me get away with it? A chilling thought crosses my mind: because they wanted me to talk to Meifen; because they wanted me to see her baby; because they wanted me to take pity on her.
It was a set-up.
I swallow, even though it does nothing to relieve the ache at the back of my throat.
What am I supposed to do now? Even though I genuinely feel sorry for her, I can’t—I won’t—have sex with her.
“You have to take off clothes.” She tugs at the hem of my shirt, but I firmly grasp her hand. “No.”
“You have to. They tell me, no clothes.”
Lifting her head somewhat, she gazes at me, tears forming in her big, pleading eyes.
“I can’t lose baby. Please.”
Sighing, I cover my eyes with my arm. This is not happening. I can’t do this, I don’t want to do this. It’s unfair to Elle, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. Even if I don’t survive this ordeal, it would still be the wrong thing to do.
But I hear myself whisper, “Okay.”
Keeping my eyes shut, I let Meifen’s hands slide down to the buttons of my shirt. Her trembling fingers undo them, one by one. My shirt falls open, and she lifts my upper body up to take it off before her small hands land on my chest. They press on me like lead, their weight tightening up my throat.
What the hell am I doing? Is it true what she’s told me? Was the baby I saw even hers? She looks so young—too young to be a mom.
Her hands are moving down to my waistband. The button pops open, the zipper gets undone, and my pants, my boxers are down.
I feel exposed lying completely naked on the bed, still sporting the stony erection that doesn’t seem to subside, however many random thoughts I toss at it.
When I open my eyes, Meifen is on her knees at the foot of the bed. She tosses my clothes on the floor and reaches to her back. Oh shit. Her bra.
Averting my eyes, I scoot away from her to the other side of the bed, my fingers clutching the sheets. I’m pissed with myself—with my body—for producing that damn hard-on.
This is not right. Whatever my body tells me, I don’t care.
I turn to Meifen, keeping my gaze squarely trained on her young, innocent face. “I’m not sure about this.”
She inches closer to me, and I sit up, yanking up part of a sheet and covering myself. I’m going to tell her I won’t go through with it. But before I can utter a word, her hand covers my mouth. Her eyes swim with fear, and she shakes her head frantically—she probably senses what I’m about to say.
“Help me. Please,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
My chest tightens. What kind of life has Meifen lived? She’s never had a childhood. From a young age, she was taken against her will, had a baby against her will, and now this. In her short life, she’s only had bad cards dealt to her.
I have no choice—I’ve got to help her.
Chapter 11
Elle
Another hundred grand!
I pump my fist in the air when the dealer slides the piles of chips toward me, and add them to my growing collection.
Who would have guessed I would be a natural at this game? I would never have believed it if anyone had told me I would win almost half a million dollars—four hundred and seventy-three thousand, to be exact—within a few hours. I think it’s a few hours, anyway, as I have no sense of time in the relentless rhythm of play, play, play.
All I remember is moving from the main gaming floor after I’d multiplied my thousand bucks by a hundredfold. A hostess whisked me away to the high-limit VIP lounge, an opulent room with gilded ceilings, adorned by a gigantic crystal chandelier casting magical sparkles on the players.
The set-up of the lounge is intimate with its lucky eight tables, surrounded by eight chairs, their golden hues perfectly blending with the rest of the decor. The players around the tables look similar as in the main gaming room—mostly Asian men, with the occasional woman and Eurasian man mixed in, and all smoking incessantly. But that’s where the similarity ends. Betting sizes here are mind-boggling. Players don’t blink an eye when they toss their bets on the table—a few hundred grand a pop.
I take a sip of my tonic, waving the hostess away to decline her offer of food and drinks, which include champagne and delicacies like caviar, oysters, and shark fin soup, as well as a variety of Chinese teas and food. I know what she’s trying to do—distract me. Just like the wizened man two seats away from me who has been losing a stack of chips with each loud slurp of his noodle soup.
It’s easy to lose your head here, especially when the chips come rolling in, and you become drunk on your success, feeling like you could conquer the universe. And that’s when you get carried away and start making mistakes. I learned my lesson when after a win of two hundred grand, I lost it all and another fifty big ones due to my stupid cockiness.
It was the reality check I needed. Swept away by my heady wins, I’d almost forgotten why I was doing this. But the losses helped me see things in perspective, and I just managed to quell the urge to bet bigger and wait out the losing streak instead.
And it looks like I have. The past few hands have been in my favor—now it’s time to finish this once and for all. A glance at my cell tells me I still have five or so hours left. Plenty of time.
I shove piles and piles of black-and-gold chips to the betting circle. At this point in the game, I know my chances of getting the right cards are high.
“Going big, huh?” Lance, who has followed me into the VIP lounge, tosses me a sideway glance as he places his own bet, not dissimilar to mine.
I cock my brow. “I’ve had enough. Almost time to cash in.”
“Oh yeah? And when is that?”
“Soon.”
The dealer deals me my first card: the queen of spades. My heart gives a little jolt, and
I dig my fingernails into my thigh while trying to keep my face straight. The other players receive their cards, and the dealer reveals his: an eight.
He deals me my second card.
An ace—another blackjack!
It’s hard to keep a straight face when the piles of chips slide my way.
I can’t believe this. It looks like I’m meant to win. I’m meant to free Ryder.
Lance winks at me. “Hey, you better be careful. Casinos don’t like it when players win too much. We’re supposed to lose eventually.”
I finger a stack of chips. “I’m almost there. I’m going to quit when I have enough.”
“When is it ever enough?”
“When I’ve earned a million. That’s when I quit.”
Lance looks at his watch. “Judging from the way you’re playing now, I’d say another hour or so.”
“We’ll see. It may be earlier than you think.”
“I hope so. We’ll have to celebrate.” He raises his flute of champagne to me before placing it against his sculpted, upturned lips.
I direct my gaze to my sizable mountain of chips.
Should I?
The cards are in my favor. I’m on a winning streak. And my next hand could be another winning hand—the hand that will set Ryder free.
I can do this.
My heart racing a thousand miles an hour, I start pushing my chips into the betting circle. But before I’ve moved them all, I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Stop playing. You’ll have to come with me,” a male voice whispers in my ear. His hand gives a tight squeeze. “Otherwise, I’ll confiscate all your chips.”
What the hell?
As my hand hovers above the betting circle, the dealer looks at me. I shake my head and gather my chips, stuffing as many in my purse as I can.
I’m close—too close. I can’t take any chances.
“I’m calling it a day,” I say, but no one pays attention to me—Lance has bagged a big win.
“Come with me. Now,” the voice hisses in my ear.
His hand curls around my upper arm, preventing my shaking hand to cram in the few remaining chips. Some drop on the floor as he pulls me away from the table. I turn with my other arm outstretched to pick them up, but a middle-aged woman with glasses elbows me out of the way and takes my seat.
“Hey!”
But before I can kick up a fuss, I’m halfway across the lounge. The hand around my arm belongs to a tall, black-suited man using an earpiece—security.
I try to yank my arm away. “Let me go. I’m leaving anyway.”
Ignoring me, he increases the pressure on my arm and leads me to the back of the lounge, through a nondescript door the same color as the walls, into a dim hallway.
“You can’t do this to me! Let me go, you asshole!”
As much as I struggle against his grip, I know I don’t have a chance; the high heels and tight dress certainly don’t help, nor does my fear of losing the precious chips.
The suit shoves me into a room, and before I can prevent it, the door slams shut in my face. I tug on the handle, but the door is firmly locked. My fists pound on its surface. “Let me out! Open the door!”
Damn. I should have listened to Lance.
It’s clear why I’m here: I was making too much money. The casino is going to accuse me of cheating. But they won’t be able to get me arrested as I’ve done nothing illegal. If I’m lucky, I’ll get away with a warning, but if not, the hospital may well be my next stop. Frankly, I don’t care, as long as they’ll let me keep my chips.
I size up the room. It’s a gray-walled, windowless space; empty apart from a square table with two chairs on opposite sides. I place my purse on the table and when I open it, the chips spill out, clattering onto the table top. With shaking fingers, I stuff as many as possible in my bra and shoes, just in case they’ll confiscate them.
My mind is racing. How am I going to get out of here?
I have to talk my way out. And I have to prepare myself to give up some of the money I won. If they let me go quickly, it won’t matter—I’ll still have time to go to another casino.
The door opens, and in walks an overweight Asian man wearing a dark crumpled suit, his combed-back hair glossy.
Not wasting time with pleasantries, I take a step forward with my hands raised. “Listen, I know what this is about. I promise you, I’ll leave the casino now and I’ll never come back.”
The man smirks in apparent amusement and saunters past me to sit down at the table, leaving a waft of cigarette smoke in his wake. He places a computer tablet in front of him.
“Have a seat.” He gestures at the other chair.
I oblige, but don’t take my eyes off his face. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve seen him before.
“Remember me?” he says.
I raise my eyebrow. I haven’t the slightest idea who he is. But why does he look so familiar?
He leans forward. “Have you already forgotten me—tattoo girl?”
His emphasis on the last two words jolts my memory. And my stomach drops.
He’s the guy who dragged me into the bathroom during the car show—Slick Hair. I hardly recognized him in the business suit, without his sunglasses. But his hair is just as slick as it was before.
“What—what are you doing here?”
“I’ve had my eye on you ever since we first met. And now it’s just you and me.” He points at me before pointing at himself.
“You can’t keep me here. I came with friends. They’ll be looking for me.”
“Oh really? You mean your friend Ying? She’s gone. I believe she has urgent family matters to attend to.”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Ying for a while since I’ve moved to the high-rollers lounge. Not surprising, as I was too caught up playing blackjack. I wonder, would she be one of them, too? Or did they use some ruse to get rid of her?
Slick Hair raises his finger. “Perhaps you mean your new gambling friends. Last time I checked, they’re still engrossed in their game. They won’t be looking for you any time soon.”
I slap my hand on the table. “You can’t do this. You have to let me go.”
“Or else?” He glances around the room. “You don’t have much of a choice. You have nowhere to run. And this time, no one to save you, either.” An evil laugh escapes his thin lips.
I scrape my chair backwards, my hand firmly on my purse. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”
He scoffs. “The police? Do you really think they’ll help you? A foreigner? A cheat?”
I smack my purse on the table as hot anger courses through me. “I didn’t cheat. I played by the rules. Everything I’ve won, I’ve earned—fair and square.”
“I don’t think so.” With a swift motion of his hand, Slick Hair snatches my purse.
“No!”
I leap up, reaching for it with both hands, but he holds it closely against his chest.
“Give it back!” I scream. “I need that money. A life depends on it.”
“You mean your boyfriend?”
I freeze. “How do you know that?”
He opens my purse and takes out the chips, tossing one after another on the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Not quite a million, is it? Tsk, tsk. This isn’t near enough to save him.”
My blood chills. He’s one of them. One of Ryder’s abductors. They must have planned this a long way back. The car race, Ryder’s business meeting, even this casino—they’re all part of an elaborate trap.
I take a deep breath. If I have a chance of freeing Ryder, I have to keep my cool. I won’t let him get to me.
“You shouldn’t have pulled me out of the game. Let me go right now, and I’ll get the rest. I’ll earn the rest.”
“I don’t think so.” He opens my purse. “You should know, the rules have changed. We don’t want your money any more.”
He upends the purse, causing the ch
ips to clatter onto the lino floor.
I glare at him. “Why? What’s changed?”
“I’ll show you.” Slick Hair picks up the tablet from the table, and as he does, the sleeve of his jacket slides up, revealing a tattoo—three dots in a triangle that encloses a Chinese character.
His fat finger swipes on the touchscreen before he hands it to me. But he doesn’t let go when I try to take it from him.
“Do you think your boyfriend loves you?”
I narrow my eyes. “Of course he does.”
A smirk forms around his mouth. “This is going to be very interesting.”
I yank the tablet from his hands and peer at the screen. It shows an image of an empty hallway with a sideways triangle superimposed on it to play the video. I press “Play”, and on the screen appears a young, pretty Asian girl with a long ponytail. Her short, tight-fitting dress accentuates her slim, but surprisingly well-endowed figure. She stands in front of a closed door. A hand appearing in front of the screen gives her a shove in the back.
A voice says, in Chinese, “Come on. Do it. Now.”
The girl stretches out her hand and opens the door.
For an instant, the picture turns black before it comes on again, but it has turned gray and slightly blurry—it must be dark inside the room. The angle has changed, too. Filming from a high vantage point, probably the ceiling, the camera catches the girl standing by the doorway, her eyes cast on a bed on the other side of the room. On it lies a figure that stirs when she takes a step forward.
The figure sits up—a broad-shouldered man wearing a loose, button-up shirt.
I swallow. An uncomfortable knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure if I should watch this.
The man gets on his feet and steps toward the girl. As the light from the doorway falls on him and illuminates his features, I let out a gasp.
It’s Ryder.
He looks as gorgeous as ever, and seemingly in reasonable health. But there’s something about his posture that tells me he is not his usual self. Is he tired? Unwell? Has he been mistreated in some way?
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