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I tense at the new voice that comes from out of my line of sight. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I recognize it. But that recognition is buried under my terror and the slamming of my heart against my chest.
"Oh great, you're here. Can we pump her veins and get this party started?"
"No. The kind of clients that are gonna pay for her aren't the sort of men who want her too doped up to move or feel anything.” The voice is slow and deliberate, letting his words sink through me. “Nah, not a high-class whore like Rhea Boudreaux. Trust me, if she's half the lay her mother was, this little honeypot's a goldmine."
Realization slaps me across the face harder than Mack did when he pulled me from unconsciousness. It dawns on Wes' face at the same time, and we stare at each other in silence a moment before he turns away from me. His voice shakes when he says, "What the hell is this?"
Slick edges into view, glancing at me like he’s trying to see what’s wrong. When he can't figure it out, he turns to look uncertainly at Mack.
"The handprint?" Mack guesses. "She took the mids a little too well. I wanted to make sure I didn't overdose her."
"I'm not talking about the handprint." Wes' voice is tense, like he’s trying hard to hold onto a shred of his patience. "I'm talking about the woman tied to this table."
They exchange a glance, and that’s when the pieces begin to shift into a picture that makes sense. At least, it makes a little sense. They think I’m Rhea, but Jovich obviously knew better. He probably hadn't been counting on anyone to realize as much. Mack frowns and stabs a finger in my direction. "That's Rhea Boudreaux."
"No." Wes growls. "It's not."
"I saw you with her days ago.” Mack reasons. “At that little shithole in the States."
"You don't have Rhiannon Boudreaux on the table." Wes assures them, looking ready to explode. "That's her friend, Claire."
There’s a silence as they all let that information settle around them, and then Slick pipes up. "Jovich is the one who brought her to us."
"Then he lied to you." Wes sighs and turns to face me. "Dammit, Claire. How'd you get yourself wrapped up in this?"
I try to talk, but I still can't. Wes understands that, and he peels back the tape, plucking the rag from my mouth. He rubs my cheek idly, rubbing his fingers through my tears like he can soothe away the sting still burning in my cheek.
"Wes!" I pant, the moment I’m able to make my tongue work. "Help me!"
Chapter twenty-eight
Claire
"Please." I beg, my voice curdling with desperation. "Please, help me! I don't know what's going on."
Wes' eyes appraise my face for a moment as he listens to me plead for my freedom. "It's probably better that way." He pats my shoulder, and his eyes darken as he finds something that interests him. He reaches out and runs a finger over the skin on my neck. "A hickey?" He laughs. "What are you, a fucking teenager?"
A hickey? I didn't realize there was anything there, but things between Remy and I have been intense. He kissed me all over before we'd been driven apart, so it isn't entirely impossible.
"Oh." Wes' lips form the shape of surprise before they turn to a grin. "You're fucking Remington Boudreaux?" He laughs, amused with the realization he’s come to.
"No." I shake my head so hard it knocks against the table I’m bound to. "Wes, please. Help me!"
He narrows his eyes on me and then looks up at his companions. "All right. This..." He nods like he’s working through something in his head. "This can work."
Mack and Slick exchange a look while they await further instruction. "Untie her." Wes commands.
Relief bursts through me so violently that I feel fresh tears burning my eyes. "Thank you." I sniff, trying to hold back the flood. "Thank you."
Mack's face is sour as he undoes the knots on my legs first, and then my arms. As the rope falls away, I rub at my raw skin and sit up, the last of the fog finally fading away. When I swing my legs over the side of the table, the world shifts like the floor is falling out from under me. Mack catches me under the arm and holds me up. Wes appraises me a minute, casting his eyes up and down as we wait for him to tell us how to make everything okay.
"Get her undressed."
An excited laugh leaves Mack's lips as he turns to leer at me.
"What?" My tears of relief turn instantly to panic. "No! Wes, no!"
But Mack grabs my other arm and Slick moves in, ripping my shorts away from my body in a swift motion. I twist away from him, fighting to keep them on my hips, but he lifts my legs while Mack supports my weight and tugs them loose. I kick at him and nearly catch his jaw, but he moves out of my path with an appreciative chuckle.
