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CHAPTERONE
The heavy iron door to the dark and damp dungeon opened with an ear-splitting screech, and every single one of the remaining ten naked and shivering girls inside froze—including my two younger sisters, Jemma and Cara, my cousin and best friend, Fiona, and myself.
I pressed my back against the cold wall, stopped breathing, and closed my eyes in a futile attempt to somehow become invisible.
Damn.
How did our little trip to Italy—our little foray into freedom to celebrate my and Fiona’s twentieth birthday—turn into this nightmare?
Freedom—something I’d always known was something I’d never get to experience—not when your father was Craig Donnelly, the boss of the Irish mob in Boston. But the golden cage I’d always complained about back home in the US was infinitely better than this.
Kidnapped, naked, and held in a room in a basement, to be plucked out, one at a time, and used for—
Stop.
I stopped myself from ending that thought, but I couldn’t suppress my erratic heartbeat thundering away.
“You”—the guy at the door said.
Everything stopped.
I opened my eyes, ready to have him pointing directly at me since it was just a matter of time until it was my turn.
But he didn’t.
Instead, I followed his outstretched hand and finger—which pointed directly at Cara, my second-youngest sister.
My stomach dropped.
Cara whimpered and cowered into the corner, trying to make herself as small as possible.
Shit.
Cara was the weakest of us four—shy, sweet, and kind. She lacked my stubbornness, Jemma’s sass, and Fiona’s real-life experience. She was a bookworm—a musical prodigy—and way too nice for her own good.
She would never survive whatever happened outside of these walls.
I gulped down a breath, steeled my spine, got up, and locked my wobbly knees.
My eyes met Fiona’s, and I saw the same desperation, the same terror I was feeling reflected back at me.
I couldn’t just watch.
I stared at the guy. I couldn’t see his face, but he was built like a tank, clad in a black leather jacket—and I stepped right into his line of sight, blocking his view of Cara.
He would not take my sister, only over my dead body.
The guy looked me up and down, then back at my sister.
For a moment, I thought he would insist, but then his face turned into an ugly, grinning mask, and he extended his hand to me and beckoned me forward.
My skin broke out in goose bumps. I looked back at Fiona, who’d jumped up, as well. Her eyes were wide as she stared at me.
The fear I was trying so hard to resist washed over and through me. “Take care of them,” I mouthed to her.
She nodded; her face tight.
We weren’t in any position of power, but if I let that sink in—I would probably curl up into the fetal position and cry—not that it would help.
