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The woman nodded. “Yeah. The last thing I remember was meeting a date at Stray. He ordered me a drink from the bar, and I woke up here.”
“A date?” Bile rose in her throat until she had to press a hand to her lips to keep from hurling.
“Yeah. This guy I met at the gym.” Kelsie’s huff of laughter held a sad bitterness. “He seemed so sweet and just… normal,” she whispered as her voice broke.
“W-what was his name?”
Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“Oliver.”
“Oh God.” Brenna drew up her knees and buried her face against them. Hot tears flowed from her eyes. The club had mentioned something about human trafficking, but she’d brushed it off, assuming Oliver could never be involved in something so heinous. “He’s my ex-fiancé and the reason I’m here too.”
Kelsie stayed quiet. What could she say? Words wouldn’t make this any better.
“How long have you been here?” she eventually choked out.
“Uh…” Kelsie picked at a hole in her ratty sweatpants. “It’s a little hard to tell. It’s always dark in here. Somewhere around a week, I think.”
“A week?” Brenna gawked at her in utter horror. Seven whole days. What the hell?
Kelsie shrugged.
Now that a few minutes had passed, Brenna’s eyes adjusted to the low lighting. She glanced around their small space, but there was nothing to see. The walls and ceiling were made of rock, giving the impression they were in some underground cave. A bucket sat in one corner of the primitive room. She guessed what it was for but didn’t want to think about it too closely. No cot, no pillow, no blanket, no nothing. Just a barren room with a solemn cellmate.
She took a moment to study her companion and immediately wished she hadn’t. Kelsie’s blue eyes were bleak, almost desolate. Her light hair seemed cleanish, as though she’d been able to wash it a time or two in the week she’d been there, but that didn’t make sense considering their meager accommodations.
The younger woman wore a matching olive-green sweatshirt and sweatpants, her only barrier against the damp chill of the underground prison.
What had Brenna’s stomach turning was the deep purple bruise on Kelsie’s cheek, her swollen lower lip, and the blatant finger marks on her neck. The way she sat, curling herself into as small a ball as possible, also set off the worst kind of alarm bells. Someone had hurt her recently, and Brenna had a sickening feeling she knew what kind of torture Kelsie had endured. If this were indeed a human trafficking situation, the poor woman would have profound trauma to recover from. Was this whole club a front for moving kidnapped women in and out of Florida? Would they be moved out of Florida?
How stupid could she have been to confront Oliver on her own?
No one knew where she’d gone tonight. She hadn’t told a single soul she’d decided to meet Oliver herself like an absolute idiot. She’d known Lock wouldn’t allow it, and now she understood why. Now, she’d pay for her foolish naivety. But what would they do to her? Would she be sold off to serve at the will and pleasure of some rich psychopath? Or was her mind spiraling out of control? She was terrified to ask questions but had to know before she drove herself mad with worry.
Her chest tightened again as she looked into Kelsie’s bleak eyes. “Kelsie, where are we? What is this place?” she whispered.
If it was possible, Kelsie’s face grew even more grim.
“Hell, Brenna. We’re in Hell.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
NO ONE HAD seen or heard from Brenna in seventeen hours, and Lock was out of his fucking mind with terror. He’d imagined every scenario, from her leaving him of her own free will to some sociopath snatching her off the street to reenact scenes from Saw.
He grabbed a glass off the bar and whipped it across the clubhouse with the speed of a bullet. It hit a wall, shattering in an eruption of sharp shards. He’d like to gather those shards and carve them into Oliver’s skin because that motherfucker had something to do with this.
Lock knew this with every fiber of his being.
Oliver hadn’t shown up for work, nor had he been at his house all day.
Coincidence?
I think fucking not.
He braced his hands on the bar and bowed his head as he fought to rein in his fury.
“Prospect!” Jinx shouted. “Clean that mess up.” He turned toward Lock. “Third one in twenty minutes, brother. Might wanna give the guy a break.”
