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“Do you know why you’re here?” the man who opened the door asks gruffly.
I give my head a little shake.
“You were spotted by management. They were impressed by your performance.”
“Okay,” I say.
He nods his head toward the bed. “Someone will be in to see you soon. Undress and wait on the bed.”
Is he fucking kidding me?
He narrows his eyes at me when I don’t make a move to obey his order. “What are you waiting for?”
I lock my lips together before my jaw hits the floor.
How the fuck am I supposed to take off this bra without my weapon clattering on the damn floor?
Sweeping my tongue over my lips, I slowly reach behind me and take my time unhooking the back of the bra. Maybe there’s some way I can lean forward to keep the knife from falling out of the bra cups—
A loud buzz jars me. The guy watching me strip in the most unsensual way imaginable takes out his phone and holds it against his ear. He murmurs a few words and grunts a few sounds before ending the call. Turning to the other two guys, he points back to the tunnel.
With one look back at me, his leering gaze lingers on my boobs. “Next time.”
Then he leaves and slams the door shut behind him. A loud click tells me I’m stuck here, locked in this eerily decorative BDSM cage. I grab the knife from my patent leather bra and stick it into the back waistband of the matching bottoms. The wall full of kink has nabbed my attention. I take a few steps toward it, fingering the soft leather tassels on one of the floggers.
This is a playroom.
But where the hell is the dungeon? The place where the auctions are held? The space where girls are drugged and sold to the highest bidders?
My stomach twists.
The area where some girls overdose and die before they’ve gotten the chance to live.
Flashbacks pummel my brain. They careen back and forth between my temples like a fierce game of pinball. Charly’s matted hair covering her face, the lifeless, vacant stare I could barely make out through the wet strands.
They killed her. He killed her and so many others, including Molly Mulligan.
Rage floods my insides.
I grab a flogger off the wall and hurl it across the room. Then I pull the rest of the wall apart, every whip, chain, and rope strewn all over the floor once I’m done. It doesn’t make me feel better, though.
Nothing will, until I get the justice my whole family needs.
Seconds stretch into minutes that feel like a lifetime. I pace the room, rubbing my hands down the sides of my arms. I can’t just stay locked in here forever. Something is happening tonight. Something that needs to be stopped.
The balls of my feet burn like I’ve been walking over hot coals. I sink onto the bed and lean forward to hold my head in my hands, careful not to disturb the mask that covers the top half of my face.
My head jerks upward when the door opens what seems like hours later. I spring up from the mattress, my fingers itching to grab my knife. A whiff of a familiar scent swirls under my nostrils, a cloud of something so noxious and overpowering I know I’ve smelled it before.
Then he appears.
My stomach plummets into my boots.
“Did you really think your little disguise was going to fool me, Valentina?” His low, gruff voice grates against my skin.
Denis Stepanov, my almost father-in-law and one of Branko Ivanova’s close business partners.
No, no, no!
