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“She’s just a kitten,” a man says.
“She knows she can safeword, doesn’t she?” a woman whispers.
“Do something,” someone says, urgent and afraid.
But no one does anything. No one stops the scene. I can’t safeword because we never set an escape. Because I have no limits. Because Jonas and Ansel Herzog are avenging angels, because fate’s a bitch, and so am I. Because I killed Master and this is what I deserve tonight and tomorrow and all the rest of my life.
Ansel leans forward and hisses in my ear. “You’re ours, Slave. Ours till the day you die.”
Because Trap’s not out there. Trap won’t keep me safe.
The cane whistles through the air, giving me a single heartbeat’s warning before it sets my breasts on fire.
Trap will never be here, because I’m filthy.
Another blow, directly on top of the first.
I’m disgusting.
A third blow, and something detonates deep inside my skull, icy crystals shredding whatever remains of my brain.
I’m lost.
I’m.
Lost.
I’m…
32
TRAP
* * *
Gage Rider storms into the security office, waving a plastic earpiece and a hard, black battery pack. His eyes are narrowed beneath his Zorro mask. “What the hell is wrong with comms—?” He draws up short when he sees me in the holding cage. “What the fuck?”
“Get me out of here,” I growl.
“He punched Flynn when we searched him,” tattles the asshole who locked me up. “Broke his fucking jaw.”
“Give me the keys.” Rider holds out his hand.
“This is what he was hiding,” Numbnuts says, like he didn’t just receive a direct order from his boss. He gestures toward the two syringes lying on the metal desk. Their bright red caps look like they’re made of blood.
“Rider,” I say. “I’m running out of time to find them.”
“Find them?” he says. “Holy fuck. How long have you been down here?”
A knife slides between my ribs, the tip hovering over my heart. “What happened?”
“They bid a million bucks on Alix.”
“Alix?Bid?” He’s lost his fucking mind. Alix is back at the penthouse, hopefully sleeping off a three-star dinner from Nourriture. Probably nursing a grudge for my walking out on her tempting proposition.
“You don’t know.” His face drains to match the color of his shirt.
I don’t know. But I’m getting a fucking good idea. “Get me out of here!” I bellow.
