CHAPTER 1
Angelica stood in front of Briggs's Ocean Club in Newport Beach, staring up at two well-lit palm trees that flanked the entrance. Her heart hammered out a few unsteady beats, since her reasons for being here involved a certain walk of shame she hoped to make sometime the next morning.
But now that she was here, her knees felt watery and the butterflies in her stomach had staged a massive riot. She hadn't been with a man for a good long stretch of road. So why was she aiming for dark and dangerous when any number of hardworking males around her office would scratch this itch just fine? She might even fall in love, make some babies, have a life.
Except she didn't want that kind of life.
Putting a hand to her stomach, she drew a deep breath.
She'd finally admitted to herself that only one man would do: Brogan Reyes, a six-five god who looked like he ran black ops missions in his spare time. Piercing blue eyes, massive shoulders, and a scruff that made her tongue tingle just thinking about licking a line straight up his jaw.
Despite her self-confessed need, she remained outside the club, knowing he could be inside. For whatever reason, she couldn't make her feet move.
She didn't really have time for a man in her life anyway. She had a demanding job as an accountant in a big firm that kept her insanely busy. She should just show some sense, head back to her apartment, pay some bills, drink a tumbler of Patrón Silver, and get some rest. Besides, her stilettos pinched like hell. She wasn't used to dressing up like this, showing a ridiculous amount of come-and-get-me cleavage. And she was way out of flirting practice.
Yet her feet wouldn't move backward, either.
Her life had become a serious rut, and if she didn't do something to shake things up she thought she might go mad.
A sudden offshore breeze gave her a small push and she finally set her feet in motion, straight for the doors. She wanted this for herself, if only for one night.
And Reyes was the man she wanted.
Taking a deep breath, she lowered her chin and crossed the foyer threshold, her black sequin clutch held tight to her side.
The hostess smiled. "Welcome to Briggs's Ocean Club. Can I help you with your reservation this evening?"
The club had a variety of venues, including an upscale restaurant, a huge bar and lounge, and an outdoor patio, as well as live music and dancing.
Angelica waved a hand to the left, indicating the lounge, and the hostess smiled and nodded. She made her way to the short staircase that descended to the large, noisiest part of the club: the bar.
As she walked down the five steps, she quickly scanned the tables and long, polished oak bar, but Reyes wasn't there.
She picked a stool at the end nearest the stairs, and perched.
The bartender made his way over. "Angelica, great to see you again."
"Hey, Marcus."
"You haven't been here in a while." A concerned frown followed. "How's your mom?"
"She's doing much better, but thanks for asking. My aunt's in town to look after her, so I have a reprieve, at least for a couple of weeks."
"Well, that's great."
And it was. Angelica could breathe a little and tonight, she could indulge.
"You're one of my favorite people, you know. Lot of spoiled rich kids in this joint. So what can I get you?"
"Gin and tonic, please."
"You got it." He moved away to prepare her order, then returned swiftly, drink in hand, laying down a silver coaster first. But he was off almost as fast, greeting a new group and taking orders.
Marcus had worked at the Ocean Club for years and knew everyone who frequented the upscale, sexy nightspot that served the young and wealthy of Southern California. A gem-like array of bottles ran floor-to-ceiling behind the bar in every color imaginable, a beautiful mosaic against a mirrored wall. Low lights and deep maroon glossy walls gave an intimate feel to what was a large space full of linen-covered tables, comfortable chairs, and chattering guests.
When several customers got called to their restaurant reservation, a lull allowed Marcus to come back to her. He had shoulder-length black hair, dark eyes, and a warm smile. "You look good in red." His gaze fell to the low cut of her neckline, and he waggled his brows. "Hot. Very hot."
She felt a blush climb her cheeks, but she smiled. "Thank you." She lifted her drink to him. "I needed that."
She'd dressed for the occasion in red silk, sleeveless and cut low. She wore more makeup than usual and had dressed her thick dark-brown hair to flow away from her face.
"So can I help you out tonight? Anyone you want to meet?"
Marcus had a sixth sense where people were concerned, and he had never steered her wrong. She trusted him.
Squaring her shoulders, she jumped in. "I'm wondering what you know about Brogan Reyes." Just mentioning his name caused the ever-present butterflies to make a few dive-bombing runs.
His brows rose. "One tough hombre, but I have to say I don't know much more than that. Not sure anyone does. He comes from European money or maybe South American-even that's unclear. But he must have been educated somewhere in the States because he has no accent to speak of. He's usually in the lounge on Fridays so I would expect to see him and I have asked around, but he keeps his cards close. All I know is that he's wealthy, doesn't make a show of it, and meets business associates here. And no, I don't know what kind of business. My only concern, but it's a mild one, is that some of the people he meets give off the wrong vibe."
She knew what Marcus meant-more than one person he'd had drinks with, though well dressed, had a predatory look. "You know what it is? Some of the people I've seen him with do a kind of strip search with their eyes. The last time I was here, I felt like I was being visually weighed and measured, summed up. Make any sense?"
He nodded. "That's a good way of putting it, but I've never seen Reyes pull that kind of shit. I'll give him that."
"I agree. He's definitely a cut above the company he keeps."
He leaned his forearms on the bar. "So is he the one?"
Again her cheeks warmed up. "I'm not sure, but I'm determined to find out."
"Good for you and for what it's worth, despite his I-can-beat-the-shit-out-of-anyone look, I like him. He doesn't play games and he treats women decently, which says a lot."
Another throng of customers arrived, and Marcus moved away to take more orders.
Angelica swiveled in her seat. The dimly lit room was full of laughter and lots of flirting. Windows lined the lounge, with a pair of double doors that led to a crowded patio beyond. Outside, tables and chairs surrounded a massive tree covered in white mini lights.
Music filtered through from the dance club, sometimes with a strong rhythmic beat and other times a slow, sexy groove.
As the band moved into the latter, the erotic rhythm of the bass guitar and drums sent another shiver through her.
Marcus called her name, and when she turned toward him, he winked, then jerked his chin toward the stairs. "He's here."
For a second she couldn't breathe, as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs. She let her gaze move slowly toward the entrance. There he was, standing at the top of the short staircase, looking sexy as hell dressed in a black leather coat, blue silk shirt, and tailored slacks.
Awed as she was by his physical presence, she reminded herself that he was the reason she'd come here tonight. She sat up a little straighter, drink in hand.
He scanned the lounge, just as she had, his gaze moving slowly, then landing on her. She smiled and lifted her glass to him. She'd hoped for an answering curve of his lips, some indication he might be interested. Instead he frowned, though holding her gaze steadily.
Not the most encouraging note.
But the moment of truth had arrived. Was there a chance in hell she could persuade a frowning man to at least have a drink with her?
She felt in her gut that her life was poised right on the head of a pin, and what she did next would either catapult her forward or send her back to her apartment and a sad bottle of tequila for comfort.
Despite his frowns, she made a quick decision.
Grabbing her clutch, and setting her drink down, she slid off the bar stool and headed in his direction. She'd come here to talk to him and talk to him she would, even if all he did was tell her to get lost.
As she mounted the stairs, he turned back in the direction of the foyer with a slight jerk of his head. With that small movement, hope soared.
She found him in the foyer, standing near the tall water feature. As she drew closer, his gaze fell to her cleavage. She watched desire spark in his eyes, and an answering response raced through her body.
Still very nervous, she pushed her hair away from her throat, and his gaze followed, his nostrils flaring. He blinked and his lips parted. She hadn't been wrong about him; he was interested in her. Yep, he was the one.
"I was hoping to talk to you tonight. I've seen you here before, of course."
He searched her eyes. "What do you want?"
Angelica's turn to frown. She'd hoped for a little ice-breaking chitchat, maybe the promise of a smile. Instead his jaw stiffened as once again he held her gaze, frowning.
But she wasn't about to give up, at least not yet. "Can I buy you a drink?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not interested."
Well, that was a lie, so she pressed on. "Let me buy you one anyway."
His eyes narrowed. "What's your game, Angelica?"
Her heart skipped a couple of beats. He knew her name. That meant something.
Swallowing hard, she drew in a deep breath. "I don't have a game. I just wanted to talk to you, maybe get to know you."
"I never took you for a fortune hunter. Guess I was wrong."
"What do you mean?"
"Why else would you be talking to me like this?"
She didn't understand why he suddenly sounded so hostile. It made no sense. "You think I'm after your money?"
"Sure. Why not?"
He was being incredibly rude. "How do I know you even have a nickel?"
He snorted. "Women like you always know."
"Women like me?" She shook her head. This was not how she'd imagined her first conversation with him going. "You know, I asked around and no one knows much about you except that you have ties to Europe and maybe South America. Your last name sounds Spanish enough. And you dress well, but even a monkey could put on a fine suit and Cartier watch, and look well shod."
Something passed through his eyes-amusement maybe, she couldn't tell. But for a second he seemed almost human.
His steely expression returned fast enough, however, and he squared his shoulders. "Let me speak plainly."
"Oh, you haven't been?"
"All right, let me speak more specifically. You don't belong here in this club and when I saw that you'd stopped coming, I thought, Good, one less gold digger to worry about."
She compressed her lips but lowered her voice. "I'm not a gold digger. You've got me wrong."
"Then how about you just stick to your own kind?"
"My own kind? You mean people who work hard, take care of their families, that kind?"
He snorted. "Go home, Angelica, to your little apartment and to the numbers you crunch all day long." So he knew the details of her life. That meant something, too, but it also made her a little nervous. Had he been checking up on her?
He leaned close, though his voice sounded a little softer, not quite so mean. "Go home and live your life. Find some guy who can set you up in a suburb and make babies with you. Isn't that what you really want?"
The question brought her up short, maybe even going to the heart of why she'd come to the club tonight. She decided to be honest with him. "I could have had that, I suppose. Yet somehow, you were what I wanted. I came here for you."
He seemed taken aback, surprised even. He huffed an exasperated sigh and took her arm in his hand. "For fuck's sake, just go home."
But the sudden physical contact had a strange effect on her as she met his gaze once more. Desire for him flowed all over again, an unstoppable wave of need that brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't explain it as anything other than a bone-deep inner knowing. She knew the man's cruel words weren't truthful. He was merely trying to drive her away.
"Reyes," she whispered softly. "You're not indifferent. I can sense it. And I promise you, I'm not after anything, except this." She leaned up and kissed him.
His lips were moist and sensual and for just a moment, he leaned into her and returned the kiss.
When she finally drew back, his eyes flared once more and the grip on her arm increased. "Who are you?" His voice was now hoarse and deep.
She wanted to ask him to take her somewhere, anywhere, but he released her arm and once more adopted a hard expression.
"You're making a mistake, Angelica. And I'm begging you to leave this club and never come back. You belong tucked up in your safe, very normal life. This one, I promise you, this one will destroy you."
Before she could ask what the hell he meant, he moved past her back in the direction of the bar.
Angelica didn't know what to think. His words seemed to suggest she was in some kind of danger, or at least she would be if she stayed here.
For a long beat, she considered following after him, but the moment had passed. She'd given him plenty of opportunity to engage with her, but instead he wanted her to go away.
She moved forward toward the open front doors of the club. The cool ocean breeze cleared her senses as more customers flowed into the large foyer.
She couldn't believe she'd kissed him. She'd wanted to shake him up, and she was sure she'd succeeded, at least a little. But apparently not enough for him to ask her to stay.
Walking toward her car, almost in a daze, his words kept playing over in her mind: that this club or maybe this part of society would destroy her. But what bothered her the most was his reference to her safe life.
As she reached her modest Camry, a very safe car, she drew her keys from her clutch but got no further. She didn't want to go back to her usual routine, to her normal life. That's what went through her head, and it made it impossible to put the key in the lock.
She knew the kiss had touched him, opened him a little. She couldn't be wrong about that.
She also thought it possible that if she left now, she'd never see him again, and that was the last thing she wanted. She had to break through his icy barrier, get him to talk, and maybe at the very least to explain why he thought she was in danger.
She put her keys back in her purse and turned around. She had to make one last attempt to reach him.
The parking lot was well lit with lots of people coming and going. Though there were two rather large, imposing men at the end of her row of cars, she had no reason to feel at risk. There were just too many people around for anything to go wrong.
She moved quickly in the direction of the club, and at the same time the two men pivoted toward her. A jolt of fear went through her, an instinct that almost turned her feet around once more. But even if they meant her harm, what could they possibly do with so many witnesses nearby?
She therefore straightened her shoulders and kept on going. However, just as she drew near, she swore the air around them grew oddly distorted, the way heat would look on sun-blasted asphalt.
She blinked and the next moment one of the men grabbed her arm, hauled her against his chest, and held her tight. The other pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth. The smell nauseated her, and she struggled hard, kicking and screaming, certain that someone would come to help her or, if not, at least call the police.
But her mind started spinning, she couldn't feel her feet, then she was falling.
* * *
Three days later Brogan Reyes sat in a very different kind of club deep in the Como cavern system, his nerves on edge. Sex slaves of every human ethnicity worked the club table-to-table, while a live stage performance kept the customers on the verge of release.
From the earliest time he could remember he'd survived by playing a role, and tonight was no different. But if all went well, he'd get the one thing he wanted above everything else: an invitation to become a member of the Starlin Group.
Just a few nights from now Starlin would host another gala event, and if he played his cards right, he was in. He'd purchase his first sex slave and become part of the inner circle of one of the most heinous slavery rings in his world.
Once inside the organization, he intended to bring the whole damn thing down.
So he played his role, watching the live stage show and behaving as though he liked that the woman screamed in pain. The dom, covered in leather, used a variety of implements to draw blood. He knew the progression of torture well; given her pallor, she'd drop into unconsciousness soon, then another slave would be brought out and the process would begin again.
Part of him wanted to rush the stage, grab the woman, and get her permanently out of this hellhole. If he did, however, he'd destroy decades spent building a reputation as a man fully into the lifestyle. He had to perpetually think beyond the present moment, to the thousands of women and men who lived caged in this part of the world, serving the sadistic needs of a hungry, perverse, but well-paying vampire clientele.
The club appealed to high-end slavers, with black marble on the walls layered with swaths of emerald crystals. Soft lighting hung suspended over numerous linen-covered tables, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere for the horror taking place not just on stage but all around him.
Many of the clientele brought their own slaves with them to perform fellatio while they enjoyed the evening's entertainment. Ecstatic moans occasionally rolled through the club as waitstaff kept the drinks coming.
This club was at the dark end of the lifestyle, where the slaves lived constantly with the threat of torture. But other clubs were worse, involving a snuff element. Those, he avoided. He'd sacrificed a lot to create his cover, but he drew the line at watching slaves murdered for the purpose of sexual gratification.
He lifted his now-empty glass to a passing female slave, toggling it slightly. She came toward him on a quick step, eyes flaring. With that one brief signal, he knew her type: She might have entered the world as a slave, but she'd fully embraced the lifestyle and learned the fine art of turning pain into pleasure.
On his periphery he saw that two Starlin men sat at a nearby table, no doubt assigned to observe him. He therefore had his own little performance to give, and this slave would be perfect for what he needed to do.
She was Asian, with straight black hair to her shoulders, and wore a costume made up entirely of chains crisscrossed over most of her body. The chains left nothing to the imagination, revealing bare breasts, buttocks, and a narrow black landing strip.
"What's your pleasure, Master Reyes?" She held her small round service tray toward him.
With one hand he placed the tumbler in the center, but with the other he grabbed the chain that ran from the middle of her chest, downward between her legs, then rose to connect high on her back. He pulled, one hard tug.
She gasped, her chin quivering.
He watched her face as the pain transformed into something sweeter, and in a slow rhythm he worked the chain up and down. "What I want right now is your mouth on my dick."
With her dark eyes glittering, she set her tray on his table, then dropped to her knees.
She did all the work, unbuckling his pants, licking him, teasing his balls. With his eyes on the stage, she took him deep, her head doing a slow bob as he leaned back in his chair.
He wasn't happy about the situation, which meant he struggled to physically enjoy the process, but he kept his eye on the prize: proving to the Starlin spies that he'd adopted the slaver way of life.
She paused for a moment, looking up at him, and whispered. "You're legendary, master." She rubbed her thumb slowly over his crown. "Take me home, later? My owner won't even charge, not if he knows it's you."
Her words pleased the hell out of him, not because she applauded his sexual prowess, but because she'd inadvertently told him that her owner would treat him just like he did all the big boys at Starlin. He'd worked a helluva long time to achieve this position, spending a large portion of his fortune securing the goodwill of the various club owners.
He smiled and leaned close to bite her ear, sinking his teeth hard until he tasted blood on his tongue. He repressed the part of him that wanted more of the sweet-tasting elixir, that wanted a deep draw at her throat, then sat back once more.
She looked up at him again, her lips swollen as she breathed hard, clearly enjoying his attentions. "Please, master."
"We'll see. Take care of me now and we'll discuss terms."
She smiled and went back to work, head bobbing once more.
His hatred of the sex-slave world went deep, so to sustain his arousal, he let his mind drift into dangerous waters: into the recent past when he'd seen Angelica at the Ocean Club.
The mere thought of her brought pleasure flowing and his hips flexing slightly.
Angelica.
She'd be his salvation in this heinous situation; images of her would see him through.
He recalled her red dress and the most beautiful display of cleavage he'd seen in a long time. She had looked so damn sexy, so beautiful when he'd first seen her sitting at the bar, her long legs crossed at the knee, her gaze fixed on him. He'd recognized the invitation and wished like hell he could have taken her up on it, taken her home, made love to her. God knew, he'd wanted to.
The more he focused on those memories, the more his body responded, so he stayed with them. She'd looked even prettier up close, with large brown eyes, made up just right, her lips shiny with gloss. Then she'd kissed him, one of the biggest surprises of his life. He'd wanted to keep on kissing her, to lay a line of kisses across the mounds of her breasts, to run his hands up her dress, to sink his fingers deep inside her wetness.
He moaned and the mouth that worked him sucked just a little harder, a little faster, a perfect response.
He saw Angelica naked, her layered hair shoved behind her creamy shoulders, her throat exposed, pulse beating in her neck.
Desire flowed as he saw nothing but her, imagining the feel of her breasts beneath his fingers and his mouth sucking each nipple repeatedly until her body responded with heavy undulations.
With these thoughts, pleasure soared. He cupped the back of the slave's head. She knew the signal and sucked faster. But his mind was full of Angelica now, her long legs, his knees spreading them wide. He was over her now, pushing his cock inside, pumping into her, faster and faster.
His lower back tightened and the release came, streaking like lightning through his cock.
Angelica.
She was the one. The one he'd wanted, desired, needed.
As his pleasure peaked he groaned, not caring if he was heard above all the other sounds in the club.
Angelica.
His breathing slowed and he leaned back in the chair, his mind still spinning with the images he'd created.
He frowned as he thought of Angelica, of how much he wanted her, how much he wished she were here right now, with him. That would never happen, of course, not in a million years.
After a moment the slave leaned back on her heels. She gently tucked him inside his briefs, zipped him up, fumbled with the button, then buckled his belt. All neat and tidy.
Though she smiled, he saw her drawn cheeks, the pinch at the corner of each eye as she worked to hold back her emotions. He knew what it was to be in her position, to have to engage sexually on demand, often several times a night.
Fuck this horrible situation and the way this slave had been brutalized. He took her chin in hand and, leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "You brought me beautifully. Thank you."
When he leaned back again in his seat, her dark eyes grew haunted and she spoke quickly. "Master, please buy me. I would give anything to serve in your house. I know my owner would allow it. Like I said, he'd do anything for you. He says you're to be the next Starlin member. Please. I need to get out of here."
He felt her desperation, but with the Starlin boys watching him, he still had his role to play.
He steeled himself and took on a bored expression. "All I want from you right now is another Maker's Mark, neat."
The light of hope died swiftly in the woman's eyes. She nodded, rising to her feet and moving away as fast as her shackled ankles would allow.
He made himself a promise that as soon as he brought Starlin down, he'd start destroying clubs like this one until they were all gone and slavery was a thing of the past in his world.
Thank God he'd been able to warn Angelica away from the Ocean Club. What she didn't know, what he hadn't been able to tell her, was that she perfectly fit the bill for Starlin acquisition. Not just because of her beauty, but more important because she had no money to speak of and her closest relative was infirm.
Earlier in the year he'd seen the Starlin team scoping her, so he'd done his own surface investigation and learned the basic details of her life. He understood her vulnerability. Fortunately, at least until a few days ago, she'd stopped coming to the club and he'd been relieved.
But the moment he'd seen her, he knew she was in danger. She'd never looked more beautiful or sexier and the Starlin team had already arrived, hunting for the right women to snatch.
He'd watched her leave the club, then he'd taken off in the opposite direction, heading back to his home in Italy. He just hoped to hell that in the future she'd stay away. The one thing he'd learned was that the acquisition teams worked clubs almost exclusively, all over the world, grabbing women and sometimes men to sell at auction. Witnesses at clubs were notoriously unreliable-another perfect aspect of the whole setup.
His server returned with his drink, but her eyes were now passive, no longer pleading. She moved away slower this time. He felt her despair like a palpable weight in the air, but he kept his gaze fixed on the stage.
He drank his whiskey in slow sips and after a few more minutes, from his peripheral vision, he watched the Starlin spies leave their table. They would make a full report. If the gods smiled, he'd get that fucking invitation.
He needed to get the hell out of the club, take a hot shower using plenty of soap, but he remained where he was just in case there were others tracking his movements and reporting, spies he didn't know about.
After another hour, and another whiskey, he was about to leave when a slave brought him an embossed envelope. He recognized the Starlin insignia, an S with a chain in a circle around it.
He strove to calm the surge of adrenaline that rocketed through him. This was it, what he'd been working toward all these years.
Breaking the gold seal, he pulled out the card and read. The Starlin Group extends the warm hand of fellowship and requests your presence at all future events. Congratulations and warmest wishes to our newest member. Your fellow slaver, Master Engles.
He glanced up at the male slave, whom he knew to be one of Engles's many assistants. Engles was the man to impress and Reyes had apparently gotten the job done, but it had taken years. "You may tell your master I am most grateful."
The slave, his face also a familiar mask of impassivity, nodded once, then left.
Reyes remained another half an hour, a powerful euphoria flowing through his veins. His forearm rested over the invitation, the physical reminder of what he'd accomplished.
His gaze sought out the slave he'd used earlier. As she dropped to her knees in front of yet another slaver, a woman this time, he promised himself he'd get her out along with all the others who had served him while he built his heinous reputation.
His plans were finally falling into place. The next auction would take place on Friday, followed by several gala parties. On the block would be beauties gathered from every corner of the world, and to cement his reputation he'd buy his first slave, or even a group of slaves.
When the woman on stage finally passed out, the dom tossed her over his shoulder and hauled her away. A round of applause rippled through the audience, along with calls for more drinks. Another group of slaves entered the stage to clean up.
Reyes finally rose to leave.
Pulling a well-packed money clip from the pocket of his pants, he dropped several thousand on the white linen, then headed home.
* * *
Angelica lay on a hard mattress that smelled of blood and urine, her hands bound behind her. She couldn't keep her eyes open and her head felt as if spikes had been jammed through the top of her skull. Mostly her arms were killing her in this position.
She sensed that considerable time had passed since she'd last seen Reyes at Briggs's Ocean Club, but she had no idea how much. Days, at least.
She also had vague recollections of being awakened, forced to drink things she didn't want to, then shoved back down on the same mattress to sleep for long periods of time.
Her arms hadn't always been bound like this-only after she'd tried to claw one of her captors' eyes out.
She still didn't understand where she was, what was happening to her, or how long she'd been in what she could only describe as some kind of jail cell set in a cave, a very large cave.
"How's Sleeping Beauty?" A woman's voice reached her, sweet and melodious. A spurt of hope swept through her.
"Coming 'round, mistress."
"Well, get in there, strip her down, and let me have a look. The Starlin acquisition team said she's worth at least two million."
"Yes, mistress."
Hope crashed.
Angelica tried to sit up. She wanted to fight whoever it was that intended to follow the woman's orders, but she'd only made it to her elbow when a hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.
"Hey." Her protest came out slurred.
For this one word, she received a hard slap across her mouth.
"How many times have I told you not to hit the face? Humans don't heal fast."
Angelica processed this statement, but couldn't make sense of it. What did the woman mean by humans not healing fast?
"Sorry, mistress."
"Bring her closer."
Angelica's face throbbed as her captor dragged her to the front of the cell, then pulled her upright for inspection. Between the pain in her head from whatever drugs she'd been given and the new blow to her face, she could barely open her eyes.
"Closer."
Blinking, she had a blurred view of the bars of her cell and a figure beyond.
"Aw, why are you crying, sweetheart?" The woman clucked her tongue. "He didn't hit you that hard."
"Not crying," Angelica managed through thickened lips. She might have been, she wasn't sure, but like hell she'd give this she-devil a reason to think small of her.
"Well, at least you've got some spirit." The woman tilted her head-that much Angelica could determine, but her vision still wasn't working right.
"Get her clothes off. I need to see the goods."
At that Angelica's instincts took over. She thrashed in the man's hold, kicking at him and screaming. Of course she couldn't do much with her arms bound. Still, she fought him hard.
Something struck the back of her head and all went black.
She woke up with a pungent smell wafting beneath her nose. Again she came up fighting, but she didn't get far since restraints held her down, flat on her back.
And she was naked.
She breathed hard, trying to twist, but her ankles were pinned as well.
"You need to relax, princess."
The woman of the melodious voice had returned, only now she was inside the cell.
She drew close to the bed and sat down on a stool beside the putrid mattress. She put a hand on Angelica's throat, stroking down the side of her neck. "Your blood has a wonderful smell, very rich. I'm tempted to sample you myself. Unfortunately, we always promise pristine, never-before-bitten goods to our clientele."
Angelica rocked her head back and forth. "Get the hell away from me."
She could finally see, despite how badly her head ached.
The woman smiled at her, but her dark-blue eyes held a cruel glint, truly malevolent, despite her otherwise angel-like appearance. She looked like something out of an old painting, with light-red hair in a mass of curls, pale skin, small pink lips, and large cornflower-blue eyes.
Angelica couldn't battle the woman, but maybe she could reason with her. "Listen, I don't belong here. There's been some kind of mistake."
The woman's small lips curved into a bow. "Of course you belong here. You're built exactly right for our needs."
A chill ran through her. "What do you mean needs?"
"You're a woman. Figure it out."
The statement confirmed her worst fears. "Sex."
"Of course, and all sorts of variations so you'll never be bored."
Angelica shuddered. "Can't you let me out of these restraints?"
"No, I can't. You almost blinded one of my workers. You must be obedient while you're in our care, do you understand?"
The woman slid her hand down Angelica's chest and began caressing her bare breasts, moving in slow circles. "You have very full, exquisite breasts, by the way. Does that feel good?"
Angelica squirmed, trying to get away from the unwelcome touch. "I'm not into women."
"They all say that at first, but pretty soon you'll be doing a lot of things you never thought you'd do. And given your spirit, I feel compelled to offer a taste of the kind of pain you'll experience if you don't do as you're told."
The woman took hold of Angelica's left nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pinched harder and harder. Angelica twisted, trying to get relief, but the pressure increased.
She looked at the woman's face and saw a kind of euphoria in her features. She was enjoying hurting her.
"Sorry, precious, but this is gonna get worse before it gets better. Try to relax."
"It's bad enough already." She spoke the words between gasps.
Something that felt like fire began to burn through Angelica's nipple, a burn that kept coming, kept increasing. She heard screams, then realized they belonged to her.
"Beautiful," the woman said softly. "I really am tempted to keep you for myself. Let's see how much you can take. I hadn't meant to go this far, but you've got some chops, my dear."
The fiery pain broadened, expanding through her breast. She shook, cried out, and wept. The pain was beyond bearing. She was sure it couldn't get worse, then it did.
"What stamina. I swear I haven't seen someone of your potential in more than a century. You'll do extremely well on the block, just wait and see. But you'll need to rein in your spirit if you want to survive, and don't ever say I didn't warn you."
Her vision began to blacken. As Angelica slipped into unconsciousness once more, she saw the woman smile, a final image she'd never forget.
Copyright © 2015 by Caris Roane