Chapter 11 Mila The sounds of a fight filtered through the basement to the brightly lit locker room where I waited with four other women. Three talked excitedly while a fourth sat on a bench and studied her hands, a mantra whispered on her lips. "This will all be okay. I'll meet him. Whoever he is, he'll love me." I couldn't share her reassurance. My well-thought-through plan had been blown to pieces. It was all my fault. I'd texted the one person who'd been my get-out-of-jail-free. I'd asked my brother for help, and he'd arrived after Convict had already taken Annabelle away but walked straight into a trap. With the worst possible timing, Salter and his cronies had arrived. They'd captured him, and from somewhere, knew my name. I wasn't sure how that happened, but I had my suspicions. My plan had been straightforward. Put myself forward for auction, then when they took me to the boss, Rhys Jacobs, I'd get what I wanted then free myself. If my name hadn't been enough for them to let me walk away, my backup plan would've come for me. Now that backup was in handcuffs and restraints, and I'd been forced into the skeleton crew's basement while his life hung in the balance. I held myself taut, my mind spinning over what I'd been ordered to do. It was so strange. Salter's command this evening was for me to get to Jacobs. He was in this same game. My target all along, but also Salter's. Except now, I had to let him fuck me in this basement where nineteen other men would be trying to do the same. My skin itched and crawled. If I failed, Salter would make good on his threat and kill the man I should never have brought into this. The brother I'd fought to build a relationship with and now whose life was in my hands. What a mess. What an absolute disaster I'd fallen into. One of the women went to the doorway and peeked out, her white-blonde hair sliding over her shoulder. She was dressed to impress in pale lace that clung to her curves. In contrast, I'd been thrown a bag of clothes by Salter and told to pick a tight dress. And not to bother with underwear. I hadn't cared about the option I'd chosen-a purple minidress that barely covered my ass. Especially not after Salter had crowed about how soon it would be torn off me. The woman at the door shivered. "It won't be long. In another minute, the siren will go. Can you hear the men?" The shouts of fighting were getting louder, perhaps at the sight of her as one of the cages was adjacent to the locker room door. I'd caught a glimpse when I'd scurried in. Though the cage was unlit, the occupants had been outlined by the bright lights of the huge warehouse space that also revealed its concrete floor, gantry steps, pillars, and hidden doorways. Most of the men were bare-chested, but there was an added element that filled me with dread. The skeleton masks. All were wearing them. How did I pick out Jacobs if I couldn't see his face? I'd only ever met him across a meeting room table. Another woman went to the door and stepped outside, her black hair twisted into a complex pattern. She adjusted her boobs in her bra top, earning a chorus of roars from the cage at her fingers on her ebony skin. "Get ready to run, ladies." We all moved into the hall, and the others gazed up to the neon-pink light on the wall and the siren next to it. An air of excited anticipation ran over every woman but me. My stomach cramped from the rising adrenaline. My whole body trembled. I was trapped in here. There was no way out. The doors had locked behind me, and no one could leave until it was all over. Every last woman fucked and owned. The siren blared. I burst out with a sob, shocking myself with the emotion. I'd held it in for days. There was no time for a breakdown-the cage doors grated and clanked. My heart thumped harder, and I ran, off to the left where the shadows were darkest. A bellow came, and I peered over my shoulder to see the blonde woman sprinting straight down the centre of the wide-open space. A gang pursued her. One was in the lead, a huge beast of a man with black jeans and bare feet, a spray of blood on his olive skin. He gave an animalistic growl and swiped for her, catching her waist so the two tumbled to the floor. Instantly, the rest of the pack set upon them, punches thrown at him while others grasped at her in a mass brawl. That wasn't all the men, though. Maybe only half. Two pursued the quiet mantra woman up the metal steps to a suspended walkway. A third woman had set off in the opposite direction to me, with her own group stalking her. The fourth with the complex hairstyle, I couldn't see. Not one of the men resembled Jacobs. It had been only weeks since I last saw him at a corporate board meeting. He'd been in a suit and tie, smug and unspeaking. It was hard to place that man as one of these attackers. He had to be here, though, which meant I needed to hunt the hunters. But in that came a problem. Three men prowled in my direction. One, in a black gym shirt which showed off too-thick muscles, pointed at me. "You're mine." I backed away, matching their pace. None were Jacobs. They were too big. He was slighter than all of them. At his statement, the man next to the gym bunny swore then hooked an arm around his throat and tossed him to the floor, a fight breaking out between them that tripped up the third man. I took my chance and fled around a corner. Hugging the wall, I stumbled in my footsteps and clung to a pillar, temporarily out of sight to anyone in the main space of the massive basement. I breathlessly searched the group still fighting over the woman with the sleek blonde hair. She was on all fours, trying to crawl away. With a rip, her dress tore away to reveal her underwear, one of her shoes already missing. A man caught her ankle and dragged her back, and I winced. She'd be hurt. Her knees bloodied by the rough concrete and her flesh bruised. None of them cared, and not a single member of the large group gave me any glimmer of recognition. The man who had her in his grip crawled over her, changing his hold to the back of her neck while he wrestled with the opening to his jeans, freeing his dick. A second tore off his clothes and dove at the pair. Oh God. One way or another, that woman's game was almost up. I couldn't watch. On the far wall, the woman who'd run up the gantry had reached a metal walkway that bisected the wall, leading to what looked like an overseer's office with more steps heading down the other side. The men who'd chased her had been joined by others. I scoured the group, desperation filling me. Nope, not Rhys Jacobs. Where was he? I'd counted off, how many, twelve of the twenty? More? A howl broke my thoughts. A man with a top knot of blond hair shoved another off the gantry. The victim dangled by an arm from the rail, high above the warehouse floor, his hands slipping dangerously on the metal. No one helped him. The woman with the black hair appeared and kicked out at one of her pack with impressive poise. He stumbled away to be replaced instantly. The next man captured her, pulling her tight against his body. He kissed her. Ran a hand down her body to yank up her dress and expose her bare ass, his fingers sliding between her legs. She laughed and slapped his face. He captured her hand and touched his forehead to hers, pure fury and lust holding his features tight. Footsteps sounded closer to me, snapping me back to my own game. I spun to face a man prowling around the corner at the far end of the room, the way I'd come. He didn't run, and for too many heartbeats, neither did I. His focus fell on me like a spotlight. A bolt of familiarity hit me. In this place of depravity, he was the bright glimmer of recognition I'd so badly needed. Except this wasn't Jacobs. The man taking purposeful, slow steps in my direction wore faded jeans and a grey shirt, open a few buttons at his throat, and with his sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms. He was tall, with messy dark hair, and inkwork on his skin. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Findnøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I couldn't see his lower face behind the mask, but I knew his shape. He was a lost boy, a gang member for whom this nightmare was any other day of the week. I'd touched the white bandage on his arm and wondered about the scar at his temple. The walking boot was missing, swapped out for running shoes. My bottom lip trembled, and fresh tears threatened. I hated it here, and Convict offered safety and protection I couldn't take. As much as I wanted to run to him, I turned and bolted the other way.