Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
S unlight sparkled off the Caribbean water beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, mocking Haisley with its beauty. She paced the gilded cage, fingers trailing over chrome accents and plush gray fabrics that probably cost more than her yearly salary. Everything gleamed—polished mirrors, marble surfaces, crystal light fixtures.
Beautiful. Expensive. Utterly impossible to use as a weapon.
She’d spent days examining every inch of this suite. The windows were hurricane-proof, reinforced with steel mesh she could see glinting between the layers. The elegant metal fixtures were welded in place. Even the books and movies provided felt like a taunt—erotic tales full of sex, as if preparing her for tonight’s “claiming.”
The gauzy excuse for a dress hanging in her closet made her stomach turn.
Her only human contact for days had been silent guards with her meals and the cold-eyed doctor force-feeding her vitamins. She’d swallowed them, figuring they wouldn’t risk damaging their ten-million-dollar “investment.”
The door opened. A guard filled the frame. “Spa time.”
“What kind of treatments?” Her voice cracked from disuse.
He didn’t answer, just grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hallway. Down they went, deeper into the compound’s bowels, past security checkpoints with retinal scanners and reinforced doors, until they reached a space that could have been any high-end spa.
Except for the screaming.
The open floor plan revealed women being “prepared” for tonight. Scissors snipped. Hair dryers whirred. The sharp scent of chemicals burned her nose—bleach, hair dye, wax. Some women sat quietly as stylists worked, their eyes dead. Others were stripped and waxed raw, their skin angry red. In one corner, a woman thrashed against restraints while another woman approached with a piercing needle and lifted a towel to reveal her bare breasts.
“No! Please. Don’t—” Her pleas cut off in a shriek that echoed off the marble floors.
“Master Brady is gifting her with a set of weighted nipple rings,” one worker commented to another. “He does love his jewelry.”
Haisley’s knees nearly buckled. Oh, god. What had Jasper ordered for her?
Near the shampoo stations, she spotted Kaylee Wright. The girl who’d sparked their investigation looked half dead inside, her eyes vacant. A stylist roughly yanked her head back to rinse her hair.
“Kaylee,” she whispered, hoping to sneak a word with the brunette.
The girl’s head snapped up. She frowned, confused. Wary. Like a beaten animal.
Before Haisley could say any more, a sharp-faced woman in a white coat appeared, her heels clicking menacingly on the tile. “No talking between merchandise. Next infraction means punishment.”
Her tight smile and gleaming eyes suggested she’d enjoy meting it out.
The guard shoved Haisley into a chair beneath harsh fluorescent lights. Through the mirror, she watched Amy being led into a private room. The door closed. Locked. Moments later, she heard pleading, then a blood-curdling scream that pinged off every wall and seemingly rattled every victim in the spa. Finally, sobbing filtered through the wall, unnerving her even more.
Haisley’s hands trembled as they wrapped her in a plush robe that smelled of lavender and money. To her surprise, what followed was almost normal—a facial that might have been relaxing if her heart wasn’t racing, a massage she endured while plotting escape routes, her skin crawling at every touch. The mani-pedi felt like shackles being decorated, each stroke of polish another chain.
During the cloyingly scented seaweed wrap, she tried engaging the technician. “How can you be part of this? Do you know what’s happening to these other women? These women are being?—”
“Treatment questions only,” the woman snapped, tightening the wrap until it hurt. “Another word and I'll have them bring the gag. You won’t like it.”
Two new workers attacked her face with brushes and sponges, discussing her like a piece of furniture. “Good bone structure.”
“Master King paid a premium; she needs to look it.” They transformed her into someone else—smoky eyes, red-light-district lips, and fiery hair tousled, as if she’d spent a night in pleasure.
In the mirror, Haisley caught glimpses of other “breeders” being finished. Their faces were masks of terror beneath perfect makeup. That transparent scrap of silk they’d given her to wear would offer no more protection than their cosmetics.
She’d hoped someone here—someone who wasn’t a guard or doctor—might help. Might see the wrongness of what happened on this island. But these spa workers were just as complicit, just as cruel, chatting about “merchandise” and “stock” as if they were preparing cattle for auction.
JasperTheDick. She’d been clinging to hope that he was her old online friend coming to help. The one who’d encouraged her amateur sleuthing, who had seemed to understand her passion for justice. But what kind of hero bought a woman to breed her? What kind of savior ordered her beautified for his pleasure?
The stylist arranged, brushed, and teased her hair for over an hour into an elaborate cascade of curls that spilled past her shoulders and drifted down her back.
“Perfect,” she declared. “You will surely please your master well tonight. They love when their property looks innocent but ready to be ruined.”
Haisley caught her own reflection. She appeared innocent and wanton at once. Together with her negligee of a dress, she looked exactly like what she was meant to be: an expensive toy.
They’d made her beautiful for her own violation.
In a few hours, she’d face JasperTheDick, wearing nothing more than a scrap of silk. In front of God knew how many people, she’d be “claimed.”
And sometime after that, he’d rape her over and over until she conceived.
She closed her eyes against sudden tears, refusing to show weakness. She had to stay strong. Had to keep watching. Had to find a way out.
But as Amy’s cries echoed through the walls, hope felt as flimsy as the lingerie they’d forced her to wear.
Nash gripped the yacht’s railing, watching the private island grow larger against the Caribbean horizon. A week since the abduction. A week of not knowing what Haisley was enduring. A week of her being out of her mind with fear. His knuckles whitened.
Behind him, Ethan and Kane hovered nearby in designer suits that probably cost more than most people made in a month. They all looked the part: wealthy degenerates with expensive watches, the latest phones, and not a moral compass among them.
Studying the approaching compound through Cartier sunglasses, Nash’s mind raced. An operation this sophisticated required serious backing. The island alone must have cost millions. Then the facilities, the staff, the bribes to keep it all quiet… He and the EM Security team had been so busy trying to figure out how to save Haisley and as many others as they could, they hadn’t tackled the one question that niggled at his brain now: Who had that kind of money and influence? Who had enough power to make people look the other way? Who the hell was behind this special corner of hell?
He’d find out. And after he rescued Haisley, he’d burn their whole empire to the ground.
His gut twisted. How would she react when she realized he was JasperThePrivateDick from Crime Solvers International? He’d chatted with her online and encouraged her amateur sleuthing. She had no idea her online friend and the man she’d once walked away from were one and the same. Would she see his deception as betrayal or understand he’d been trying to find a way back into her heart? How could he explain any of it with cameras everywhere? And how the hell was he supposed to ensure that she didn’t give away his cover before he could clue her in on their plan?
The yacht docked at a pristine pier. Armed guards in tactical gear stood at attention, their weapons prominently displayed. Surveillance cameras hung from trees. The place looked like a sumptuous resort…but the vibe was top-security military installation. Nash cataloged their positions and patrol patterns, storing the information for later. Beside him, Ethan and Kane appeared to be doing the same.
Ethan stretched languorously, then clapped him on the back. “Time to see what ten mil buys these days, eh, Jasper?”
“Better be worth every penny.” Nash forced a predatory grin he didn’t feel while sending both of them a weighty stare.
Be careful. They’re probably listening already.
“The amenities alone…” Kane—now in his role as Keith—adjusted his Rolex, but Nash saw the answering steel in Kane’s eyes. “Did you see the list of available equipment? Makes my private dungeon look amateur. Can’t wait to test it out. Fuck, I should have bought a new toy, like you two.”
Ethan play-punched him in the gut, but his stare burned. “I’m sure they have loaners for losers like you.”
“Enjoy the sloppy seconds.” Nash’s laugh held an edge.
“Speaking of which…” Ethan smirked. “My purchase better be properly prepared. You know I’m particular.”
“Aren’t we all?" Nash elbowed Ethan as he watched the guards on the pier. “That’s why we’re here. Special merchandise for special buyers.”
“To new adventures.” Kane raised his champagne flute. “And getting exactly what you paid for.”
As the gangplank lowered, a sleek woman in white approached. “Welcome to the Velvet Cove. I’m Ms. Winters, your guest services director. Your luggage will be delivered directly to your suites. Please, follow me, and I’ll give you the guided tour so you can start enjoying your stay with us.”
Wordlessly, he and his fellow operatives nodded. They wound through the compound—a maze of corridors and checkpoints. Nash memorized each turn, each security camera, each keypad, noting the concrete walls beneath luxury finishes and the bulletproof windows.
A guard blocked their path, hands on his weapon. “ID check.”
Ms. Winters frowned. “This is our newest premium member and his associates. They’ve been vetted.”
“Still need ID.” The guard’s hand rested on his weapon. The other pointed to a window at the top of the gleaming white multistory resort. “I’ve got orders.”
As if he didn’t have a care in the world, Nash produced the documentation Stone and Trees had created. His pulse quickened as the guard scrutinized it. After tense seconds, the man finally nodded.
They passed through ornate double doors into what looked like a giant theater—one he recognized from the auction. A massive four-poster bed now dominated the stage, black silk sheets and heavy restraints a promise of what was to come. Around it stood equipment shrouded in black—implements of torture masquerading as pleasure and a warning to any who might resist.
Nash’s blood ran cold.
Nearby, a cabinet filled with crops, whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and clamps… The choices seemed endless. He liked good—consensual—impact play. But the implications of this forced discipline, rather than the funishment he enjoyed, turned his stomach.
“Our Midnight Sanctuary. It’s something, isn’t it?” Ms. Winters shot them a practiced smile. “You’ll gather here tonight. Tonight’s claiming ceremony will be…unforgettable.”
Nash forced a smirk past his revulsion. “Looking forward to it.”
Ms. Winters led them away. More corridors. More security. More surveillance. How the fuck would they ever rescue these victims and get out undetected?
Finally, they headed down a quiet, more private hallway—an upscale guest wing as evidenced by the thick, ornate carpet and the elaborate sconces. Their icy guide stopped at a pair of doors across from one another and waved Ethan and Kane to their rooms.
They disappeared behind their respective closed doors with cautious glances.
Then his guide stopped at the end of the hall. “Your suite, Mr. King.”
Heart hammering, Nash barreled inside the luxurious room.
It was empty.
“Where is she?”
Ms. Winters sent him a cloying smile. “Your merchandise will be presented to you at tonight’s claiming ritual. Before sunrise, you’ll return here. We’ll deliver champagne brunch at noon. Then you two will be left undisturbed unless you request food, supplies, spa services…” Her smile turned knowing. “Or use of our specialty rooms.”
“Specialty rooms?”
“Dungeons, Mr. King. We offer facilities for those requiring additional motivation. Speaking of which, if your purchase proves uncooperative, do let us know. We have methods to make them more…agreeable.”
Nash’s stomach turned. “Drugs?”
“That’s one option. We have others—and an exceptional success rate.” She gestured to a leather folder on the desk. “You’ll find a schedule of upcoming gatherings. Attendance is optional, though encouraged. Dr. Reid will examine your breeder weekly to check for conception and any other medical complications. Once pregnancy is confirmed, you’re free to leave with your property. Mr. Gray handles any dissatisfaction, though refunds are rare.”
She indicated the phone on the elaborate desk against the wall. “You can contact your associates through the switchboard. All communications are monitored, of course. For everyone’s safety.”
The threat was clear in her icy smile.
“Otherwise, think of this as a luxury vacation,” she concluded. “With the added benefit of a new toy. Remember, all interaction with merchandise must occur on premises. Attempting early departure will have…unfortunate consequences.”
Her heels clicked toward the door. “Your evening meal should arrive shortly. Your food preferences have been taken into account.”
“What about my…breeder?” He hated saying that word. “She’ll be fed, yes?”
“Of course, and quite well. We would never mistreat your merchandise. I suggest you rest between now and the ceremony, Mr. King,” Ms. Winters added from the doorway.
Then she was gone, the door clicking with finality behind her.
Heart revving, Nash moved around the suite, his footsteps echoing across marble floors as he catalogued details. Haisley’s vanilla-musky scent—something uniquely her—lingered in the air, confirming what his heart already knew.
She had been here. She was still alive.
In six hours, he would have to watch her be paraded in front of a crowd. Would have to “claim” her like property. Would have to pretend to be exactly the kind of monster he was here to destroy.
Until then, he was trapped here alone with traces of her presence and growing dread about what midnight would bring.