Chapter Six
CHAPTER SIX
W earing nothing but the flesh-colored silk slip she’d been provided—sans undergarments—Haisley paced the opulent waiting room, lace cupping her breasts and brushing the tops of her thighs. Her bare feet sank into plush carpet with each step. God, she was almost naked, and she felt so vulnerable.
Midnight was a handful of hours away. When her “buyer” would come. When her life would change.
Her stomach pitched and churned.
The setting sun painted the Caribbean waters gold, but she’d been focused on the waiting room, which was both luxurious and suffocating. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow prisms across cream walls. She’d spent hours searching for weaknesses—testing windows, examining fixtures, studying guard rotations. Nothing.
Silk drapes framed hurricane-proof windows that may as well have been iron bars. Every beautiful, privilege-soaked surface was another way to trap her.
Movement on the pier caught her eye. A yacht docking, sleek and white against the sapphire water. Three men disembarked in expensive suits that caught the dying sunlight. One towered over the others, his stride familiar… Nash? Her heart leaped, then plummeted. The distance was too great to be sure. Wishful thinking, she told herself. She was seeing what she desperately wanted to see, manufacturing hope where none existed.
A silent guard delivered dinner on fine china—some elaborate French dish with a rich aroma that turned her stomach. The goblet caught the light like crystal, but it was harmless plastic filled with water. No wine. No alcohol of any kind to dull her terror about what tonight would bring.
Probably for the best. She needed her wits about her, needed to stay sharp and aware of any opportunity.
The stylist arrived as darkness fell, and the hands of the clock crept closer to midnight. Her hands were gentle as she arranged Haisley’s hair into elaborate curls, weaving in tiny crystal pins that caught the light. In the mirror, Haisley studied the woman’s face—young, pretty, with kind eyes that didn’t match her detached demeanor.
“Please,” Haisley whispered. “I know you can see this is wrong. These women—we’re people. We have lives, families. People who love us. I was kidnapped. Stolen. This isn’t right.”
The woman’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second. In the mirror, their eyes met. For one breathless moment, Haisley thought she might have reached her.
The stylist’s gaze darted to the cameras mounted in each corner, then back. Sympathy flickered across her face before she looked away, hands trembling as she pinned another curl. When she finished, she packed her supplies with mechanical precision and fled, leaving Haisley fighting tears that would ruin her carefully applied makeup.
Crying wouldn’t help. Crying only proved these monsters who saw her as nothing but breeding stock were winning.
The guard returned with the “costume” to wear over her short silk slip—a crimson velvet cloak that whispered against her skin and a golden mask that felt cold and heavy in her hands. The mask was a work of art, covering her entire face except for almond-shaped eye holes and narrow slits for breathing. The mouth was solid gold, sealing away her voice. Like everything else here, it was beautiful and horrible at once.
They led her through marble corridors that echoed with her footsteps, down into the bowels of the compound where the Midnight Sanctuary waited. Even before she entered, she heard male voices, glasses clinking, and laughter mingled with anticipation—a celebration of the horror to come. The air grew thick with expensive cologne, testosterone, and lust.
Other women huddled backstage, identical in their red cloaks and gold masks. Through the heavy curtain, Haisley glimpsed the massive room beyond. Ornate chandeliers cast sinister shadows across a sea of tuxedos and masks. A huge bed dominated the stage, its black silk sheets a promise of the violation to come.
One by one, the other women disappeared beyond the curtain. Each “claiming” followed the same pattern: Gray’s silky introduction, approving murmurs from the crowd, then sounds that made Haisley’s skin crawl. Silk tearing. Commands in various languages. Flesh on flesh. Pleas and screams, eventually followed by broken sobs. Then…applause for each “performance,” as if they were at some perverse theater.
A familiar voice rang out. “And now, gentlemen, our virgin offering.”
Haisley’s heart stopped. Kaylee. The petite brunette trembled so hard she could barely walk as she was thrust between the curtains, onto the stage, and out of Haisley’s sight. Applause and whistles erupted.
“She’s pure. Untouched. Ready to be molded to her master’s will. Mr. Fischer, come do the honors.”
Through the curtain, she heard a man’s commanding voice—oddly familiar, though she couldn’t place it. “Very nice. I’ll enjoy breaking you in, pet.”
Kaylee’s terrified whimper made Haisley’s stomach twist. Then she heard the squeak of the mattress, followed by the all-too-common sound of silk tearing. Eerie quiet descended. From her position backstage, she shifted the velvet drape, hoping to catch a glimpse of the poor, innocent girl being somehow taken gently or spared altogether.
But no.
Her “owner” had her on her back, dress ripped. He’d mounted her with his long teal cape spread out around them, covering the details. But Haisley didn’t need to see everything. Kaylee shrieked, then screamed in pain while he pinned her wrists to the mattress above her head, buried his head in her neck, and thrust enthusiastically, as if he were banging her at the same pace he would a drum.
Haisley hurt for the girl, having the last shred of her innocence stripped from her in such a horrifying way. What would become of her now that the monster on top of her had taken the one thing she had to give a man she loved?
“Stop peeking. Get back.” A guard yanked her by the hood of her cloak and shoved her to the center of the backstage area, leaving Haisley to nibble on a nail and wonder what would happen to any of them.
The dancer went last before her, her shrieks cracking until they became cries that echoed in Haisley’s bones. The sounds weren’t pain, but something worse. Pleasure forced from her unwilling body. A hoarse cry followed by sobs.
Then she was the last one backstage, trembling alone in her crimson cloak.
“Our final offering of the night.” Mr. Gray’s voice rang out, smooth as poison honey. “Lot twenty-three. Pure fire and defiance waiting to be tamed. Come claim your prize, Mr. King.”
From behind, someone shoved her between the heavy velvet drapes. Mr. Gray grabbed her wrist, tore away her mask, and pushed her under a lone spotlight. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the glare, horror mounting as she found hundreds of male gazes fixed on her. Leers and catcalls followed, along with hungry stares that stripped away what little her silk slip concealed.
She wanted to shrink away. To close her eyes and transport herself back home to any other lazy Sunday full of crosswords followed by a spicy romance novel with her sleeping cat curled in the crook of her knees.
Instead, the smell of sweat and sex blended with bright lights to remind her that there was no escape.
And she was now the main event.
Heavy footsteps mounted the stage. With a gasp and a thundering heart, she turned. A man in a teal cloak approached, his silver mask catching the stage lights. He moved with lethal grace, impossibly tall, his presence filling the space between them as his gaze raked over her. Even through the mask, she felt his heat, his focus. His intent to have her.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Gray asked, his voice thick with anticipation. “Let the breeding begin.”
The audience erupted in applause as guards stripped away her cloak, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of silk that revealed more than it concealed. Her “buyer” reached for his own disguise with steady hands.
His silver mask fell away. Haisley’s lungs seized, her vision tunneling until all she could see was his face. The room dissolved around her as reality splintered and reformed.
Nash.
Her pulse roared in her ears as hope and terror warred in her chest. She couldn’t read his expression—not with so many predatory gazes fixed on them and every muscle in her body trembling.
His dark eyes promised salvation, but as she took in the armed guards, the surveillance cameras, the sheer impenetrability of this fortress surrounded by an ocean… Dear god, what had he done? He’d walked straight into their trap, and now they were both caught in this gilded hell with no way out.
Time froze. Haisley stared up at Nash, her mind racing. Thoughts reeling. Adrenaline and relief coursed through her veins. Her nerves were wired. Electric fear poised her on a knife’s edge.
How was he here? What did he have planned? And why had he chosen the cover name Jasper?
Before she could think through those questions—before she could even whisper his name—he lunged for her.
With his face lit by a conqueror’s smile, he seized her waist with powerful hands. The world tilted when he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, then tossed her onto the black silk sheets. Apprehension zipped through her as the impact knocked the breath from her lungs. The icy silk against her nearly naked body made her shiver.
His massive frame covered hers. His familiar musk permeated her senses. His body heat seeped through the thin silk of her gown, warming her even as goose bumps pebbled her skin. She took comfort in his closeness. Then he nipped her lobe as his teal cape fluttered before settling over them, creating the illusion of privacy while catcalls and whistles reminded her they were anything but alone.
She shivered. Nash had risked his life and his freedom to save her. She felt shielded but not safe, especially not with Gray circling the stage like a vulture and all these predatory gazes fixed on the spectacle of her violation.
Gray’s satisfied chuckle echoed in the sanctuary. “Well, well. Aren’t we eager?”
“Play along,” Nash breathed against her ear. “They’re watching. Testing us.”
He was right. The audience’s attention pressed against her like something physical—more than a hundred pairs of eyes devouring their every move. Hungry. Expectant. And every one of them would pounce if this performance didn’t look real.
That realization terrified her.
“Cameras everywhere,” she breathed back.
He nodded as he murmured against her throat. “This might get rough. You have to fight me. Make it good.”
She did, pushing against him with a cry. But she was no match for his superior size and strength.
Nash leered for the crowd as he subdued her flailing arms, pinning them above her head with one hand. With the other, he reached for the metal restraints and easily clicked the cold metal around her wrists, as if she hadn’t fought him at all.
Haisley dragged in a deep breath. She could endure whatever came next. She had to. One wrong move—one slip that revealed their connection—and they were both dead.
Nash dragged his lips up her throat. “Good. Keep it up. I’ve got you.”
She nodded, then gasped as his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was possessive, demanding—a show of conquering dominance for their audience. Underneath, she felt his tenderness. His promise. But she fought back, pushing and elbowing him while jerking her mouth free from his seeking lips.
With narrowed eyes, he grabbed her jaw and squeezed with a growl. “Open.”
Haisley tried to shake her head and press her lips shut.
His eyes lit with approval for her performance as he stiffened his fingers to make it look as if he clamped harder on her jaw. “Open now, goddamn it!”
She did, acting as if her capitulation was involuntary. With a roar of triumph, he slipped inside, taking command of their kiss.
Haisley kicked beneath him, gasping and shaking when he shoved her slip up her body. He wasted no time gripping her thigh and hoisting it over his hip, which spread her legs for his invasion. Another rapacious grin for show stretched across his face as he settled between them. Her heart stuttered, then ratcheted up. The gawking crowd seemed to buy their act when more cheers erupted. The whistles and catcalls morphed into chants of “Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her!”
Their rabid fervor was scary. If Nash wasn’t faking his part, everything would be terrifying.
She shook, instinctively twisting and bucking under Nash. He felt his way across her body with wandering hands, as if inspecting his merchandise, before he gripped her hips. He pressed against her, lifting her hips up to his roughly, as if taking what belonged to him.
“You heard the crowd,” he said loudly, reaching between them to unfasten his pants.
Was he insane? Was this really about to happen in front of everyone? “No!”
“Oh, yeah, baby.” He all but pressed his face to hers and ground his cock against her, his eyes willing her to play her part. “I’m going to get what I paid for. You be a good girl and scream for me.”
She hadn’t thought their performance would require that much reality. But he was right. Whatever they had to do to get off this island alive was what needed to happen. Acting in any way that made these degenerate flesh peddlers suspicious would only make Nash’s mission harder and the possibility of detection more dangerous.
Their gazes locked. She gave him an imperceptible nod.
Relief passed over his face for an instant, here then gone before he wiped it away, replacing it with another lewd grin. Then he shimmied down her body and lowered his mouth over the silk covering her breast. His teeth closed around her nipple sharply. Shock. A sting. She yelped in genuine response. The crowd cheered.
More adrenaline flooded her system. He repeated the motion with the other breast, his teeth making an even more intense impact.
This time, she did exactly what Nash demanded. She screamed.
The cheers became a baritone of lusty roars, all egging on her defilement. Even Mr. Gray chuckled into the microphone, as if the sound of her fear aroused him.
Nash hovered over her breast before licking the still stinging, silk-covered tip. Shrieking, she shook her head and thrashed beneath him as if his every touch terrorized her.
He nuzzled her neck and dragged his lips up to her ear. “Good. Keep fighting.”
Pressing her lips together, she whimpered and jerked her head back and forth. She had never tried her hand at acting, but even though Nash was the man on top of her, it wasn’t difficult to act afraid.
With a groan, he raked his lips up her neck. “That’s it, baby. Fight me. It’ll make fucking the sass out of you that much sweeter.”
Though he spoke for the crowd, Haisley shuddered. But the onlookers loved it, erupting in another series of degrading whoops and laughs.
God, what kind of human beings believed it was all right to hurt and enslave others for sport?
“Stop! No!” she protested for the depraved crowd, who undoubtedly believed her wails were for Nash.
“This isn’t a date. I spent ten million on you, so no doesn’t mean no anymore. Time to take what’s mine. To knock your fine ass up and put you in your place.”
The roars of the crowd erupted even louder. A horrifying lust-frenzy settled over the room, seeming to grip every one of the onlookers. It was shocking. Disgusting. Dehumanizing.
Fear gripped her. As Nash settled over her body again, she lifted her gaze to him. He sent her a reassuring stare. We’ll get through this together .
Relief and dread filled her. This wasn’t over yet; she still had a role to play. They both did. The horrible inevitability of that stung her eyes with tears. They pooled, then rolled from the corners, down her temples like hot acid.
“Why are you crying, bitch? I haven’t hurt you.”
He hadn’t, but what if he had? What if this was real? She thought about all the women who had been abused tonight in this very bed, taken against their will and stripped of their dignity, of the right to refuse the man on top of her. She sobbed harder for them.
Nash seemingly ignored her and whipped the edge of his cape aside to flash onlookers her hip and thigh. At their whoops and hurrahs, he burrowed his fingers under her and squeezed her ass, fingers digging into her flesh. Thankfully, his palms were so big, he covered most of her exposed skin.
With his free hand, he reached between them and wriggled his pants to his hips.
Haisley reacted as if she was his victim, panicking and flailing, trying to kick and shove him off of her—all to no avail. She kept the screams rolling and forced herself into the worst possible headspace to keep the tears flowing. Above her, Nash pretended to ignore her struggles and cries as he settled the crest of his cock against her.
She tensed.
He nipped at her neck, just below her ear. “This is a show. This isn’t us. You know that. Right?”
It wasn’t easy to keep pretending something this awful, but she didn’t have a choice. He didn’t, either.
She managed to nod.
“Good,” he breathed. “I’ll make this as quick as I can. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” That realization only made her sob harder.
Then she closed her eyes and tried to block out everything.