Snowed in with the Merciless (Snowed in with Them #6)

Chapter One

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Raine

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I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, silently telling myself over and over again that I can do this. I will get through it. I will make sure that nothing happens to my sister.

Still, my lower lip quivers, my stomach turns, and my pulse thunders in my ears as the reality of my situation truly sinks in. And now I'm worried I might actually pass out.

"Just relax, this is supposed to be fun."

I almost jump at the soft voice coming from next to me.

I don't know her. We just met something like two hours ago.

Brought to the cabin in the mountains by a helicopter, all six of the other women were awed by its beauty and spoke excitedly about the evening, but I was too petrified to make friends, not when my reason for being here is completely insidious.

She offers me a big smile and nudges my shoulder, again telling me to lighten up as we stand next to each other on a raised platform, in one of the reception rooms of the enormous luxury cabin.

I offer her a weak smile in return. But we're not the same, she and I.

I'm not the same as any of the other six women standing on the stage-like structure, dressed in designer gowns that cost more money than I will ever see in my lifetime, our makeup and hair artfully done, without veering too far from our natural features.

I am, by all accounts, inferior to every one of these women. Their beauty is blinding. Mine is forgettable, exactly how it's supposed to be. All so I can move in and out of the shadows, and even in the limelight, go unnoticed.

That's what the man in the clown mask had said, after all.

She lacks confidence and has atrocious posture. Not to mention, she is also without any conventional beauty to speak of. She is passable, decent even, but will easily be overlooked by billionaires looking to claim the loveliest virgins the land has to offer. She is perfect for the job.

He told me to call him Joe, explained that he was merely a consultant for the unknown mafia boss, and that if I did everything right, my sister would remain safe.

The unknown mafia boss whom Joe had been speaking to about my lack of conventional beauty had hidden in the shadows of the concrete floored warehouse on a compound in the middle of nowhere. I was blindfolded when I was taken there, and I would be blindfolded when I returned.

I couldn't see his face, the mafia boss, but I could hear him smack his lips together in excitement as the masked man called Joe laid out a plan for him to get what he wanted.

The other women are here, willingly, to sell their virginity to the highest bidder. I'm here to make sure my sister's life doesn't turn into one of endless torture and misery. And there's nothing in the world that will stop me from ensuring her safety. So no, we're not the same, these women and I.

I'm fighting for my life. They're here for a bank balance to set them up for a life of luxury.

The room we're in is pleasantly warm despite the harsh gusts of snow blowing outside, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The cabin, located in a sweeping mountain range among its jagged peaks, is the personification of opulence.

Plush leather sofas in deep, dark, earthy tones are arranged around a massive fireplace that dominates the large reception area.

From the towering, rough-hewn stone structure of the hearth, giant flames flicker from a stack of logs, casting a golden haze all around me.

I swallow hard at the sight of the sculptures on the mantel above. Three minotaurs tower overhead, so fierce they give the illusion that they could leap from the wall and stomp to death everyone in sight. Me, more so.

Each hulking figure is carved from marble and bronze in brutal detail, with flared nostrils and large, ominous horns. Their torsos are riddled with muscle, every tendon held taut as if they're posed for battle.

Raw power emanates from their overly muscled thighs down to their hooves. I quickly turn my attention upward, away from the colossal bulge hidden behind a frayed leather kilt, held at their hips with nothing but a belt made of iron skulls.

I don't know which is worse, the violent, menacing strength that radiates from their sculpted bodies or their eyes.

Hollowed out, their gazes are almost lifelike as they sweep across the room and seem to settle on me.

I jerk my focus from the barbaric monsters and force myself to breathe, but I don't get a complete handle on my breathing.

The massive double doors, also engraved with three minotaurs, are swung open by two members of the waitstaff, one standing on either end.

A group of men step into the room. I don't falter as their gazes scan the women displayed on the stage next to me. They're not looking at me. None of them do, as it should be—except for one.

I fix my gaze on the man with sandy-brown hair and blue eyes, dressed in a white tuxedo. Younger than the other men around him, his blue eyes offer me comfort while I try not to fall apart. He's my only way out of this nightmare. Only he can save me from this place.

But my restored courage is thwarted when three more men enter, and at once the enormity of my situation takes a fresh hold on me. And suddenly the room feels smaller, tighter.

Joe, the masked man, had shown me pictures of them. I don't know why, but their images had kept me awake at night. I just couldn't get their faces out of my mind. And when I did fall asleep, they would slip into my chaotic dreams and I'd wake up in a sweat, damp between my thighs as well.

But in person their primal, visceral beauty ignites a new level of fear. Their presence alone changes everything around me. They seem to consume all the air, leaving me struggling to stand straight.

The tallest men in the room by far, their bespoke suits are tailored to enhance their muscular bodies and speak of power and style together.

My gaze rapidly sweeps over each of them, from their dark, perfectly groomed hair to their faces. The sharp angles and planes of their features take my breath away. Their jaws, dusted with stubble, are clenched and seemingly carved from granite, further enhancing the symmetry of their faces.

I drown in their respective frosty green, golden brown, and dark gray eyes, fringed with thick, long eyelashes that should soften their masculine beauty but instead only make them more alluring, more dangerous.

They look like gods—every woman's dream. And I am captivated by their extraordinary good looks in a heartbeat, just as I was when seeing images of them before.

In the flesh they completely overwhelm me. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from them or stop the way my body responds.