Sold to the Fighter (High Rollers Club #4)

Chapter One

Grace

I open my eyes slowly, wondering if the rough, scratchy palm that’s creeping up my thigh is just a part of my dream.

It’s not.

The touch is clammy, foreign, and wrong, and my stomach twists with nausea before my brain fully catches up and panic slams into me like a freight train.

I let out a scream, jumping to a sitting position and staring wide-eyed at the stocky, bald man beside me, his sunken eyes roaming my body greedily. He reaches for me again, muttering something low and slurred. I scream again, shoving him with all my strength. He stumbles back, cursing, and I don’t wait to see if he regains his balance.

I jump to my feet and start to run, and I don’t stop running until I’m far away from the homeless shelter.

By the time I finally slow down, my chest is burning, my breaths coming in ragged gulps. I look around, trying to get my bearings. Neon signs glow in the distance, and the sidewalks are crowded with people, some laughing, others rushing past, lost in their own worlds. Even at this time of night, Seattle looks alive, indifferent to me and the nightmare I just escaped.

I wrap my arms around myself, my body trembling in the crisp night air. My stomach rumbles, reminding me of how long it’s been since I last ate.

Two days.

But I’d rather be out here on the streets than go back home. Because home is hell and my father is worse than the devil. It’s ironic how he disguises his cruelty with his faith in God. He has a Bible verse for everything while going against everything that Bible stands for.

My stomach clenches. A little hunger and cold is not enough to make me go back to him. Years of physical and emotional abuse has toughened me enough that I know I can endure whatever harshness the world throws at me.

I look around at the cafés and restaurants lining the street, my stomach growling at the delicious smell of coffee. Maybe one of these places would be willing to hire me.

Taking in a deep breath, I head toward a coffee shop that proclaims itself to be open all night. There aren’t a lot of people inside, and that makes it so much easier to walk over to the dark-haired woman at the counter.

“Hi. Welcome to Olly’s,” she says with a cheerful smile. “What can I get you?”

I shake my head, swallowing nervously. “I—uh…was wondering if you needed a part-timer. I could serve and, uh…run errands. I’d do anything, honestly.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, but we don’t need any new staff right now,” she says, her eyes narrowing with pity. “You should try the diner down the block.”

I nod, dropping my head to hide the tears swelling in my eyes. “Thank you,” I mutter underneath my breath.

I turn to leave, but another voice stops me. “Wait…miss?”

A man I didn’t notice before is rising from a booth in the corner. He’s wearing a nice suit, and carrying a briefcase. I wonder what a businessman is doing out so late at night, but all thought comes to a halt when he says, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for work. I’m currently looking for an assistant. It’s just basic office work, some running errands, that sort of thing…so the pay isn’t—”

“I’ll do it,” I cut in quickly. Too quickly. “I-I’ll take anything. Thank you so much.”

He nods and gestures to the door. “Well, my office is right next door. If you’d like we can do a quick interview and get you set up.” His expression is professional and distant, and his manner is brusque, as if he just wants to get this over with, but my body is flooded with gratitude.

“Yes, that sounds great. I-I really appreciate the opportunity,” I murmur, biting down on the inside of my cheek to contain the excitement flushing through me.

I follow him out the door, unable to believe my luck. I’ve been roaming the city for two days, and no one so much as spared me a second glance. Because I lived with a devil for so long, I never believed in angels, but maybe—just maybe—they do exist.

The office building next door is a little run-down, and I feel a small shiver of nerves when the man locks the door behind us after we step inside, but I lift my chin and follow him to his office, where he offers me a chair in front of his desk.

“Tea? Coffee?” he offers, looking at me expectantly.

“Oh! Um, tea would be lovely, thank you.” My limbs ache with exhaustion, and maybe a hot drink will help.

I busy myself with looking around the room as he fixes me a mug of tea, noting the bland, nondescript décor and the lack of any name or signage.

“So, what is it you do exactly?” I ask him as he sits down at his desk across from me and passes me the mug of tea. I take a sip immediately—it’s an odd flavor, but the warmth is exactly what I needed.

He watches me closely for a moment before he says, “Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.” He waves his hand airily and chuckles, but it sounds forced, and his laughter echoes oddly in the nearly empty room.

I take another sip of tea to calm my nerves.

The man is now running his beady eyes over my body in a way that makes my skin crawl with an uneasy feeling.

“You’re a virgin?” he asks abruptly.

I stare at him in shock, unable to wrap my head around his question. “What?”

“Look, you want the job or not?” he sneers, and I notice an accent that wasn’t there before.

“What does working as an assistant have to do with my virginity?”

“You’re too good to work as an assistant,” he responds. “I’m hooking you up with a good-paying gig. Something much better for a pretty girl like you.”

“I don’t—”

“Fifteen hundred bucks, just for the night,” he cuts in, his big lips tilting upward in a smirk.

I clench my jaw, unsure what to make of the offer. While the money sounds too good to be true, I’m starting to realize that this isn’t a job I want to take. But what choice do I really have?

I glance toward the door nervously. The man casually leans back in his chair, and his jacket opens a bit to show a gun in its holster at his side. He smirks when he sees me looking at it.

“I ain’t got time, miss. If you don’t wanna—”

“I’ll do it!” I interrupt quickly, clearing my throat as my cheeks flush with heat. I’ll have to go along with him for now, and escape when I can.

“So, you’re a virgin?” he asks again, raising his bushy brows. “That’s a very important requirement for the job.”

“Y-yes,” I squeak, my cheeks burning hotter.

He nods. “Good. Now finish your tea.”

I go to do as he says, but after only one more sip, the room is spinning. I feel faint, as if I’m going to pass out. My mind is just conscious enough to register what’s happening, and I look down at my cup of tea in horror before darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.

When I wake up, I’m in the passenger seat of a car. The man who drugged me is driving, and we’re pulling up to an old stone building in the middle of nowhere. Is this a church?

Well, that’s ironic.

I almost panic, thinking that somehow this man has found my father and has brought me back to him, but then I realize this doesn’t look like any church I’ve ever been to before. Still, I’m wary, because I know better than anyone how religious backdrops can be used to mask horrific actions.

The man comes around the car to open the door and usher me out. My legs are wobbly, and he grabs my arm roughly. “Don’t even think of trying to run,” he hisses in my ear.

Before I can respond, another man joins us by the car. This one looks like a pirate, a scar slashing through the left side of his face. The two men speak in hushed tones for a few minutes, then the man with a scar turns to look at me, his eyes assessing me in a way that send chills shooting up my spine.

“We’ll take her,” the scar-faced man says, nodding at my captor and passing him an envelope from his pocket.

My heart is drumming loudly in my chest now. What have I gotten myself into? I glance at the chapel again, fear pricking my skin.

A loud engine breaks into my thoughts. I look up in time to see a sleek blue Audi pulling into a space in the parking lot. The engine stops, and the driver steps out of the car—and for a moment I forget how terrifying my situation is.

He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair falls casually over his forehead, his face looks like it was sculpted from stone, and his blue eyes glint brightly even in the sparse light that illuminates the walkway up to the door.

For a second, I imagine that he’s here to rescue me. I imagine running over to him and being swept away in his arms like he’s the hero in some movie. I don’t know why I think a stranger will suddenly save the day, but for some strange reason, I feel comforted by his presence.

“Come on, girl,” Scarface snaps irritably. “I don’t got all night.” He jerks roughly on my arm, and I break the brief eye contact I held with the mystery man.

In a flood of shame, I realize that no one is here to save me. I’m on my own. I follow Scarface into the chapel, past the sanctuary, and down a long set of stairs. I imagine what my father would think if he saw me now. I can practically hear his voice in my head, sneering that this is what I deserve for “leaving the path of righteousness.”

I find myself wondering if I’ve managed to escape one devil just to be sold to another.