CHAPTER 3
HARLEY
Pain is the first thing I feel.
A slow, pounding throb behind my eyes like someone’s knocking from the inside of my skull.
Then the cold.
Hard concrete beneath my palms.
A damp chill that crawls through my clothes and settles deep into my bones.
I groan softly and force my eyes open.
The world comes back in pieces.
Dark ceiling. Dim lights running along the walls. A strange metallic smell in the air—clean but sharp, like disinfectant.
It takes a few seconds before my brain catches up.
I’m not in the hotel anymore.
Panic rises fast.
I push myself upright too quickly and immediately regret it when the room tilts violently.
“Easy, man,” someone says beside me.
A hand steadies my shoulder.
I blink hard until my vision clears.
The room is… wrong. Big. Windowless—well, almost. There are narrow rectangular windows high up near the ceiling, too tall to reach, showing nothing but black glass on the other side. Like we’re underground or something.
The lights are dim and yellowish, casting long shadows across the floor.
And we’re not alone.
There are people sitting along the walls.
Men. Maybe ten of them.
Some curled into themselves. Some staring blankly ahead. Others whisper quietly like they’re afraid to speak too loud.
My stomach drops.
“What the fuck…”
My voice sounds rough.
The hand on my shoulder belongs to a guy sitting beside me.
He’s… impossible to miss.
Bright pink very long hair, multiple silver piercings lining one eyebrow and both ears. Tattoos crawl up his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his shirt.
He looks about my age.
Maybe younger.
His dark eyes study me carefully.
“You’re finally awake,” he says.
His voice carries a hint of sarcasm, but there’s tension behind it.
“Welcome to whatever the hell this is.”
I swallow hard and look around again.
The room feels heavy. Like the air itself is pressing down on my chest.
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
The pink-haired guy snorts.
“If we knew that, we probably wouldn’t still be sitting here.”
The guy sitting on his other side shifts slightly.
He’s… different. Quieter. But just as striking.
Tall even while sitting down. Broad shoulders. Lean athletic build. Bright ginger hair that falls messily across his forehead. And tattoos. A lot of them.
They cover almost every inch of visible skin—arms, neck, even the backs of his hands.
His eyes flick toward me.
Pink hair straightens slightly and gestures between us.
“Okay, introductions seem appropriate considering we’re probably about to be murdered or sold on the black market.”
He sticks out his hand casually.
“Archie Heisenberg. Twenty years old. Lover of bad decisions.”
I stare at him for a second before shaking his hand.
“Harley Rutherford.”
Archie nods once like he’s mentally filing that away.
Then he nudges the ginger beside him.
“This brooding ray of sunshine is Theron.”
The ginger rolls his eyes slightly.
“Theron Cadbury,” he says calmly. “Nineteen.”
His voice is quieter but steady. Like he’s trying very hard not to panic.
I glance between them.
“So… you guys were at the party too?”
They both nod.
“Yeah,” Archie mutters.
“Got the fancy little black velvet invite and everything.”
My chest tightens.
“Same.”
For a moment none of us speak.
Then Archie leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“So,” he says slowly, “why’d you go?”
The question catches me off guard. But I answer anyway.
“The invitation said something about… opportunities. A new life.”
I let out a dry laugh.
“Sounded like something I needed.”
Archie studies my face.
“What happened?”
I hesitate.
Talking about it still leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“My family disowned me,” I say finally.
Theron’s brows knit slightly.
“Why?”
I stare down at the floor.
“Because they found out I’m gay.”
Silence falls between us.
Then Archie mutters, “Jesus.”
“They said it would damage the family image,” I added quietly.
“Bad for business.”
I shrug.
“Apparently their reputation matters more than their son.”
Theron looks away like he’s thinking about something.
Archie just shakes his head.
“That’s fucked.”
Then he sighs and leans back against the wall.
“My reason’s a little less tragic.”
He scratches the back of his neck.
“Got into a massive fight with my stepdad. Like… screaming match level.”
His expression darkens slightly.
“So I grabbed the invitation and left the house before I punched him.”
Theron snorts softly.
“Sounds healthy.”
Archie flips him off lazily.
“What about you?” I ask Theron.
He shrugs one shoulder.
“It was the only way to get away from my uncle.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist slightly.
“Control freak,” he adds shortly.
“That’s why I came.”
I nod slowly.
Then something suddenly hits me.
My head lifts.
“Did either of you notice someone… watching you at the party?”
Archie’s expression sharpens instantly.
“What kind of watching?”
“There was a guy across the room,” I say slowly.
“Black suit. Red skull mask. Like… neon glowing.”
Both of them go still.
Archie lets out a low whistle.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“That tracks.”
My heart skips.
“You saw him too?”
“No,” Archie says.
“But I saw someone else.”
He shifts slightly.
“Similar mask. But mine was green. Just standing there staring at me like I was the only person in the room.”
A cold chill crawls down my spine.
Theron suddenly speaks up.
“I ran into one in the bathroom.”
We both look at him.
He continues quietly.
“Same skull mask, but purple. Big guy.”
Theron’s jaw tightens slightly.
“He didn’t say anything. Just… watched me.”
None of us speak for a moment.
The silence in the room feels heavier now.
Like something just clicked into place.
I slowly look around the dark room again.
The other men are sitting along the walls. The high windows. The locked metal door at the far end.
My stomach drops.
“Oh my god,” Archie whispers.
“Do you guys realize what this means?”
My throat feels dry.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Fear finally settles in my chest like a stone.
“We weren’t invited to a party.”
Theron’s voice is barely audible.
“We were selected.”
The word echoes in my head.
Selected.
For what?
My eyes drift toward the heavy door at the end of the room.
Something cold curls in my gut.
Because deep down…
I think we already know the answer.
And whatever comes next—
Is probably going to be worse than anything we’re imagining.
****
For a moment none of us say anything.
The realization sits between us like a loaded gun.
Selected.
The word echoes in my head again, louder this time.
I rub my palms against my jeans, suddenly aware that my hands are shaking.
“Okay,” Archie says finally, breaking the awkward silence between us.
“So… just to recap.”
He gestures vaguely around the room.
“We went to a creepy rich people party, got roofied, woke up in a suspiciously villain-looking basement with a bunch of other dudes.”
He pauses.
“Which by the way, is exactly how the worst true crime documentaries start.”
Theron exhales through his nose.
“Not helping, Archie.”
Archie shrugs.
“I cope with trauma and fear through sarcasm. Can’t help it.”
I glance toward the heavy metal door at the end of the room. No windows. No visible handle on our side. Just thick steel.
“Do you think we’re still in the hotel?” I ask quietly.
Theron shakes his head almost immediately.
“No way.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying the room.
“The windows are too high and there’s no natural light. And that smell…”
He inhales slightly.
“Industrial cleaning chemicals. Concrete walls.”
His voice drops.
“I think we’re probably underground.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
“Like… under the hotel?” Archie asks.
“Maybe,” Theron says.
“Or somewhere nearby.”
I glance back at the door again.
My brain keeps trying to piece things together.
The invitation. The party. The guy in the mask.
My stomach twists.
“This doesn’t make any fucking sense,” I mutter.
“Why go through all that trouble? The party, the masks, the invitations, the spiked drinks…”
Archie slowly turns his head toward me.
His expression has lost most of its earlier humor.
“Because,” he says quietly, “they need to get us somewhere without anyone asking questions.”
The air in the room feels colder.
“Human trafficking rings do that sometimes,” Theron adds calmly.
Archie looks at him.
“You say that way too casually.”
Theron shrugs.
“My uncle runs with people like that.”
I blink.
“Excuse me… come again?”
He leans back against the wall, stretching his tattooed legs out.
“Relax. I’m not part of it.”
“Great,” Archie mutters.
“So we’re kidnapped and sitting next to a guy whose family is probably a part of some secret society or has some mafia lore.”
Theron rolls his eyes.
“I said runs with. Not is.”
Archie points at him.
“That’s not comforting.”
Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me.
It’s weird.
The situation is horrifying.
But something about sitting here with these two idiots makes it feel slightly less suffocating.
Archie notices the laugh and smirks.
“Oh good. The rich boy can smile.”
“I’m not a rich boy anymore,” I say.
“Semantics,” Archie replies.
“Your name literally sounds like someone who owns a vineyard.”
Theron snorts.
“Harley Rutherford,” he repeats.
“Yeah. That’s either a billionaire or a vampire.”
“Hey,” I say defensively.
“I used to be normal.”
Archie raises an eyebrow.
“You voluntarily attended a mysterious secret party alone.”
I hesitate.
“... okay fair.”
Theron glances between us.
“So hypothetically,” he says.
“If we are being trafficked… what do you think the plan is?”
Archie tilts his head.
“You’re asking that like you’re brainstorming.”
“I am,” Theron says.
“Great,” Archie mutters.
“Let’s brainstorm our kidnapping.”
I rub the back of my neck.
“Those three guys that we all saw before we lost consciousness,” I say slowly.
“What if those guys were… like buyers or something?”
Both of them look at me.
Archie makes a face.
“Okay, I officially hate that theory.”
Theron’s jaw tightens.
“But it makes sense.”
The three of us fall silent again.
Somewhere across the room someone quietly starts crying.
I stare at the floor.
“So… what do we do?” I ask eventually.
Archie shrugs.
“Escape.”
“Great plan,” Theron deadpans.
“Very detailed.”
Archie gestures toward the door.
“Well unless one of you secretly has a very specific set of Liam Neeson skills, we might have to improvise.”
Theron glances at him.
“Dude, what’s with these straight references, pick something gayer, like, I don’t know, Charlie’s Angels. And FYI, you’d be the worst hostage in a movie.”
“I would be the funniest hostage,” Archie corrects.
He leans closer to me conspirationally.
“Also if someone paid money for me they’d be deeply disappointed.”
I blink.
“Why?”
Archie shrugs casually.
“Because they’d think they bought a cute twunk but surprise —”
He spreads his hands.
“— mentally unstable bisexual gremlin.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Theron shakes his head.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you love me already anyway,” Archie replies.
Theron points at him.
“Don’t push it.”
Archie studies him for a moment.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “you look like the kind of guy people would write the fanfics about.”
Theron groans.
“Oh my fucking god.”
“Seriously,” Archie continues.
“Hot ginger with tattoos and a traumatic backstory? Gosh, it sucks that it’s not twenty sixteen anymore, Tumblr would eat you alive.’
Theron rubs his face.
“I hate this conversation.”
Archie grins.
“What about you, Harley? Any fun facts before we inevitably get sold to some creepy billionaire?”
I hesitate.
“Not really.”
Archie waits.
I sigh.
“I studied languages and fashion design before my family cut me off.”
His eyebrow lift.
“Oh shit, not only cute and sexy, but also smart boy. If we weren’t trapped underground together, I’d ask you out.”
Theron nods slightly.
“That explains why you are the one who noticed the windows.”
I shrug.
“Occupational habit.”
Archie nudges me with his elbow.
“So what’s your type?”
I blink.
“... what?”
“If we’re getting trafficked I want to know if you at least have a chance of enjoying your buyer.”
Theron bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god.”
“I’m serious! Why the fuck you’re laughing?” Archie insists.
I stare at him.
“You’re unbelievable.”
He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Tall? Muscular? Covered in tattoos? Emotionally unavailable?”
I hesitate.
“... maybe.”
Archie gasps dramatically.
“Oh my god, same.”
Theron shakes his head.
“You two are a fucking disaster.”
But for a brief moment —
Despite the fear. Despite the concrete walls and the locked door and the horrible situation we’re in —
It almost feels normal.
Like three guys hanging out. Three guys who are obviously gay AF.
And then —
The door slams open.
The sound cracks through the room like thunder.
Every single person in the room freezes.
My head snaps toward the entrance.
A man stands in the doorway. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black tactical gear. A mask covers his face completely.
And in his hands –
A gun.
The sight of it makes something inside my chest collapse.
My pulse explodes.
Fear floods my body so fast it feels physical.
My throat tightens.
My stomach drops so violently I feel sick.
Every instinct in my body screams at once.
Run.
Hide.
Fight.
But none of my muscles move.
I just sit there frozen on the cold concrete floor.
The guard’s gaze sweeps across the room slowly.
Then his eyes stop.
Right on the three of us.
Right on me.
And in that moment –
The reality of our situation crashes down harder than anything else tonight.
We’re not guests.
Not partygoers.
We’re not even people to them.
We’re inventory.
The one they plan on selling tonight to the highest bidder.