Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Somewhere in the Caribbean
H aisley’s head throbbed as consciousness slowly returned, each pulse like a hammer against her skull. Her mouth felt stuffed with cotton, her limbs heavy and uncoordinated. She pushed at the cold, hard floor until she managed to sit up, fighting a wave of dizziness as she tried to pierce her mental fog. She had to figure out what had happened and where she’d been taken.
The janitor. The mall. A hand clamping over her mouth. Being shoved into that old brown van.
She’d fought hard—kicked, screamed against the hand silencing her, clawed at her attacker, even broken his nose. But the sharp prick in her neck had ended her efforts to escape. As the drug took hold, she’d tried desperately to focus on the men in the van. The hulk who had grabbed her. The driver with the ball cap pulled low. Their accomplice with terrifyingly dead eyes waiting for her with the chilling smile. She’d demanded answers and tried to reason with them. But they’d ignored her completely as darkness claimed her.
Now she forced her eyes open, blinking against harsh fluorescent light. A cell. Maybe eight by ten feet. Concrete walls, a tiny barred window too high to reach, and a steel door with a small observation window. A narrow cot beneath her and another against the opposite wall where a woman in nondescript gray scrubs huddled, knees drawn to her chest.
“Where are we?” Haisley asked, her voice a raspy whisper.
The woman—girl really, probably around twenty—glanced nervously at the door. “An island,” she whispered. “That’s all I know. I’ve only been here a few days.”
Haisley’s heart hammered. An island. That meant they’d transported her somewhere—probably out of the country—on a plane while she was unconscious. How long had she been out? God, what day was it? “Do you know what they plan to do with us?”
The girl shrank further into herself. “I’ve tried to listen. Earlier, I heard chatter about some big event coming soon.” A guard shuffled in the hallway just outside their door. She gasped and paled. Then her voice dropped even lower. “No more questions. They’re always watching, and we’re not supposed to talk.”
Haisley glanced up and found a pair of cameras in the corner of the room.
“I understand. Has anyone hurt you?” Haisley tried to catch her eye, to forge a connection.
But the girl turned toward the wall. “Sorry. I don’t want trouble.”
Haisley’s throat tightened as she took in their prison. No obvious weaknesses in the walls or door. The narrow window might as well have been decorative. From outside, dusk poured in. Waves crashed against rocks. Normally, she would have found the sound soothing, but now it only emphasized how isolated they were.
She should never have gone to meet that janitor alone. She’d been so excited about the potential lead that she’d thoughtlessly put herself in the deserted hallway and walked right into their trap.
Nash would be frantic by now. The memory of him sleeping beside her, his protective arms around her, made her chest ache. She’d wasted so much time running from him, from them. Two years ago, she’d convinced herself that leaving was her only option.
She’d been wrong. Being without him these past years had been far worse.
And now she might never get the chance to tell him the whole truth or confess how much she regretted ever leaving him.
Focus. She had to. That was her only hope of escape.
Haisley forced herself to study the cell again. She needed to note every detail, memorize the guards’ routines. Then she could look for patterns and weaknesses, see if she could persuade anyone to help her. She refused to wait helplessly for rescue. Even though Nash would tear the world apart to find her, these bastards were good. He might not be able to scrape together enough clues to track her down.
Her best guess? She’d been abducted by the ring who used that bogus rug import business’s website to sell their prey. Would she be next—another listing, another woman to be auctioned off to a brutal, wealthy stranger to endure whatever his sick, entitled mind wanted? Haisley’s blood froze. Bile rose in her throat.
No. She refused to be just another victim. She’d observe. Gather intelligence. And the moment an opportunity presented itself, she’d be ready.
Because she had too much left unsaid, too much left undone. She had a life to get back to. A love to fight for.
Somehow, some way, she had to make it home to Nash.
Suddenly, a sharp rap on the cell door made both women jump. The metallic clink of a key in the lock had Haisley whipping around. Two male guards entered, too hulking to resist. They hauled her to her feet before dragging her out the door.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded in a bright-white, sterile hallway. “Where am I? What’s going on?”
Neither answered, merely tightening their grips as they forced her toward a blue metal door, punched in a code on the keypad, then shoved her inside.
Inside was a sterile examination room where a woman in scrubs under a white lab coat sat behind a computer.
The middle-aged blonde looked up from her laptop and sent the guards an impassive expression. “4479?”
“Yes, doctor,” answered the goon on her right.
“I’m good here. Resume your post.”
Both sentries nodded and took up positions on either side of the door, blocking any hope Haisley had of escape.
She tried not to despair. At some point, someone in this facility would get complacent, slip up.
She just hoped it wasn’t too late for her.
The female physician picked up a clipboard and approached. “Subject 4479. Haisley Rowe. Twenty-eight years old. From Lafayette, Louisiana, where you were raised by your Aunt Cynthia, recently deceased. Mother deceased. Whereabouts of father unknown. No siblings.” She finally raised cold eyes to Haisley’s face. “Any corrections?”
Haisley’s throat tightened. They knew everything about her. “How did you learn all that?”
The doctor scowled. “I’m asking the questions, not you. If you can’t follow simple instructions, our facility is full of people who will take pleasure from your pain and enjoy torturing you. Now, I’ll ask again. Any corrections?”
“No.”
“Good.” The doctor measured her height and weight, then took her vitals, jotting down each of her findings. “Prescription medications?”
“None.”
“Date your last menstrual cycle ended?”
Haisley quickly calculated. “Ten days ago.”
The woman penciled in the answer with a nod. “Any previous pregnancies?”
The question was a punch to Haisley’s gut. “One.”
“Duration? Outcome?”
Before Haisley could answer, the cell phone in the doctor’s coat pocket dinged. With a muffled curse, the woman picked up the device. “What?”
Haisley ran through scenarios in her head in which she plucked the phone out of the woman’s hands and called for help. But a glance behind her at the guards still blocking the door while watching her every move made that somewhere between unlikely and impossible. Besides, she didn’t know how to get out of this facility or off the island. She’d have to bide her time and be smart before she made her move.
She’d only get one chance to escape.
“Fine. When?” The doctor listened to the garbled voice on the other end, then nodded. “It will be done in the next hour.”
After ending the call, the woman pocketed her phone again with a displeased sigh. “The powers that be are impatient, so we’ll skip to the important parts. When was your most recent sexual encounter?”
Heat flooded Haisley’s cheeks. “The night before I was taken.”
“Last night, then. Protected or unprotected?”
God, Nash would be frantic by now. “Unprotected.”
The doctor handed her a paper cup containing a white pill. “Plan B. Take it.”
“What if I refuse?”
The doctor snapped her fingers, and suddenly one of the guards was at her side and had a knife at her throat. “That’s not an option.”
As much as she hated to, Haisley swallowed the pill. The alternative meant she never found her freedom or made it back to Nash safely. She’d be better served to choose her battles.
When the guard resumed position, the doctor started in again. “Number of sexual partners in the last three years?”
“One.”
“Any STDs you’re aware of?”
“No.”
“Have you ever given oral sex?”
Why did they want to know her sexual history? “Yes.”
“Have you ever had anal sex?”
Would they force that on her? “No.”
“Experienced bondage?”
“Yes.”
“Engaged in sexual submission?”
“Yes.”
“Exhibitionism? Sex in front of an audience?”
Even the thought made her recoil. “No.”
“Had multiple sexual partners at once?”
“No.”
“Been the recipient of breath, fire, blood, or knife play?”
“No!”
Question after question followed about what she’d done in the past before morphing into questions about what she enjoyed. The doctor carefully noted each answer. The humiliatingly clinical questions exposed the most intimate details of her life and stripped bare her soul.
She wanted each and every one of these monsters behind bars for life.
Finally, the doctor glanced at her watch. “We’ll have to finish the rest of the questions later. If there is a later for you…”
Haisley’s heart stopped. What the hell did that mean?
“Sit on the table,” the doctor demanded.
Once Haisley complied, she drew blood, swabbed her cheek, and demanded a urine sample.
When Haisley returned from the little adjacent bathroom, the doctor was waiting. “Strip.”
When Haisley hesitated, glancing back at the male guards, the doctor raised a brow. “Get used to men seeing you naked and learn to follow directions. Or else.”
The threat in her voice had Haisley quickly shedding her clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on the corner of the nearby desk. The air-conditioned atmosphere in the exam room felt like ice against her bare skin. She felt the guards’ searching stares roaming her naked body, homing in on her breasts and between her legs.
Reflexively, Haisley tried to cover herself with her hands. One of the goons lunged for her and cuffed her wrists at the small of her back. “If you want to survive, never cover yourself without permission.”
“You’d do well to listen.” The other woman shoved her toward the exam table. “Bend over.”
She didn’t wait for Haisley to comply, merely planted a palm between her shoulder blades and shoved her cheek down to the paper-covered surface, leaving her bare buttocks and vagina completely exposed to the two male guards behind her.
After the snapping on of latex gloves, an unorthodox but thorough gynecological exam followed. It was humiliating, and she swore she would make sure all these people paid—somehow, someway.
Just when Haisley didn’t think they could debase her anymore, the doctor plucked her phone from her pocket again. “4479 is ready for cataloging.”
After a short answer on the other end, the woman ended the call and tucked away her phone. Haisley wondered what the hell “cataloging” her would entail, but she didn’t get far in her imaginings before another man entered the room, gave her a lewd once-over, then pulled out a digital camera.
These fuckers were taking nude pictures of her?
Yes. The guards uncuffed her, then began photographing her. Clinical shots first—front, back, profile. Then poses that showed every private, intimate inch of her and made her skin crawl.
“Marketable attributes?” he asked the others. “Besides her tits, obviously.”
“Well, the red hair is clearly real,” another guard remarked with a lecherous glance between her legs.
The other piped in. “She’s been mostly quiet, but she’s got fight. You can feel it under the surface. I’d love the chance to break her.”
It took everything inside Haisley not to cringe in fear.
The photographer scribbled notes. “Good points. Pussy, doctor?”
“Based on my exam? Tight. According to her, she’s an anal virgin. Another bonus.”
“Excellent.” The photographer’s smile made Haisley wish she could cover herself. “Too bad they don’t let us sample the merchandise.”
Merchandise?
“Well, unless she’s a bad, bad girl,” one of the guards remarked, his voice suddenly low and suggestive. “Then…I’m calling dibs.”
The doctor cleared her throat. “We’re on a tight timeframe. Get those pictures ready,” she barked at the photographer.
Then the doctor threw her a set of gray scrub-like pants and a top that matched the girl’s in her cell, along with thin cotton underwear, a transparent bra, and basic socks. A small bag contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush.
“Off you go. If you begin menstruating, inform the guards immediately,” the doctor instructed. “Attempts to conceal bleeding will be severely punished.”
Back in her cell, Haisley hugged herself, still railing against their invasive questions, crude glances, and unwanted touches. But one thing kept circling in her mind—they’d given her Plan B. Which meant they didn’t want her pregnant.
Then why all the questions about her sexual history?
What were they planning to do with her?
Nash hauled ass to his brother’s place. When he pulled up in front of the ranch-style house, he barely remembered to slam his truck into Park before he leapt out and charged up the steps. Thankfully, Trees had already disabled the multiple layers of security around his place, so Nash didn’t bother knocking, just burst through the front door.
“Trees!”
His brother’s massive frame appeared in the kitchen doorway, phone pressed to his ear. “He just got here. Yeah, I’ll call you back.” His brother hung up, his expression grim. “Hunter filled me in on the latest.”
“You found something else on the burner phone?” He fucking hoped so. He’d followed every clue he’d had, and every one of them had turned into a dead end. He needed good news, and he needed it fast.
“Yeah. Sit down, and we’ll?—”
“I don’t have time to chat. Give me something that will help me figure out where these assholes took Haisley.”
“Keep it together.” Trees crossed his arms over his wide chest. Since they both stood around six-foot-seven, his brother was one of the few men who could go toe-to-toe with Nash. “You’re no good to Haisley if you’re losing your shit.”
Nash opened his mouth to argue, but Laila emerged from the kitchen, worry etched on her delicate features. “Please. He only wants to help. We both do.”
The tight band around Nash’s chest loosened a fraction. After surviving a cartel, his sister-in-law understood better than most what Haisley might be facing. And his brother… Five years ago, Trees had been barely more than a stranger. Now he was the one person Nash trusted most to have his back.
“All right.” He sighed. “Talk to me.”
Trees led him down the hall to his home office and settled into a chair while Laila perched on its arm, her small hand on her husband’s beefy shoulder. “I started digging deeper into Benedict’s phone. There were hidden directories, encrypted folders I hadn’t cracked yet.”
Nash’s hands curled into fists as he settled on the nearby sofa. “And?”
“I found something.” Trees shared a grim look with his wife. “Something that explains why Benedict and his wife ended up dead. Why the janitor had to be eliminated. Why they grabbed Haisley when they did. It confirms everything we’ve feared.”
The quiet certainty in his brother’s voice made Nash’s blood run cold. “Tell me.”
His brother nodded grimly, then gestured to his desk. “That encrypted section of Benedict’s burner phone? It wasn’t just call logs and texts. The bastard had an app. Custom-built, highly secure. I managed to get temporary access. I routed my query through about twelve proxy servers. We can view the site. They can’t trace it back to us.” Trees’s multiple monitors displayed scrolling code, each screen running different algorithms to mask their digital footprint. “Their security is military grade. Biometric verification. Quantum encryption. The kind of setup that costs millions. I had to write custom programs just to crack the first layer.” He gestured to a black box humming beside his laptop. “Had to build my own processor to handle the decryption. These people have serious backing.”
“And?”
“It’s a fucking marketplace. High-end merchandise, they call it. But they’re not selling rugs.”
“I know,” Nash choked. “Haisley and I caught a glimpse last night.”
Trees leaned forward, his massive frame taut with tension. “Then you know where I’m going with this. New ‘acquisitions’ are usually listed within twelve hours.” Trees’s voice gentled, as if softening a blow. “Like I said, it took me a while to hack in past multiple layers of security, and I’ve been monitoring the site since I got in.” Trees’s jaw clenched. “But once I did…”
“Haisley?” Her name caught in his throat.
Nash’s heart stuttered. No. God, no .
Trees nodded grimly. “Sorry.”
The implication hit him like a physical blow. It took everything inside him not to fall apart. “Show me.”
As Trees logged in, Nash’s hands curled into fists. On the screen, ornate rugs filled the homepage, each with a staggering price tag—enough to buy a lavish house.
“Here.” Trees clicked a nondescript link labeled Custom Orders. A password prompt appeared.
“Damn it?—”
“Already got it from Benedict’s phone.” Trees typed rapidly. “This view is more…explicit. So you need to prepare yourself.”
“Let me see.” The screen filled with photos. Women. Girls. Each with a description that made Nash’s stomach turn. Multiple pictures. Multiple poses. All naked. All degrading. All disgusting.
“I searched for new listings in the past hour and…” Trees applied the filter. Three results appeared—one that nearly killed him.
Nash’s heart stopped. “Click on her.”
Trees did. Nash’s vision tunneled, the room tilting sideways as bile rose in his throat.
Against a nondescript white wall, there she stood under the clinical lighting. Haisley’s face was tear-streaked but defiant, despite the fear shadowing her eyes. Every detail branded itself into his brain.
The listing beneath suggested a retail value that made his blood run cold.
“I’ll kill them.” The words came out in a growl. “Every last one of these sons of bitches. They’re dead.”
“We’ll help.” Trees gripped his shoulder. “But first we need a plan. Look.” He pointed to a string of numbers and letters below Haisley’s photo. “Auction details. They’re not even trying to hide their business model. They think they’re untouchable.”
“Or they’re so confident in their security that they don’t care who knows.” Nash memorized the coordinates.
“There’s something else you need to see.”
He clicked another link. A document filled the screen—some sort of intake form. Nash scanned it, his vision blurring with fury as he reached the bottom.
“Subject displays optimal breeding characteristics.”
Were these animals not merely planning to sell Haisley, but force her to carry her rapist’s child?
Holy shit.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Years ago, he’d told her flat-out that he never wanted children. She’d never said a word, but he’d sworn he saw something—sadness?—flicker in her eyes before she’d changed the subject. Now she might have the fundamental right to control her own body stripped and be forced to conceive by a stranger who bought her.
It was all Nash could do not to tear apart his brother’s office. Only his respect for Trees and the fact it would do nothing but waste time stopped him.
“I can prep you backup identities,” his brother said quietly. “Untraceable. Hunter’s already given me latitude to do whatever I have to. Whatever you need, little brother.”
Nash stared at Haisley’s photo, at the fierce light in her eyes that not even fear could dim. “I’m going to need money. Millions and millions of dollars. Where the fuck are we going to get that?”
“The bosses are already solving that issue.” Trees shared a look with Laila, who nodded and slipped away. “We’ve got your back. All of us. But, Nash?” He waited until their eyes met. “You have to keep it together. For her.”
Nash drew in a ragged breath, forcing down the tide of rage and terror threatening to swamp him. Trees was right. He couldn’t storm in, guns blazing. Not with Haisley’s life at stake.
He had to be smarter. Colder. More calculating than he’d ever been.
“Tell me everything you found. Don’t leave out a single detail.”