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“Great.” The last thing Harry wanted to do was simply wait for someone to do something while Tristan had been taken. It felt as though he was getting further and further away with each passing second.

T
RISTAN
WAS
woozy as hell. He must have had way too much to drink, but he didn’t remember anything other than a beer at the table with his friends. He’d been tired and had gone to lie down in the office—that much he remembered. The sofa there hadn’t been the most comfortable, but he’d eventually fallen asleep. Things were still jumbled in his mind, and he tried to organize his thoughts, but everything was like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together. Eventually he gave up and lay still.

How much time passed he wasn’t sure, but his mind slowly began to clear. As it did, he became aware that he was lying on something hard and cold. He definitely wasn’t on the sofa in Harry’s office or, as he’d hoped as his mind had floated, that Harry had taken him home and tucked him into bed with him. Tristan forced his eyes open.

White walls met his eyes, stark and cold. He lifted his head and shivered as he tried to piece things together. He wrapped his arms around his naked torso. Tristan gasped and looked down at himself. He was wearing only his underwear. No wonder he was cold. He shivered again, this time from a combination of cold and fear. He slowly tried to get to his feet, but the room spun and a wave of intense dizziness overtook him. Closing his eyes once again, he waited for the room to stop spinning and then slowly opened them once more.

The room steadied, and he took in his surroundings. The walls were indeed white but made of concrete. The floor was tile, and there was a single window high up on the wall across from him. From that he deduced he must be in a basement somewhere. He turned to a door next
to him when he heard footsteps outside it. He had no way to fight and no defenses, so he lay back down and closed his eyes, trying not to shiver. He figured if whoever had done this to him thought he was still out of it, they might leave him alone. The window looked big enough for him to crawl out of if he got the chance and could lift himself up there.

The door opened, and Tristan did his best to stay still and quiet. “That shit should have worn off by now,” a deep male voice said. Tristan was toed lightly and then lifted off the floor, rather roughly. He groaned and kept his eyes closed, doing his level best to pretend he was still in some drug-induced stupor.

He wanted to scream and fight, but the man was obviously stronger than him, and Tristan felt as weak as a lamb. No, he felt the best course of action was to appear helpless for now while he tried to work out what the hell was going on.

The man lifted him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Since the guy couldn’t see him, Tristan opened his eyes and did his best to look around for clues to where he might be. The man climbed a set of stairs out of the basement. At the top, he turned, and Tristan caught a glimpse of the kitchen in the house. He had to stop a quiver of terror when he recognized it. He was at one of Eddie’s drug houses. He hadn’t known what it was the one time he’d been here before, but he would never forget that sickening death smell or that puke-green kitchen. That visit had been the thing that had clued him into what Eddie was. What the hell was he doing here?

Thankfully the last of whatever was in his system seemed to be wearing off, and his mind was beginning to function normally. God, Eddie had kidnapped him and had him brought here. Why in the hell would he do that? There was no way Tristan could be that valuable to him.

Before he could think very far along those lines, the man carrying him opened a door and stepped inside, then dumped Tristan on a bed. “I know you can hear me. Stay here and don’t move if you know what’s good for you. The boss isn’t gonna be happy if you try anything, and he’s already mad enough at you.” The guy turned, and the door closed. Tristan heard a lock slide home.

He was afraid to move at all. Was someone waiting outside the door? How long did he have before Eddie showed up? And who knew what he was going to do to him when he got here? Tristan figured it wasn’t going to be pretty. He needed to get the hell out of here and get some help. He supposed he was lucky he wasn’t tied up, but that luck would end if he tried something and failed.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he whispered and slowly uncurled his legs, making sure the bed didn’t creak. Then he slid down off the mattress and went over to the window. He had never lived here, thank God, but he had spent plenty of time, mostly nights, in this place. It was old, and it stank of God knew what. Eddie, for all his ego, lived in a crappy place, probably to keep a low profile.

He pushed the dingy old curtains aside just enough to look out the window. He had a great view of the brick wall across the way in what he thought was the early-morning sunlight. It was straight down to the ground from here, so going out the window was not an option. It was likely that Eddie had his friends in the house, so getting out that way was also out of the question. He was well and truly trapped. He sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what the hell he was going to do. He hadn’t even realized he’d been taken. What if his friends didn’t realize it either? He could be here for a long time. Somehow he had to get a message to them, but how? He had to keep his eyes open and try to figure out a way.

A shiver went through him once again, and Tristan pulled the old blanket off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. At least it provided some warmth and made him feel less exposed.

Tristan listened at the door but heard nothing. He knew it was locked, but he carefully tried it anyway. It wouldn’t open, of course, so he fell to his knees and peered under it. He didn’t see feet or the signs of someone guarding him, but that didn’t mean much. They could be out of his limited sight range.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the distance, and Tristan stood and went back to the bed, sat down on it, and waited to see what was going to happen.

Nothing. The footsteps continued to outside his door and then seemed to stop. The lock didn’t slide back, and the door didn’t open. He sat and waited some more, but the room stayed quiet with only the slight dripping of the plumbing from somewhere in the house to break the silent monotony.

H
OURS
PASSED
.
He was getting hungry and had to go to the bathroom. Finally, when he could take no more, he knocked on the door. “I need to go!” He waited and then shouted it louder.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Tristan groaned. No one had been outside—he’d wasted that time being quiet. Now they all knew he was awake.

“What?” came a deep grunt through the door.

“I gotta use the bathroom,” Tristan said plaintively. He’d been listening for any sound, some indication that someone was coming for him. He’d hoped the police would show up or something, but there had been nothing at all. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been here. Was it the day after he’d been taken from the club, or had he been drugged for longer than that? At least parts of what had happened at the club had come back to him.

The lock slid back, and the door opened. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll clock you so hard you’ll never forget it.” The man wasn’t someone he recognized, and a face like that was one he wouldn’t forget—pockmarks, a scruffy beard, and chipped, yellowed front teeth that looked ready to fall out at any second. Scruffy jeans and a flannel shirt that had seen much better days carried a smell bad enough to wake the dead. How had he not noticed that before? It was all he could do not to gag and cough.

“Okay,” Tristan said softly. He had no choice but to agree. What surprised him was that the man had no compunction about being seen. Tristan thought that strange until he realized they had no intention of
letting him go. He was either going to stay here permanently as one of Eddie’s toys, or he wasn’t going to get out of here alive—or both. Tristan shivered and tried his best to cover it as he slowly left the room and walked across the hall to the bathroom. He moved to close the door.

“Don’t try anything,” the thug said.

Tristan nodded, stepping back in exaggerated fear. He figured if the guy thought he was scared to death of him, he might lower his guard.

“And don’t be too long and make me come in to get you.”

Tristan clicked the door closed and hurried to the toilet. He dropped the blanket and his underwear and released his aching bladder. There was a cupboard over the toilet, and while he went, he pulled it open as quietly as he could. It was full of old shit—rusted shaving cream cans and lotion bottles with crap dripping down them. He turned up his nose at the smell and rooted around as quickly as he could. In the back he found an old razor. It was one of the disposable plastic kind and had seen better days, but he grabbed it and folded it into a corner of the blanket. He had no idea what he could use it for, but it was sharp and might come in handy. He closed the door and finished up. Then he turned around and sat on the filthy seat. He then made noises like he was in distress and held his stomach. The bathroom door opened, and he laid it on thick, groaning like he was going to die.

“Jesus,” the guard said and closed the door again. Tristan grinned and made the noise once more as he reached for the closet door. In there he found old towels, toilet paper, and not much else. Not that he was going to be able to hide very much, but it was important that he try.

Tristan closed the door and stopped groaning. Part of the binding on the blanket was loose, and he tucked the razor inside it and flushed the toilet. He pulled up his underwear and wrapped himself in the blanket again. Then he ran the water like he was washing his hands and pulled open the medicine cabinet. He scanned the contents quickly and grabbed a pair of tweezers and a tiny pair of rusty manicure scissors. They were pointed and would make a good weapon. He pushed them down into the binding of the blanket as well and turned off the water.

“Hurry your ass up, or I’ll come in there and use the carpet to wipe your ass as I drag you by the hair back to the fucking room.”

Tristan opened the door slowly. “I’m done. There’s no need to hurt me.” He kept his voice low and his eyes on the floor. Let them think he was cowed and as scared as they came. Well, he was nearly petrified, but he also knew he needed to keep his wits about him and not let them know he was. Bull had told them once a number of months ago during that whole thing with Jeremy and Spook, when their place had been bugged by one of Eddie’s rivals, that if anything did happen to keep quiet, obey them, and keep their wits. At the time it had seemed like a strange conversation to have, but he was glad Bull had told him that, and he was determined to follow his advice.

The thug looked him over and grabbed the blanket, ripping it away. Tristan did his best not to follow it with his eyes and hoped the things he’d stashed stayed put. The man looked him over and smiled, his gaze traveling over Tristan’s near nakedness. “Pretty.” He grabbed his crotch, and Tristan did his best not to meet the man’s eyes, or he’d know how completely disgusting Tristan thought he was. “Fight me or anyone else, and the boss says we can have you for anything we want.” He smiled his broken-toothed smile, and Tristan turned away with a shudder.

“Can I have the blanket back?” he asked quietly. The thug threw it at him, and Tristan wrapped it around his shoulders and shuffled back to the bedroom. He walked inside, and the thug slammed it closed and threw the lock.

Tristan’s heart pounded in his ears as he sat on the edge of the bed and fumbled in the binding. He pulled out the razor and scissors, but couldn’t find the tweezers. He hoped they hadn’t fallen out and given him away, but he finally found them. They’d shifted further down the binding, and he worked them out. He wasn’t sure where to put his little stash of weapons and ended up sliding them under the side of the mattress.

The lock slid, and the door opened. Tristan whirled around and
sat on the edge of the bed just in time as Eddie strode into the room, followed by the smelly guy. Eddie slammed the door and ripped the blanket off him. Tristan squeaked and tried to get away, but Eddie grabbed him and yanked off his briefs in a single tug. “That’s how I want to fucking see you. Naked. I want to be able to see everything that’s mine, and you, little boy, are mine, and you always fucking will be
.”

“I am not,” Tristan argued and slid away, putting the bed between them. He knew he’d get only a momentary reprieve before Eddie lunged.

“Yes, you are. I treated you well, took you places, was kind to you, and how do you repay me? You left. The way I made my money wasn’t good enough for you, but spending it on you was perfectly fine, you little man-whore. Well, no one is going to find you, and now you’re my little slut.” Eddie sucked air into his lungs while Tristan tried to breathe. “Now you’re better than a whore, because I’m going to take what I want for free, anytime I want.” Eddie stood where he was, black eyes blazing with lust and hatred. Tristan lowered himself behind the mattress, anything he could do to cover up.