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“Don’t touch her,” Jackson said. His hands curled into fists.

Zane laughed. “Get the fuck out of the way,” he ordered. “Unless you want me to shoot you. Again.” He reached behind him and extracted a small, black handgun. Using it as a pointer, her flicked his wrist. “Over there. Now,” he said to Jackson.
 

“No,” Jackson said.

“Very well,” Zane said and flicked off the safety. His eyes moved to where Phoebe lay. He let out a heavy sigh. “I really don’t feel like dealing with two bodies. Last chance. Move.”

Not breathing, I stared at Jackson.
Move, please move
. I couldn’t handle losing anyone else, especially him. Finally, his tense shoulders sagged and he stepped aside.
 

“Get dressed,” Zane ordered me.

“What?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Are you deaf?” He leaned forward and I jumped. “Put something else on.” He recoiled, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t want to be seen in public with you. When was the last time you showered?”

It hadn’t been that long, but I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t say anything as I glared at him, heart thumping in my tight chest. Was I being put to work again? I stood there, in a tense stare off with Zane, until he growled and lunged forward, taking a hold of my wrist. He dragged me with him, up the stairs and into the kitchen, muttering about how slow I was

 
“Lou,” Zane called.
 

The man Phoebe referred to as Zane’s new friend lumbered into the room. I let my eyes trace over his body. He took up the entire doorframe and had to duck to get into the kitchen. He boasted large muscles that were shown off under a tight-fitting white t-shirt. His head had been shaved, and his dark skin was gleaming, looking as if he had recently rubbed oil over it. Tattoos covered most of his exposed skin. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine.
 

“Watch her,” Zane said to Lou. “I have to talk to Nate.”

Lou leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, purposely flexing his biceps. He looked me over, raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. My eyes had to be red and puffy from crying. I was wearing Jackson’s clothes. My hair was a knotted mess around my face. I looked behind me at the basement door. It was ajar, and I could hear Jackson shuffling around with Phoebe’s body.
 

I turned my attention back to Zane, who was in the living room talking to Nate. I heard him mention Phoebe’s name and something about not having time to make me look presentable. Fuck. Fear prickled through me. I was being forced to work again.

 
Nate stood in the middle of the room, repeatedly checking his watch. He flicked his eyes to the kitchen, pressed his lips together, and shook his head.
 

“She’ll have to get ready there. More trouble than she’s worth,” he scoffed, looking in my direction and moving a few steps closer. “There’s no time to clean her up. She’s your responsibility. I don’t want her associated with me.”
 

He was wearing another custom-tailored blue pinstriped suit with a thin, black tie held in place by a silver tie clip. His dark blonde hair was perfectly tousled. He turned his wrist in again, shaking his head when he saw the time. I noticed that his nails were perfectly manicured. “She’s your responsibility,” he pressed to Zane, who responded by rolling his eyes. “Jackson!” Nate yelled. “If you put one toe over the property line, I will tie your precious Adeline to the bed and make you watch her get fucked over and over.”

My blood ran cold, and my head spun. I wanted to shout out to Jackson that it was still worth the risk, that he still needed to try and leave. I pressed my lips together, knowing that saying it out loud wouldn’t end well for either of us.

Nate punched a code into the keypad and opened the door. Zane, of course, shoved me forward. The warm, spring air surprised me. Had that much time really passed? Zane took a tangle of my hair and dragged me to a black Mercedes. I got into the backseat.

My breath clouded on the cold window. I clicked the seatbelt into place and stuck my hands under my legs. Nate waited a minute, allowing the engine to warm before putting the car into drive. I felt like I was drowning in darkness again. Icy hands gripped my heart, squeezing harder and harder as the tires spun. I frantically turned around and watched the old house disappear from view.
 

I had never been in the car with Nate before. Where were we going? My fingernails dug into the leather seat. What the hell was going on? Was he finally fed up with me and was taking me to some secluded place to dump my body? No…that couldn’t be it. Zane wouldn’t want me to get dressed nicely for that.
 

I clenched my jaw shut to keep my lip from quivering as I tried not to hyperventilate. I pulled the hood up, closed my eyes, and envisioned Jackson’s face. I recalled the soothing sound of his voice when he told me he loved me. I replayed his words over and over in my head as the car moved down the country road.
 

Unlike Zane, Nate drove slowly, and I doubted he went over the speed limit as to not call any unwanted attention to himself. The spring landscape was a whirl of pastel and green as we accelerated down the highway. I stared at the passengers in the passing cars and wondered what sort of normal activities they were up to.
 

I knew where we were going just moments before we pulled into the parking lot of Paradise, Nate’s strip club. The neon sign that read OPEN was turned off, and two bouncers stood outside the door. Unable to resist a chance to shove me around, Zane grabbed my arm when I climbed out of the car.

Apprehension grew until it was almost unbearable. I had to force my legs to keep moving as we neared the entrance of the club. The two guys who manned the door nodded at Nate, looking at him with admiration. I could feel their eyes on me when I passed by.

Two tables were set up in front of the stage, seating a dozen men. A large man with combed over blonde hair sat in the center. He turned around at the sound of the door closing. He stood and opened his arms in a gesture of welcome when he saw Nate.

Zane grabbed my arm and yanked me around the stage. My feet caught on the dark red carpet as we wove through tables with overturned chairs resting on their tops and walked through a dark doorway that led behind the stage. Zane pushed open the door to the dressing room.

 
I was immediately choked by the overpowering scent of a dozen different types of perfume. The white laminate flooring was scuffed and worn from being walked on by countless girls. Lockers and hooks for purses and coats lined the wall that housed the door. Almost directly across from us was another door with a black and white sign that read STAGE taped to the middle, right at eye level. Tables with illuminated mirrors were crammed in the middle of the small room. Chairs with cracking vinyl cushions were haphazardly crowded around the tables. Racks of clothing—all lingerie—took up a good portion of this small room. A sparkly green corset caught my attention. Light reflected off the sequins, displaying an array of greens and blues, reminding me of a peacock. Then I saw the crusty white stain along the bottom.
 

Five girls were in there, dressed in lingerie and sky-high heels. All had a number pinned to them. They stopped what they were doing and snapped their attention to us. The girl closest to me was wearing a red push up bra that matched her satin panties. A short, sheer bathrobe did little to cover her exposed body. The number 261 was pinned to her back. She wiped tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Zane tightened his grip on my wrist and walked ahead. I hurried to catch up and not get dragged behind him. Again.
 

“Put something else on, and for God’s sake, learn how to use a hairbrush,” Zane sneered at me. I crossed my arms.

“No.”

He gritted his teeth, talking under his breath about dealing with me once the other girls were on stage. He snatched my wrist and pulled me along with him.

“Get in a line," Zane ordered the other girls. There were a few seconds of chaotic clacking of heels as the girls shuffled into a line. Keeping me next to him, Zane walked up the line, smoothing hair and straightening hems.
 

Tendrils of tension wrapped around me. Two girls at the front of the line clasped hands, both crying. My hands trembled, and I felt my empty stomach bubble with nerves. Zane looked the girls over once more and nodded in approval. Fear prickled down my spine. What the hell was going on? We went to the front of the line. Zane put his hand on the knob of the door that led to the stage. I caught a glimpse of Nate. His eyes met mine, and he flashed an evil grin.
 

“Let the bidding begin,” he spoke.
 

Zane let go of my wrist. I brought it to my chest, rubbing the sore spot where his fingers had twisted my flesh. He ushered the first girl onto the stage. She was tall and pretty, reminding me of Rochelle. Black curls cascaded down her back. She had on ivory colored lacy boy shorts with a matching demi-cup bra. A thin, silver chain was loosely wrapped around her tight stomach. Her legs wobbled, and she teetered on five-inch heels as she crossed the stage. The number 258 was pinned to the back of her bra.

Just how many girls had Nate sold? Had the numbers once started from zero? I shook my head. It couldn’t be true.
 

“Why are they bidding?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“To buy, dipshit,” Zane answered without looking at me.
 

It didn’t make sense. We were sold for sex all the time. It was never a fancy show. A few times Nate had a new customer see us before taking his pick, but it was informal and done at the house.

Another girl, numbered 259, took the stage. She was short and tan and was wearing a sheer black nightie. The stage lights caused her nipple piercings to sparkle. She stared straight ahead, appearing emotionless, and walked the catwalk. She stopped in the center and slowly turned around before taking a place next to 258 on the side of the stage.

The remaining three girls repeated the process and then lined up along the stage. Zane moved out of the dressing room and quietly closed the door behind us. We stood at the back of the stage, just behind the curtain. I could see the men get up from their seats to inspect the girls.

The large blonde man pointed to 261. She nodded and quickly got off the stage and went over to him. She held her arms out a little at her sides, giving him a view of her entire body. He cupped her breasts and jiggled them. He frowned and turned her around. He said something to the man next to him, speaking in a language that I didn’t know. He had her bend over and inspected her rear end.

“How much is this one?” he asked in a thick Russian accent.

“She starts at $15,000,” Nate told him. “They all do.”

My eyes bulged.
$15,000? Holy shit, that's a lot of money! Since when did … oh.
The girls weren’t being sold for just one night. They were being sold for good. I felt dizzy and suddenly cold, so cold. What were these men planning on doing? It wasn’t like they could take home their new sex-slave and show her off as if it was a new puppy. No, she would have to stay hidden, locked away like I was, only coming out to do her deranged master’s bidding.

The men bartered and haggled with Nate. A burly, black man in a gray suit asked if he could take number 260 to one of the private rooms for a ‘test ride.’ Nate quickly nodded, saying yes, but only if he paid. The man handed Nate a handful of cash. He licked his lips and whisked 260 away.

The large blonde man finished inspecting another girl. “They pretty, no?” he asked his companion, who nodded in agreement.
 

“Do you see one you like?” Nate asked, standing with his hands behind his back. He gave the blonde man a pleasant smile and reminded me of a used car salesman who would do anything to make a quick buck. Only worse. Much, much worse.

“All pretty. Very pretty,” he said.

“Yes, they all are,” Nate replied with another smile. I wanted to slap it off of his handsome face. “Any one of them will make a great present for your son.”

“But they are all same.” He shook his head. “No spark.”

Nate’s smile momentarily faltered. “No spark is a good thing. These girls know their place. They will do what they are told.”

The blonde man ran his hand over his thinning hair and said something that I couldn’t hear. I took a tentative step forward. He turned and inspected the girls again. Then his eyes landed on me. I froze as fear sliced through me. Then anger took over, and I flashed him a look that I hoped conveyed my disgust.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Zane demanded and grabbed my wrist. I twisted my arm and pulled back. “You can’t go out there looking like that!”

“Let me go, asshole,” I spat. Zane yanked me behind the curtain. “Let me go!” I repeated and swatted at him. Zane blocked my blow and retaliated by hitting me across the face. I tumbled back, tripping over my own feet. I put my hands out as I fell and landed on the other side of the curtain.

“That one,” the large blonde man excitedly spoke and pointed at me. “Show me that one.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

THE SMELL OF bleach hung heavy in the stagnant air, burning my nose and causing my eyes to water. I sat on the edge of the cot with my bare feet planted on the cold cement ground. My hands were folded in my lap, and I stared straight ahead, looking at the bottom of the basement stairs.
 

I slowly blinked; my eyelids threatened to shut. My stomach twisted with hunger. I was so thirsty that my lips were dry and sticking together. It had to be well past midnight, and I had been sitting on the edge of the cot ever since I returned from Paradise.
 

A sharp click came from the stairs. I didn’t allow myself to feel anything. Another lock opened. Still nothing. The third lock shot back. I was empty inside. I imagined the oval knob slowly spinning as someone opened the door. The hinges creaked, and the wooden plank of the top step protested under someone’s weight. Then the door clicked shut. My brain wouldn’t allow me to process any emotions. It had switched into survival mode, and I couldn’t handle anything else. Cold and numb, I kept my eyes on the base of the stairs.