Page 86 of Reckless Seduction
The brawny man I ran into takes my upper arm in his grasp, shoving me toward the line of girls who stand primly, one right next to the other, their heads bowed but their shoulders erect.
“Stand here,” he barks, shoving me next to a young girl with strawberry blonde hair, who is wearing nothing more than a sheer slip. “You move and you get punished, understood?”
Recognizing this is not a battle I should fight, I nod my head meekly.
“Good,” he sneers. “Eyes on the floor.”
I obey, but inside, I am going over all the ways I can carve him up. Him and the fucker with the cattle prod.
We stand in line for what feels like hours. My legs begin to burn, knees growing tired and threatening to give out. I am on the brink of tipping over like the little teapot when the door to the hallway bursts open.
“Kneel.” The harsh command has the girls scrambling to kneel. I follow, cursing him under my breath. At least I am not at risk of falling over any longer.
“As you can see, we have an amazing lineup this year.” A nasally voice drifts through the room anxiously. “Some of the top women from our donors.”
“Yes.” A woman’s voice joins his, her voice a smooth rumble that reminds me of dark chocolate. Her heels clack along the stone floor, joined by the tapping of what sounds like a cane. “Ward does seem to have luck when it comes to finding the perfect candidates for our program.”
Program?
Keeping my head down, I let my gaze wander slightly beneath my lashes. Red heels and a black cane enter my vision briefly before passing on down the line.
“I hate to resort to finding women this way,” she continues, her voice tinted with disgust. “But with two of our assets having gone rogue, I am in need of immediate replacements.”
“Of course,” the man acquiesces. “We are at the Dollhouse’s humble service, Madam Therese.”
Dollhouse. I’ve run across that name before while searching for Lina. One of her contacts tipped her off to it, but none of her notes went into detail. There is an obvious connection to the trafficking ring, but until this moment, I hadn’t known what it was.
Is it a brothel? Or some kind of secondary ring? The woman’s voice holds the same accent as the guards but softer.
I swallow hard when the cold tip of the woman’s cane rests beneath my chin, forcing my head up. She stands above me, clothed in a black wrap dress that is accessorized by a dead rodent’s fur wrapped around her shoulders. Her silver hair is swept back into an elegant bun. She has a long, angular face with pinched red lips and narrow eyes.
This is what I expect a brothel manager to look like.
“This one has potential,” she purrs. The nasally man, whom I now recognize as Tatem Jones from the pictures I’ve seen, shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Madam Therese.” He bows slightly. “This one is not up for grabs. I didn’t realize our men had cleared her fromher cell. She is already slotted to go to someone else. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Pity,” the woman drawls. “I had hoped to be the one to break that spirit in her eyes.”
I would like to break your nose and those coffee-stained teeth. Maybe feed you to a shark.
Her cane whips out, hitting my side with fierce precision, causing me to shriek at the sudden pain.
Oops. Did I say that out loud?
Tatem shakes his head at me before barking at the girls to stand.
“I’ll take four and eight.” She signals to her men, who haul the two girls away. Not that they put up a fight. And here I thought I had Stockholm syndrome. “Let me know if this one ever becomes available. I do love a challenge.”
Tatem smirks. “I don’t think there will be much left by the time her new owner is done with her, but I will pass along the message.”
New owner. Like I have a previous one.
Then again, I do. Drew. My receipt of sale was also among the folders I had uncovered. Drew’s father bought me for his son for three million dollars. He wanted a strong link between him and Crowe, as well as something to lord over my biological father. I would have been expected to give him a child, since his woman of choice couldn’t bear any.
Tatem growls something in Italian, his words too fast for me to translate, and a few more guards appear. They aren’t as bulky as their predecessors and are distinctly Italian. They lead the remaining women down a short corridor and up a small flight of stairs before guiding us to the back of a stage. The voices I heard through my cell are louder now. The clinking of glasses and cheerful conversation more distinguishable.
They are laughing. Having a good time while we are to be sold like livestock at the county fair. I stagger slightly when the guard behind me pushes me to move, but I manage to catch myself before I face-plant.
