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“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.”