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SADIE

I’m kneeling in the middle of the cold concrete floor, my head bowed, unable to move thanks to the metal chain around my neck. It’s secured to the handcuffs, and also chained around my waist, limiting all movement.

My head throbs and there’s a sharp pain at the base of my neck. The pounding in my temples is in rhythm with the pulsing in my ears, making everything sound like I’m underwater. My mouth feels dry and the side of my face hurts. I vaguely remember one of Matteo’s men—the soldier who rode with us after the gala—backhanding me before putting me into a vehicle. I thought it was a dream, but when I stretch my jaw, the limited movement tells of some swelling, and the tight pull and stinging of my mouth lets me know I’ve got a busted lip.

Motherfucker.

“I want my money!” I recognize Asha’s voice in the room. There’s no mistaking her shrill voice when she’s upset. Pissing her off to irritate Sergio was one of my favorite games to play during sparring sessions. He always complains about how annoying her voice is and how it was lucky for her she was good at her job, or he’d be rid of her just for his sanity’s sake. So, of course, I pushed that button every chance I had.

“You’ll get your money. But there’s a small matter of damage we need to discuss.” A man says, slow, deliberate, with a thick Italian accent.

I know that voice.

But from this distance and with my head in such a fog, I can’t make it out.

“What damage? You said a million and a half if I brought her to you alive and without the Parisi’s knowledge,” Asha argues.

“Actually, I said bring her to me alive and unscathed,” the man rebuts. “My men said she has a busted lip and a swollen face. I’m going to have to push off delivery for a few days to let her heal, which means a delay in payment for me. Which also means a reduction of payment for you, I’m afraid.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? When Vincenzo finds out she’s gone and we’re the ones who took her, he’s going to have his men hunting for us. We need that money to get us out of his reach. Now .” This time, it’s the soldier who speaks up. The loud crack of a gunshot echoes off the walls. The sound makes my teeth clench and my head rattle. I fight back the vomit rising in the back of my throat. As the feeling subsides, I chance a look toward the small crown again and notice Matteo’s soldier, whatever his name fucking was, is now dead on the ground.

“I believe five hundred thousand will be more than enough to get you out of town and settle your debt to me for all the inconveniences you’ve caused me and my client. And before you answer, perhaps you should consider Vincenzo Parisi isn’t the only one with a far reach.”

“Yes, Mr. Cusenza. Five hundred is plenty. Thank-you for your generosity,” Asha says gently sobbing, or at least she appears to be.

“Why was she hit in the first place? Did she put up a fight?” Cusenza asks.

Asha pauses momentarily, then says, “No, sir. She’s not much of a fighter. Aldo just didn’t like it when she refused to obey someone who wasn’t her Master. She only listens to Matteo, and Aldo likes control. He wanted her submission and she refused him.”

Why would she lie? Why help me?

“Ah. He was driven by ego. Fool.” Cusenza then shouts his orders. “Emilio. Pay the woman her money and get her off my docks.”

Asha glances my way with a subtle head nod and a smirk.

Giving me a fighting chance and still walking away with her money, I bet she thinks she won’t pay for what she’s done. She forgets who I am. What I can do.

The club may allow for a quick death in light of a favor, but Vincenzo won’t accept a debt paid by a traitor in his ranks for anything less than death. One he will certainly make an example out of. Me ? I’ll fuck with her from afar before insuring her death.

Run bitch! But you won’t get far!

I smile internally.

Cusenza approaches me, his shiny black leather shoes coming up to tap my knees. I don’t respond, keeping my head down, waiting, assessing. I don’t have the leverage I need to win a fight in this position, but I have the training.

Play the part of the remorseful submissive, Sadie. This is the long game. Give Matteo time to find you.

I remind myself of the plans we’ve made over the last few months. The strategies, the fail-safes, the end goal.

Get on the island. Find Shea. Kill them all and go home.

Home. I guess I’ll have to figure out where that is when this is all over.

Not now. Head in the game, girl. You have work to do.

Cusenza squats down in front of me, his hand cupping my chin and forcing my head up, causing the chains to dig into my neck slightly. I don’t meet his eyes, keeping mine focused on his neck.

“Submissives don’t make eye contact unless told to do so.” Matteo’s voice echoes in my memory. “Keep your voice soft, your responses respectful. Earn your rewards. This will keep you alive.”

“You are a very beautiful girl,” Cusenza says, his thumb caressing my swollen cheek. “It’s a shame that asshole marked you. Your new owner has very strict orders that no one is to mark your skin but him. He has a very sadistic way of playing with his toys. So, you will come to my home, on my island, where you will heal for a few days. Once I’m certain you are ready to be presented, I will make the call.” He leans in closer, whispering in my ear, “Perhaps I’ll even have a little fun of my own with you before handing you over. How would you feel about being mine for a few days, hmm? You can be my little puttana . I don’t care about a little swelling or bruises, so long as your jaw still opens and your cunt is in working order, that’s really all that matters. I might even take that sweet little ass of yours.”

I say nothing. Do nothing. I don’t flinch or plead for mercy. Which seems to upset Cusenza a bit.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he grits, low and menacing.

“Whatever you wish, sir.” I answer softly. I even add a slight tremble to my words for effect. The smug bastard buys it.

“Very good.” Dropping my chin, he stands tall, turning away. “Put this one in my chambers on the yacht. No one touches her except to transport her to the boat. Secure her chains to the bed and I want two guards on the door at all times.”

Cusenza leaves the area with three men while the others gather closer. Lifting me by the elbows, dragging my feet as they take me away. We enter another large empty space. The smell of fish and urine is heavy in here. My head still hangs low, only allowing me to see the bottom half of metal cargo containers, stacks of cardboard boxes, and the feet of the men carrying me.

When we reach their destination, I’m unceremoniously dropped onto the concrete floor. Tilting my head ever so slightly, I find we’re not alone. There are others lined up, tied up like cattle in nothing but their underwear and the same matching metal accessories as mine. I’m still in my workout clothes, but I’m certain that will change as soon as I’m taken onto the yacht.

I can see the knees of several women. Six, I can count to my right. One set of legs looks smaller than the rest tucked in the middle. Either she’s a very small woman or … it’s a child.

My pulse picks up. Anger and fear are an explosive concoction running through my veins as her soft sobs echo throughout the otherwise empty room. I remember hearing Lilah talk about being captured and how scared she was until Skyler came along and promised to take care of her. Ethan and the Kings got to them just in time, but I’ve heard Skyler tell Liz about Lilah still having nightmares.

That poor baby.

It makes what I’m going to do to this organization feel so much more gratifying, but first, I’ll need to find a way to get her out of here. I’ll need to get ahold of Matteo somehow and let him know we’re not leaving without her.

You must get onto the island first.

The woman next to me is shaking, her chains jingling with the movement. A few strands of her dark brown hair hang loosely covering her face, the length reaching just above her wrists. She’s sweating and panting much like me, but her breathing is becoming more ragged by the second. If she doesn’t calm herself down, she’s going to pass out and then she’ll be fair game. An unconscious woman is their favorite kind. I’m about to tell her when the little girl screams. The piercing sound is loud as it bounces around the room.

One of Cusenza’s men is standing in front of her, his patent leather shoes kicking her knees as he shouts things at her in Italian. I’ve picked up some of the language being around the Parisis. He’s mocking her. Nudging her with his foot. Asking her bullshit questions in a menacing voice just to watch her cower before him.

Asshole.

She doesn’t answer, just continues to scream and cry. I don’t know if she doesn’t understand his words or if she’s too terrified to respond, probably the latter, but these men don’t care why she’s not answering, only that she’s not obeying what she’s been told.

When the swish of a whip and the crack of it meeting flesh fills the air, followed by the small, frightened screech, my pulse skyrockets. The other women shake with fear and crying.

I have to do something. Now.

“She doesn’t understand you,” I call out, knowing it’s not the smartest thing to do. It will only draw attention to myself, which Matteo has specifically instructed me repeatedly not to do. Instructions to which I agreed to follow. But he knows I would never allow a little girl to get hurt if I can help it.

I’ll ask forgiveness later.

My outburst may only give her a small reprieve, but if it helps her breathe easier, even for a short period, it’s worth it. I’ll find a way to get her out of here and away from the monsters who want to snatch her innocence from her. I’ve been trained to take whatever they’re going to do. To take the pain and shut off my emotions. A child wouldn’t know anything about the depravity that awaits us.

The man with the whip stalks toward me, letting the whip drag along the concrete floor with each slow, deliberate step. It’s meant to intimidate and frighten me—to show me who’s in charge here.

A submissive would cower. Show remorse.

Sergio practiced this same move with me multiple times. Over and over, he dragged and cracked the whip while I was blindfolded, training me not to flinch. Not to show fear. We trained for weeks for this moment.

Matteo took over when we got to the hard shit. He stripped me down, blindfolded and cuffed me, dropping the temperature in the room so low my body shook from the cold. Then he would turn up the heat until the room was sweltering to the point I nearly passed out. He put me through several scenes in the basement of The Mansion, preparing me for what was to come. He helped me calm my urge to fight back, to take control. He pushed my limits to the point of breaking, then taught me how not to break.

He showed me the beauty in submission and the power it holds. I didn’t break because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. However, that is not the same for these men.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this.

“A woman’s submission is a gift, Dolcezza. It is not to be taken for granted. Do not give such a gift to any man. Make him earn it.”

I knew he was talking about Hawk, but his words still hold merit here. These women are submitting because they are afraid for their lives, not because these men have earned their trust. But their willingness to give up, their loss of fight, is what will damn them in the end.

“The broken ones get sold off. The strong-willed are Cusenza’s weakness. He chooses them for his own.” Matteo’s words flitter through my mind and a plan begins to take root.

I’ll convince Cusenza not to sell me, but to keep me. I’ll make him want to break me for himself.

I take a deep breath, hold, and release, centering myself.

The men chuckle behind their leader. He’s not the boss , but he is the one in charge of frightening the women and weeding out the weaker ones. I’m certain his job entails everything from intimidation to the use of physical force.

This asshole has nothing on Mack.

Mack’s mere presence exudes power and invokes fear. This man has to rely on his weapon to intimidate others.

The only command Cusenza has issued for his men is they may not penetrate the merchandise . That doesn’t mean they won’t force other sexual acts on us. Except me . He gave specific orders for them not to touch me.

Bingo!

As he approaches, the woman next to me whimpers, causing him to pause and crack his whip at her knees. She jumps, letting out a yelp, and again his men laugh. I can’t see his face, but I can see his hands and the gold medallion ring he wears on his pinky finger. I commit the small details of the ring to memory—a mental note of who my first target will be when I get free from these cuffs.

“You are either a brave or stupid woman,” he says, lifting my chin with the handle of his whip. The chains pull at my neck and wrists, the bite in my skin uncomfortable, but I don’t look away. He smiles, then backhands me hard. My head lulls to the side for a second as I absorb the pain, spitting blood from my lip onto the ground. One of his men reprimands him, reminding him of the boss’s orders. But he doesn’t seem to care.

I let my head hang forward and my shoulders shake as I laugh.

Sergio and Matteo may have taught me to take punishment and not fold under pressure, but my uncles taught me lessons of their own over the years.

Taylor fucking Mackenzie once taught me, “When someone tells you that you’re crazy, prove them fucking right.”

The asshole moves closer, squatting down in front of me. I can barely make out his smile from the corner of my eye. He lifts my chin again, and when he brings his face close to mine, I slam my forehead into his nose. He stumbles back, cursing and grabbing his face. The force of the movement against the chains pulls my body forward, causing me to curl into a ball as I fall forward. It stings, but it’s fucking worth it.

A booted foot comes down on my shoulder hard. “Bitch!” someone shouts. I don’t even know if it’s the same man. No . It can’t be based on the boots alone.

I pull myself tighter into the fetal position expecting another blow, when a woman’s voice echoes through the space, shouting. “Stop! Not that one! Don’t hurt that one. She’s a special order. And Marco expressly told you not to touch her.” I focus my attention on the sound of clacking heels moving closer and the familiarity of the woman’s voice.

How do I know that voice?

The man steps back grumbling something to himself. A body looms over the top of me. Navy heels nudge my knees. I roll to the side, dropping my hands away from my face just enough to see who’s above me and my heart picks up pace as pure unadulterated rage courses through my veins at the sight before me.

“Eleanor.” I whisper her name through gritted teeth.

“Hello, little trash whore. So nice of your friends to deliver you to us. It saved me the trouble of having another one of them stabbed in the back. Knives can be so messy.” She sniggers sarcastically. “You really should hire better help, dear.”

Sergio.

My eyes narrow. Small snippets of memories of that night flash through my mind. Sergio handing me the wine. The dizziness I felt. The woman in the bathroom offering to help me.

It was her. She was trying to kidnap me then. If I hadn’t seen Hawk, she would’ve.

I smile menacingly as I meet her glare. “You’re going to die,” I sing-song softly for only her to hear. Might not be my smartest moment because the butt of a small handgun comes down on the back of my head and darkness once again takes me under.