Page 11 of Never Lost (The Unchained #3)

HIM

“ H ow dumb do you think we are?” Felix’s face and neck muscles bulged inelegantly in the garish purple mood lighting of the porte-cochere as he and Arlo cornered me between two potted palms where I’d instantly fled after pushing past Felix and out the door of the restroom.

Muscles taut, throat dry, legs weak, I instantly recognized it as the kind of question where no possible answer I could give would improve the situation.

Over Felix’s shoulder, I scanned the drive, but there was still no sign of the Porsche pulling up.

Fuck valet parking, I decided. Sure, it was cool and all, but what good was it for a quick getaway?

Meanwhile, Felix was looking me up and down with contempt. “It’s so fucking obvious. Avoiding the office. The cash. That shirt.”

Well, that was uncalled for.

I wasn’t sure which was preferable—that they call the police and report me as a runaway, or just beat me into a pulp and leave me there.

Arlo, at least, had some serious muscle on him, and it wasn’t like I could do much to defend myself in my present physical condition.

And either way, I’d be fucked the second Langer—never mind my master—found out about it.

“Langer doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” Felix demanded.

“Wait. What?”

“Do you seriously not speak English, dumbfuck? I said Langer doesn’t know you’re here. He doesn’t know anything about this entire trip, does he?”

I could have kissed Felix’s sneering, well-moisturized face. I’d been caught in the wrong lie. Again. “No,” I admitted, trying to sound filled with remorse instead of glee. “He doesn’t.”

Felix turned to Arlo and jabbed his thumb at me disgustedly. “Figures. This whole trip was a fucking joke. I should have known better than to trust a guy dressed like that .”

If I ever saw Lemaya again, we would have to have a talk.

Felix turned back to face me. “You’ve got two seconds to explain yourself before I kick your ass across the goddamn street.”

“Relax, okay?” My heart rate slowed. This I could handle. Sort of. “You think I haven’t taken every precaution? He won’t find out.”

“Yeah, he will.” Felix pulled out his phone and waved it wildly in my face. “Because I’m going to call and tell him everything.”

I would have bet all of my remaining money that Felix didn’t have Langer’s direct number, but I still didn’t want to test him.

“And, with any luck, it’ll only be you who gets fired for this. I’ll get Employee of the Year.”

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Listen,” I said slowly. “If you don’t tell Max about any of this, I swear it’ll be worth your while.”

Felix raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

Arlo, meanwhile, had finally put his phone away and had just been standing there looking vaguely intimidating. But now his interest was clearly piqued. “Why should we believe anything you say?” he asked.

“You know Max has millions upon millions. You already know he has access to the best shit in the world, whenever he wants it. The best food, the best booze, the best everything. All at his beck and call. Day or night.”

“Yeah, but—” Arlo began.

“Well, why should it be any different with girls?”

They were listening, so I went on.

“The only problem is, like most rich guys, he’s fucking selfish and doesn’t want to share.

Well, tonight, thanks to me, that changes.

Do you know how fucking lucky you are that I’m even letting you be here for this?

” Felix didn’t move, but I continued, my confidence buoyed.

“You pick up that phone, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. ”

Neither of the other guys moved.

I barreled onward with the sales pitch of a lifetime. “What’s the dirtiest, kinkiest, most insane thing you’ve ever seen a girl do in a porno? Name it.”

“But—”

“Hey, shut up, man,” broke in Arlo, leaning closer. “Let him finish.”

“Name. It.”

Felix rolled his eyes. Leaned in. Mumbled something.

Look, I prided myself on having a mind as filthy as anyone’s. But even I blushed a little at that answer. “Well then, get ready to have something to brag about at every party for the next thirty years.”

Felix put his phone away, his perversion and greed winning out, as I had known it would. “The second I think you’re bullshitting me again, this comes out.”

The Porsche pulled up. And the whole right side of my body shuddered in one long column of pain and exhaustion as I took the keys, settled into the driver’s seat again, swiped more damp hair out of my face, and forced myself to shift into gear rather than collapsing in a heap on the wheel.

Well, the easy part of the night was over.

I trudged up the walkway to 211 Cholla, with Felix and Arlo trailing silently behind me like vultures circling their next meal.

Langer’s old neighborhood—lined with cottonwoods and midcentury homes that nevertheless seemed ancient—was silent as I zeroed in on the entry keypad at the back door.

I’d memorized the code Lemaya had given me—34562—in an effort to look cool and confident.

Unfortunately, my chances of looking either cool or confident had been dwindling for the past few hours, and the fact that nothing happened when I put in the code—not even a blinking light—quickly finished them off.

Luckily, here was where it came in: my insurance policy. I’d also memorized the code from Corey’s tablet, in the off-chance Lemaya’s code didn’t work. In fact, I was pretty damn pleased with myself as I punched it in.

Until that didn’t work, either.

Okay. Proceed to Plan B. I must just have it wrong. Ignoring the fact that Felix was clearly seconds away from reaching out and bashing my head into the doorframe, I reached into my pocket, fumbling for a sticky note that was very clearly no longer there.

Given the various near-catastrophes tonight, I wasn’t surprised I hadn’t noticed a piece of paper fluttering out of my pocket.

Okay. Proceed to Plan C. I started hitting every possible combination of buttons.

62534. 25643, and the like, wildly, again and again, all to no avail.

A single drop of sweat raced down my face.

The young men standing behind me were an almost physical pressure, their eyes boring into me like drills.

Okay. Proceed to Plan D. A window and a brick?

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and turned around. “Uh, guys, we?—”

The door opened. Automatically. Which was odd because there was no one on the other side of it.

I felt the sudden, ridiculous urge to hop back in the Porsche and leave the other two in a cloud of very expensive dust. But fuck if I had just gone through the dinner from hell for nothing, and if I thought I couldn’t face the accusing eyes of that poor slave boy before, how much would I loathe looking at my own face if I bailed out now?

After all, these girls were just slaves, too.

The police sure weren’t going to help them.

Nobody was going to help them if I didn’t help my own.

That’s why we were going inside if it killed me, and at this point, the chances felt like roughly 50-50.

I took a deep breath and led them into a hallway with plush carpeting and ornate wallpaper, doors concealed in the shadows of alcoves, each one a dark rectangle.

The decor was about what I’d expected from the outside—1950s architecture updated to look contemporary, and nothing immediately nefarious.

The staircase looked like gray marble, the steps winding up and out of sight, the rail adorned with detailed carvings that were unreadable in the dim light filtering in from some invisible source.

I spotted an elaborate bar cart, which Felix made a beeline for, pouring a generous helping of tequila into a glass.

“Well?” he asked as he drank.

In my brief exchange with Lemaya, in which I’d explained the bare bones of my plan, she had directed me toward three specific rooms upstairs.

That, at least, still seemed valid. But I couldn’t just let them in there, could I?

The ultimate goal, after all, was to help these poor girls, which meant keeping them as far away from these clowns as possible.

With a sigh, I started up the stairs. In the upstairs hallway, I paused, swearing I heard a noise from somewhere , though I couldn’t tell which room it might be coming from.

Felix’s eyes glinted sharply in the moonlight when he pointed out the three doors. “What, only one each? If anyone’s down for a trade after, let me know.”

Fucking hell. The first thing I would do if I ever got out of this was take a long, thorough shower.

I turned to Door One. If there was someone in that room—and I miraculously managed to both convince her that I wasn’t some depraved sicko and get her to play along—maybe she’d be able to give me the insider’s guide to finding my way—and hers—the hell out of here.

No such luck. The screaming started before I even opened the door.