Page 23

CHAPTER 23

T he squeak of leather shoes on the slick tile floor grew closer and closer to Sephie’s room. Her thready pulse raced against her skin. Keeping her eyes closed, she focused on slowing her heart rate. She swallowed, but her mouth was so dry it only made her throat ache.

“Is she awake?” asked a man, outside her room.

Sephie sucked in a breath. What to do? Pretending to sleep wouldn’t help matters. She couldn’t avoid what was coming. But she could damn well face those who wanted to eliminate her.

She didn’t hear the guard’s response. The lock clicked and the door opened. She watched as the newcomer entered the room. Seeing his face again after all these years both jolted and paralyzed her.

Raymond Schaffer had aged. The last ten years hadn’t been good to him. He couldn’t be much older than fifty, but his sallow skin was marred with age spots and sagged with the weight of his sins. His closely set dark-brown eyes lacked humanity as they roamed over her with cold disdain.

Raymond stood over six feet, and his shoulders took up space in her cell. His gut, however, took up more. He wore a black dress shirt and gray slacks, as well as a thick gold watch and a gold ring. Still married. That only made this whole thing sicker.

“Hello, Sera, we finally meet again.” The use of her stage name on his tongue made bile rise into her throat. “Happy to see me?”

Lying there vulnerable and handcuffed to the bed while he stood over her was a new kind of torture.

She couldn’t sit or stand. She couldn’t hike up her chin or face him toe to toe. But she wasn’t his victim. She hadn’t been then and she wouldn’t be now. “I’ll be happier when I see you on trial for your crimes, but this will do for now.”

His mouth quirked. “What crimes? Are you referring to the lies you spread about me on social media? I didn’t do a damn thing to Pippa. She wanted everything she got. Everything you threw away.”

“She didn’t want to be assaulted,” Sephie spat.

He took a step closer. “Is that what happened? She told you that?”

Sephie glared up at him, rage bunching her body. “You did something bad enough that she wanted to put you behind bars.”

He smirked again. “I made her a star. And you.”

“You killed her.”

He lifted both his hands in an “I’m innocent” gesture. “Haven’t seen her in years. I’ve got a rock-solid alibi.” He dropped his arms back to his sides.

“Then why am I here? You could have just slapped me with a defamation lawsuit. Instead, you tried to have me killed.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head. Seconds passed. Then, slowly, he nodded. “You’re right. Why hide it anymore? I guess old habits die hard. You’ll find out everything you wish to know.” His tone was ominous, yet also tinged with sadness.

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t kill you. Not officially, anyway. Wish it were that simple. But after Pippa and Yvette, that’s just too many coincidences, isn’t it?”

Hearing him admit to Yvette’s murder brought fresh tears to her eyes. This heinous man had taken everyone from her. And he’d hurt, abused, and violated minors. Pippa and Clay were only two of probably dozens over the years.

“So your plan is what? To hold me here? That’s essentially the same thing as killing me. People will notice my absence.” Frustration ravaged her voice.

Any humanity left in his eyes vanished. “It’s very simple.” He paced in a small circle before facing her again. “Paparazzi will spot you—or your look-alike, I should say—somewhere abroad.” He shrugged. “Fiji, maybe. We’ll create a few more sightings, so it looks like you’re traveling. Add some social media posts and any rumors of you missing will be debunked. Of course, this allows me to do away with you,” he said, flicking his wrist nonchalantly. Then a sly smile morphed his lips. “Might as well make some money off you first.”

A cold shiver swept over her as she stared at the haggard face of the devil. This man knew her story. Knew she’d fallen out with her parents, knew she kept to herself. He knew she didn’t have a longstanding boyfriend, or close friends besides the ones he’d killed. He stood in utter confidence because her life was the perfect setup for such a ruse.

What he didn’t know was that if Taschen was alive, he wouldn’t let him succeed.

Her tongue burned with the need to throw the words at him, but she swallowed them. If Taschen was alive and searching for her, she didn’t want to do a damn thing to make Raymond aware of that.

As if reading her mind, he said, “Before you get hopeful about your boyfriend, just know that the last my guys saw, he was unconscious. Possibly dead.” His smile was devilish. “Besides, you might not realize this, but you’re in California, my dear. ”

Sephie’s stomach lurched. “What? H-How?” She racked her brain, but not a single memory of the journey came forth.

All the saliva left her mouth, and the room spun faster than a merry-go-round. Panic slammed against her chest and she struggled to sit. Remembering Laura’s pretend injection, she let herself fall back weakly to the pillow.

He laughed, and the sound bounced off the walls and hit her on all sides. “You were knocked out. But you’re here, back home with me where you belong.” He spread out his arms. “Someone will be along soon to help you get ready.” He winked. “You’re the guest of honor tonight.”

He slipped out the door. The guard appeared and the metal closed, the lock snapping in place. Sephie’s chest spasmed.

She was hours and hours away from Taschen. By the time he realized she wasn’t in Seattle, who knew what Raymond would do to her? Her fear permeated the air, sucking any hope she’d had left right from her soul.

Oh god.

Taschen would never find her. Despair threatened to pull her into a dark pit. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and her throat ached with the need for water.

She couldn’t break down. They were nowhere near done with her, and she’d need all the bravery and fight she could muster. If Taschen was alive, he wouldn’t forget about her. It might just take a hell of a lot longer for him to reach her.

Holding on to that thought with the grip of someone who’d been thrown a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, she forced her mind to focus. She’d made it to the staircase, and the door at the top had been locked. There had to be another way in and out.

The show Raymond mentioned must be the auction. Her skin crawled at the admission of his plans, but when they took her out of her cell, she’d use every opportunity to learn about this place. Analyze their steps, memorize every face. And maybe, just maybe, Laura would be her shot at escape.

If she could get the nurse back in here, she might be able to get a message to her. Have her call Backcountry or—

Footsteps sounded outside her door. Sephie stilled, and her breath caught as one male and one female guard entered. The woman had a gray garment bag slung over her arm, and the man held keys.

They closed the door.

Panic welled inside her again. She coiled away as the man approached, but his cold eyes didn’t even make contact with hers.

He snatched her wrist. Finally, his deadpan gaze landed on her face. “You make one wrong move and Dreya will Taser you. Understand? ”

He unlocked the handcuffs without waiting for an answer. “Get up,” he commanded.

She rolled into a sitting position. The room tilted and her body swayed, her blood pressure so high she teetered on the edge of heart failure. The guard moved to stand in front of the door, hands on his hips.

Dreya stepped forward. Her sleek dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. She fixed her eyes on Sephie as she dropped the garment bag on the bed next to her.

She delved her hand inside and pulled out a rhinestone-encrusted emerald-green bra. A matching bikini bottom landed beside it. “Get dressed,” she ordered, in a thick accent Sephie didn’t recognize.

Sephie sputtered. “W-What? Why?”

“Now.”

Her pulse raged against her eardrums. “What’s this for?”

“For your evening. Now get dressed or Landry and I will do it for you.” She took one step back, barely giving Sephie enough room to slide off the bed.

Her feet touched the cool tile floor. She swung her gaze to Landry. “Can I have some privacy?” she snapped.

“No privacy for prisoners. Last warning before I strip you myself.” His threat whipped the air, and she had no doubt he’d follow through .

Screw it and screw him.

She ignored the heat crawling up her neck as she turned around and pulled her shirt over her head. Her hands shook as she reached around for the bra hook at her back. Tears misted her eyes as she lifted the heavy costume top.

Sick, sick, sick.

She secured the bra and slid her attention to the bottom piece.

“Thirty seconds,” Landry barked.

Bastard.

She hooked her thumbs into her pants and underwear and stripped. The only sound was her clothing hitting the floor. Tears blurred her vision as she felt their heated gazes roam over her backside. Humiliation scorched her cheeks.

After snatching the stupid bedazzled underwear from the bed, she stepped into them and then stared down at her attire.

Dread wobbled her legs. Her midriff and cleavage were exposed, and the panties were cut high on the sides. She looked ready to pose for a porno magazine.

“Hands behind your back,” Dreya commanded.

Sephie did as she was told. What choice did she have? It was two against one. She might not get another chance at escape, but she also wasn’t ready to have a bullet exit her skull.

The rattling of metal handcuffs made her already trembling legs even weaker. The man’s heavy footsteps approached, and he seized her elbow. “Let’s move. We’ve got a new bed waiting for you.”

***

Taschen drove through the wrought iron gate and parked in the circular drive among the other vehicles. The luxury cars were a stark contrast to his souped-up, blacked-out SUV. He winced and hoped the vehicle wouldn’t draw too much attention. He took the keys from the ignition and slid them beneath the driver’s seat. With the mask over his face, he stepped out. His palms burned in the absence of his weapon.

He’d do just about anything to hold his assault rifle right now, even if it didn’t have bullets. Just the weight of the gun made him breathe easier. Without it, he might as well have been fucking naked.

A man stepped out of a sleek silver sedan and fell into step beside him. “I don’t recognize your vehicle.” His indirect question held only curiosity, no accusation. “You new?”

“Nah. My car’s at the shop. This is what they gave me as a loaner.” He grunted.

The man chuckled. “Glad you could make it. I’d introduce myself if I could.” He tsked. “No names, though. Rules and all.”

They walked briskly over the brick driveway, passing a large, ornate fountain next to the stairs leading to the mansion. A guard stood at the door. Taschen’s card had already been scanned at the gate, but people held out their chips as the electronic gun in the man’s hand ran over them again.

“Double security tonight,” the guy commented.

Taschen studied his voice, committing it to memory. He might not get a physical ID on anyone inside, but he’d make as many mental notes as he could to ensure each and every bastard was caught.

The man at the door surveyed Taschen and the asshat beside him. “Code word?”

Bile inched up the back of his throat. “Brisket.”

The guard gestured with the scanner, and Taschen opened his palm. The gun hovered over the chip. The machine beeped and the lights turned green. “Gather in the waiting area, please.”

Taschen waited a moment for the other guy to fall into stride beside him. He sure as hell wasn’t making friends, but having someone next to him made him look less suspicious. Walking down the black-and-white-checkered marble floor, Taschen took in the sprawling hall. A felt rope hung across the doorway, blocking the entrance to the rest of the house and forcing them to hang a left, into a parlor.

Plush white couches and chairs were scattered throughout the room, and pictures of old films and 1960s memorabilia hung on the navy walls. He did a quick head count. Seventeen, including his sidekick and him. Others were still being scanned at the door.

Though he couldn’t see faces, the demeanors, body frames, and deep voices told him the gatherers were all male. They spoke quietly, as if afraid to violate some kind of unspoken code.

“Tonight’s going to be interesting,” the man next to him murmured excitedly, making Taschen want to put his face through the wall.

“Why’s that?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

For once he was grateful for the mask, as it hid the curl of his lip. But the sight of the other man’s plastic face sent a shiver of disgust down his spine. The angled lines exaggerated the mask’s features, making the face appear cartoonish. The thin, sloped nose and fixed smile were straight out of a horror movie. It was the dark screens over the man’s eyes that made Taschen’s pulse roar, though.

“Didn’t you read the email? We’ve got a special guest tonight. I’m sure the bidding will be high, so I hope you’re prepared for war.” He chuckled sickeningly.

Taschen balled his hands into fists.

“Easy,” Rami said in his ear. “He might be trying to bait you. Keep your cool.”

He’d almost forgotten his friends were close and could hear his conversations. He’d have to thank Rami later for the reminder .

He met the asshole’s stare. “Oh, don’t worry, my friend. I never lose.” His words oozed confidence.

His fake friend’s shoulders shook with amusement. Little did he know Taschen would put a bullet through his head before the end of the night.

“Everyone comes with that expectation,” the guy said teasingly.

The wooden double doors to the parlor whooshed shut. Trepidation wrapped around Taschen’s spine. Once again, he counted. Thirty-eight people.

The man who’d closed the doors now stood in front of a large bookcase. He wore the same cloak and mask, but a royal-blue sash hung over his shoulders to meet in a V at his chest. “Welcome. I’m glad you all could make it.”

Taschen listened carefully to the voice. He’d never in a million years be able to place it with a celebrity’s face from memory, but he’d not forget any details. An expensive gold watch circled the speaker’s wrist, and a thick gold band encompassed his ring finger. Dragging his gaze down, Taschen took in his leather loafers.

The douchebag next to him wore brown dress shoes and burgundy slacks beneath his robe. A thin band of white gold circled his ring finger. These men had wives, possibly children.

Disgusting.

“We’ll begin with our greeting. Please bow your heads.” Everyone dipped their chins, white masks staring at the floor. Then the gatherers, including the elder, placed their fingertips together and pointed them at the floor. Taschen mimicked their movements.

The speaker let out a long, low ohhhm .

Everyone chimed in. The deep sound amplified, making the walls and floor vibrate. A sticky sense of foreboding filled Taschen. After a full minute, the chanting stopped.

The speaker cleared his throat. “If you’ll all come downstairs, our prizes will be ready shortly.” The bookcase behind him moved, swinging wide open.

Taschen’s heart rate picked up as he stared beyond the guard who’d opened the door into the mouth of a cement hallway. This was where they’d auctioned Clay. He wasn’t surprised, but seeing the place made his stomach churn.

The guard wore the same mask as everyone else. He stood at the entrance to the basement, his hands clasped in front of him.

“You all know the way,” said the elder. “Auction paddles are on your seats. Please proceed.”

The men filtered in through the hidden doorway. Taschen followed suit, the weird fucker at his back. The cement stairs unwound in a gradual spiral. Sconces hung on the wall, and golden light illuminated their way.

Taschen’s heart thumped loudly against his chest with every step he took. The suffocating feeling of being trapped underground hit him. He swallowed the lump pressing against the back of his throat.

His earbud crackled. “Taschen,” Rami said, his voice breaking up. “We’re losing coms.”

He exhaled slowly to calm himself. By the time the stairway opened into a small auditorium, no sounds came from his earbud. He was on his own.

Following the group, he walked down the sloped aisle. The front row was already taken, so he snagged an aisle seat in the third row and his new follower sat beside him. He picked up the paddle and placed it on his lap.

He scanned the room. There couldn’t be more than one hundred seats wrapped in a semicircle around a curtain-drawn stage. No Exit signs illuminated any secondary ways out. And no stairs led to the stage, at least not from where the audience sat.

He thought of the video of Clay. He’d been rolled offstage—to the right. Which meant there had to be space beyond the stage to hand off the prize to the winning bidder.

Heavy red velvet curtains spilled from the ceiling, and floodlights shone against the material. Hushed voices echoed around him as the seats closest to the stage filled.

He’d never been great at putting on a poker face, so once again, he was grateful for the stupid fucking mask. Because right now his jaw was so tense that anyone would be able to see the rage simmering beneath the surface.

The urge to get up and break every useless neck in this room almost consumed him. Almost. That kind of act would get Sephie killed. Or get him killed before he could find her.

Which couldn’t happen.

The wall lights dimmed and the curtain slid open.

“Good evening, everyone,” said the creepy-ass masked elder as he walked onto the stage, a microphone in hand. “We’re so happy you could make it this evening on short notice. We’ve got a very, very special prize for bidders tonight.”

Catcalls sounded.

Fury blazed from Taschen’s ears. He gripped the paddle tightly and fought not to slam it against the dumb fuck next to him rubbing his hands together as if he’d been served roast beef.

“I know, I know. The anticipation is almost too much. But I promise, some of you lucky bastards will be going home with a very beautiful piece for one night only.”

A mixture of excitement and disappointment erupted. “I’ll pay extra for a week!” someone shouted from the back.

The man on stage laughed. “No need. Because tonight, we’re doing things differently. Three bidders will be chosen for this special prize. This has never been done before, but we’re trying something new. The first winner will take the prize home tonight, the second tomorrow night, and the third the following.” He paused to wait for the clapping to ebb away. “So get your paddles ready and let’s get started.” He disappeared backstage.

Moments later, a metal bed rolled out.

Taschen’s joints locked. There was a woman on the bed. He craned his neck, trying to see her face. The delicate lines of her body and her sleek, toned legs made his heart pound as cold familiarity slammed against him.

Two guards, one male and one female, stood on either side of the metal bed. Seconds later, they raised the bed. The woman’s feet swung toward the floor, but straps around her legs and arms secured her to the now vertical metal frame.

Hair the color of burnt honey tumbled down in waves. Wide, stricken green eyes blinked against the lights illuminating her pale skin. A jewel-covered bra-and-panty set adorned her slight frame.

Sephie.

Her chest moved up and down erratically, and her gaze darted around with fear.

All the oxygen left Taschen’s lungs.