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I eyed the dress still lying exactly where it had been placed this afternoon.
It was a purple lacy number I could tell would be damn near see-through.
I rolled off the bed, went back to the window, and planned.
* * *
My plan wasn’t going to work.
There would be no sneaking away to disappear into the night.
Not only were there guards all around the backyard, there was one standing behind me and he hadn’t moved more than a foot from me since he’d escorted me from the room and pointed to a chair for me to sit in.
This after the only thing he’d said to me was a mean “remove your underthings” when he saw I wore my bra and panties under the dress. I’d removed my bra, which took some doing and twisting to get it off while keeping the dress in place. He could say whatever he wanted but I wasn’t flashing him my boobs. I’d bravely kept my panties on. When he realized I wasn’t going to remove them he grunted and grabbed my arm and didn’t let go as he dragged me through the house. The trek was long—the house was big—but the man’s fast pace didn’t leave me time to see much of anything beyond whoever lived here loved gold and had horrible taste in furniture. It was over-the-top grandiose and that was saying something seeing as I worked in Vegas—a place known for lavish and overdone.
Now I was sitting at a table alone but the other three tables had occupants. Two men and two women to each table. None of the women looked like they wanted to be there, each dressed in purple, but in varying styles.
This freaked me out.
It reminded me of that movie about the secret society. All that was missing was the masks and the orgy.
Please, God, don’t let there be an orgy.
The conversations around me were low enough that I couldn’t hear what was being said. A loud commotion from the back door cut through the murmurings. The men were silenced and all heads turned toward the door.
Louis.
The kidnapping asshole was in a tux, dragging the woman who had drugged me out to the patio by the arm.
“Behave,” Louis grunted and viciously shook her.
The men went back to their conversation like a woman wasn’t being manhandled.
Great.
Louis shoved the woman into the seat across from me. Even in the low light I couldn’t miss the bruising on the side of her face and around her throat.
If I thought I was afraid when I was locked in that room alone it held nothing compared to the reality I was now faced with.
I’d been taken.
Trafficked.
And at any moment I, too, could have those same marks on me.
“You look lovely this evening, Atlee,” Louis said with his eyes glued to my chest.
I was fairly certain he was straining to see through the lace and get a look at my nipples.
Sick fucking bastard.
I said nothing.
Louis’s hand shot out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“You’ll speak when spoken to,” he rumbled.
“Thank you,” I ground out through the pain of him gripping my chin.
