Page 70 of Locked in Wonderland

The hand froze. “…Nico? What’s he got to do with it?” Carter frowned. “He rarely gives a fuck.”

With trembling fingers, I grabbed the neckline of my T-shirt and pulled it down far enough to expose the tattoo.

Carter’s hand fell away from my crotch. He sat back on his heels and studied the tattoo. For several long seconds, he said nothing. Then he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well… isn’t that interesting?” Finally, he nodded. “That changes things slightly.”

I lurched sideways.

This time he didn’t catch me.

The floor rushed up to meet me.

I landed hard and lay there, winded, my eyes squeezed shut.

Even when footsteps announced someone else entering the room, I couldn’t summon the strength to open them again.

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Carter said. Someone answered, but the ringing in my ears had returned with a vengeance, making the words impossible to understand.

I lost consciousness a few moments later.

Chapter Twenty-two

I woke in a small room surrounded by women, consciousness returning to me in stages. The trigger was most likely the soft brush sweeping over my cheekbone.

Was she putting makeup on me?

The woman holding the brush giggled when my eyes opened, her blonde ringlets bouncing with the movement.

She looked like a doll. Actually, all three women did. Large eyes. Painted lips. Voluminous hair. Tight clothes that displayed entirely too much cleavage and upper thigh. Clearly none of them had heard of the concept of flaunting one or the other, but not both.

They looked like a matching set. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.

A trio of nightmares. First things had come in pairs with Percy and Lola, and then Zane and Zeke. Now triplets. Maybe that was how Wonderland worked—everything multiplied until eventually I’d face an entire army.

I struggled upright, three things immediately becoming apparent. First, I was back in leather. The squeak of it was unmistakable as I hauled myself into a seated position. Second, as I looked down at the even skimpier shorts and harness that left most of my chest bare, was the angry, burned skin that had taken the place of the tattoo.

Third—and competing strongly for most horrifying—I was chained to the wall by a thick metal cuff encircling one wrist. Instinct had me tugging at it. That earned an instant scowl from the blonde hovering over me. “Stay still,” she snapped. “I didn’t do all this work for you to ruin it.”

“All what work?” My voice came out thin and raspy, as if I hadn’t used it for a while. “Why are you putting makeup on me?”

“For the auction, of course.” She exchanged a conspiratorial look with the other two women that seemed to suggest I wasn’t very gifted in the brains department.

The next time she approached with the brush, I jerked my head away. They might have chained me to the wall, but I still had some control. And if she thought I was going to sit quietly while she ignored every question I asked, she had the wrong guy.

This time anger showed on her face. “You smudged your eyeshadow,” she said accusingly. “I’m going to have to fix it.”

Eyeshadow! What the fuck. Maybe I was being drafted into their group, and together we’d become a quartet. The thought wasn’t remotely funny, but laughter bubbled in my chest anyway. If I didn’t laugh, I’d probably cry.

The brunette and the redhead stepped forward. Their fingers fastened around my head, holding me in place while the blonde resumed her work, tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration.

“What auction?” I asked again.

No answer.

The silence stretched.

Just as it had reached screaming point, a door opened. I tried to turn my head, but the women tightened their grip.

“Ten minutes,” a rough male voice said.