Page 98 of Locked in Wonderland

“Here’s the thing,” Knuckle-Cracker said. “You can either come with us meek as a kitten, and we won’t harm a single hair on your head…”

He paused.

I knew I shouldn’t ask.

I did it anyway. “Or?”

“Or we knock you out and carry you.”

It wasn’t much of a choice. But common sense dictated that conscious was better than unconscious. A conscious man could look for opportunities. A conscious man could run.

An unconscious one was just cargo.

I took a breath and let it out slowly.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Good choice,” Black T-shirt said. His smile was deeply patronizing. “Very good choice.”

Chapter Thirty-one

I’d expected to be taken to the Hart residence—the one Tom Cheshire had expressly told me to avoid. I consoled myself with the probability of Nico being there.

He’d sort this out. I had no idea how, but he would. He’d admitted the Harts were practically family. A deeply dysfunctional family, sure, but it still had to count for something.

The image of him waiting at the end of the journey, swooping in once again like the world’s most unlikely knight in shining armor, occupied most of my thoughts. So much so that I barely registered where we’d arrived until they marched me into a vast, echoing chamber.

A courtroom.

I recognized it even before they pushed me into a dock and ordered me to sit. The gallery opposite was packed. Some people leaned forward for a better look at me, others whispered behind cupped hands. Everyone looked perfectly comfortable, especially the man in the front row balancing an enormous bucket of popcorn on his lap.

Apparently, this was Wonderland’s idea of entertainment. Well, that and slave auctions. It was entirely possible that some of the audience had attended both.

“Am I on trial?” I asked. “What exactly am I supposed to have done?”

Nobody acknowledged me.

A door opened at the far end of the room to admit a procession of what I assumed to be lawyers, clerks, and officials. They took their places without sparing me so much as a glance. The judge was unmistakable, courtesy of the ridiculous powdered wig he wore and his central position at a raised bench.

Then came the Harts.

Queenie swept in first, her little black nightclub dress replaced by a sable fur coat. Cruella de Vil immediately sprang to mind, the tiny white Chihuahua nestled in her arms doing nothing to dispel the comparison. All it needed was a few black spots painted on it. The high heels were still very much in attendance, this pair black. Henry followed in golf clothes instead of a pinstripe suit.

Did Wonderland have a golf course?

Nico had said the place had everything if you knew where to look, so I assumed it must have. Henry’s expression said he didn’t really want to be here.

That made two of us.

Kellan came last, wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. He had a dog leash wrapped around his wrist. I expected another chihuahua, or maybe something bigger, considering Kellan didn’t exactly strike me as the chihuahua type.

Instead…

The man crawling behind him stole every coherent thought from my head. He shuffled along on his hands and knees, naked except for a black G-string. His skin was a patchwork of healing bruises, yellow bleeding into purple. He’d lost so much weight his ribs stood out in stark relief. His face hadn’t escaped the beating either.

Even so, I recognized him as the man Kellan had claimed in the nightclub.

The worst part wasn’t the bruises.