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The curly-haired man doesn’t back down till the other man sits, then he turns back to me.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly.

All I can do is stare at him. He has a tag in his ear with the number seven on it. As I look around the room, I realize that everyone has a tag with a number, almost like cattle.

Just like cattle.

My stomach feels like ice. I try to reach up to touch my own ear, but my arms still aren’t working. Instead, I brush my shoulder up against my ear. As I do, a shot of pain shoots through it.

Oh my god. Terror freezes my veins. I want to wake up.

“Allow me?” Cute guy, number seven, is still there. He’s nodding at my slacks, which I realize are still around my ankles. And I realize everyone is looking.

I pull my legs up to try to cover myself. Number seven just waits.

I don’t want to acknowledge him. If I do, he’ll die. It always happens with Connor.

The man, or Seven, slowly lowers his hands and pulls my pants up. I have to hike up my hips so he can raise them. When they’re up, Seven raises his hands and backs to his spot.

It’s then that I register that he has a knife. He’s no longer tied up. Neither is the other guy. The guy who tried to…

I close my eyes.

I just need to breathe. In and out. In and out. This is just a horrible nightmare. Granted, worse than some in my past, but I can make it through. All I have to do is breathe and make it through. Use my coping skills. It’ll be okay.

It has to be okay.

CHAPTER SIX

Day 1

These men are so dramatic.

I slam the door of my small villa and climb into my golf cart, grumbling. Seventeen doesn’t want Thirty's prey to be next to his in the holding cell; Twenty-One was found sneaking a phone onto the island, and blah blah blah. Put up with this bullshit for long enough and shit starts to get old.

Cranking on the golf cart, I drive to the main villa. The small house is set back and out of sight, and I rarely use it once The Game starts. As the game master, it’s my job to put on a show. To put on a show and keep people in line, which bores me to death. Unless it’s the kind of ‘in line’ that demands the use of my fists.

I’ll get one of my men to remove Twenty-One and send him back to the States on the last plane out of here. He’s lucky I don’t kill him. I’ve learned the hard way not to kill anyone in the first twelve hours of Day One. The slaughter makes the hunters crazy, and they start killing before they’re allowed. It’s a bloodbath, and the game ends much faster than it should.

I take the cart down the hill of crumbling stone steps that lead to the small house. Sunshine dapples the path through the tangled green roof of the tall, ancient trees. Birds sing, and for a second, I take a breath, soaking in the peace of the place. It’s nice weather here, but I always wear my waterproof sneakers and a jacket. Never know when you could get stuck out on the map, and I hate being cold.

Suddenly, there’s a harsh ringing from my pocket. I focus, whipping out my satellite phone. Very few people have this number, and it’s only for emergencies.

“Talk,” I demand, answering it.

“Oh, hey, boss man.” The voice on the other end is relaxed. “How’s it hanging?”

I frown, trying to place the voice. This isn’t Isaac, whom I left in charge of the club. Glancing at the unknown number, I frown.

“Not one for chit chat, got it. Hey, any idea how I can two-day mail a butt plug here?”

I have to swerve to avoid a dirt hole in the path, hitting roots that jostle the cart. What the hell is this?

Faintly, in the background of the call, I hear a shouted, “Sawyer! Hang up!”

Sawyer. Slowly, I place the name. Sawyer is one of Ryder’s men. He’s taking refuge from American law enforcement on one of the nearby abandoned islands, for a steep price.

“A vibrating butt plug, please. I’ve been told I’m not allowed to use a cucumber. No flared base, and all that.” There’s more muffled shouting, this time louder.