In the center of the room, a collection of women were tied together, arms and legs bent and secured in a spaghetti tangle of limbs, making it unclear where one body ended and another began. They were displayed on a slightly raised platform, as if they were a piece of rare art. Party-goers gathered around to watch the center attraction while others took a more active role in the scene, stepping up with paddles, crops, straps and electro-wands to torture the bodies displayed for their entertainment.
They had a front row view to a plump bottom being beaten with a wooden paddle so hard—and for so long—that deep red bruises covered the ass of the victim, where blood could be seen pooling under the skin. This was not playful BDSM; this was hardcore discipline, and the screams in the room confirmed it was nothing short of torture. Dylan was shaking with fear for Hannah, and it only got worse as the man with the paddle threw it to the ground and stepped up to bury his oversized cock into the hopefully lubed asshole of the bottom he'd just roasted.
Their view of the scene was gratefully blocked as a rounded man in a three piece suit, his small cock protruding from his unzipped pants, approached Jake and Hannah. He wore a mask over his chubby face, his piss-poor attempt at anonymity. "Another excellent party, Mr. Davenport. The only thing missing is that virgin you promised me last month."
"Ah, Your Honor, I've told you that virgins are extremely hard to come by these days. Did you try out Rena over there? She's an anal virgin. I told Mohammed to be sure to let you take her first," Jake said.
"Yeah, he saved her for me, but you know that wasn't what I've been waiting for. She's enjoying herself too much, if you know what I mean." The man leaned in closer to talk more softly. "I've heard rumors you have another, more private, party going on later that might have the kind of merchandise I'm looking for."
"Now sir, you've made it clear you weren't in the market for anything permanent. Only those ready to take possession of their property tonight are invited to the private party."
"Damn, I'd never be able to handle your merchandise long term without my nosey wife finding out. I'm gonna have to give divorce some serious thought." The asshole chuckled, actually fucking chuckled, as if he'd told a funny joke.
Dylan pressed the men. "What the hell are they talking about?"
He couldn't see Derek's face, but he heard anger in his voice. "I'm not sure we want to know."
Jake continued to pull Hannah farther into the room. As they moved forward, the screen in the truck began to flicker before the men's eyes. The sound was cutting in and out, too. Within thirty seconds, the monitor went dark and the only sound over the wire was a scratchy hum.
"FUCK! What the hell happened to our feed?" Dylan reached for the mic, calling out, "Hannah! Hannah! Can you still hear me? We're losing our feed. I can't see or hear you, honey." He turned frantically to his brother to ask, "What the hell happened? Did he find the camera on her and rip it out?"
Derek reached out, trying to calm him. "I don't think so. It seems more like the room they're in has scramblers to prevent any transmissions in or out for security reasons. That fucker Davenport really does have all the top-end toys."
"Toys? This isn't a goddamn game!"
"Calm your ass down. To be honest, I'm not surprised. With the high-end equipment he has, I'm kinda surprised this didn't happen sooner."
Dylan didn't even try to stop his fist from connecting with his brother's jaw. Derek had fifty pounds on him, but anger gave him the edge. Derek fell backwards, losing his footing and slamming into Z who stood behind him, barely keeping them both on their feet. Dylan knew he'd hurt his brother because his own hand hurt like a sonofabitch.
"You asshole! You sent her in knowing there was a chance this would happen? Knowing we'd lose our connection to her?" He lunged forward to put his hands around his brother's neck but was held back by Mitchell's arms keeping him back.
"That's it. You're out of control. You need to remember we're not the enemy here, junior," Lukus said calmly.
"The hell you're not! I could have had her to the California-Arizona border by now!"
Lukus's voice was low in his ear. "And then what? Look over your shoulder every day for the rest of your lives? She had to give the journal back. You know it. Davenport was never gonna let her leave with it."
"We could have mailed the fucking book to him." A wave of nausea hit Dylan. "We sent her in there. We're responsible for her. I'm responsible for her." His vision blurred as emotional tears threatened to flow.
The hell if I'm gonna cry like a pussy. I need to stay strong to get her out of there.
Cameron's voice interrupted them, defusing the situation. "Hello? Can we get back to work? Now that I know there was a link between Davenport and Hannah's father, I was able to do some cross-referencing of their known contacts. You guys aren't gonna like this, but I think I know what the private party is all about. It looks like the only perps who managed to get out of the hot water a few years ago when the shit hit the fan were several high-powered sheiks and businessmen from the Middle
