Chapter 4

Elowë's POV

The two men moved so fast I didn't even have time to scream before their hands clamped down on my arms.

"Let go—" I twisted, tried to yank my arm free. Nothing. Might as well have been trying to move a brick wall. "Let go of me!"

I kicked out, aiming for a shin, a knee, anything. My bare foot connected with something solid and pain shot up my leg. The man didn't even flinch. Just looked down at me with those flat, dead eyes like I was a particularly annoying insect.

"Let me go!" My voice came out louder this time, high and desperate. Surely someone would hear. Surely someone would—

Nobody even looked up.

The man on the couch to my left—the one getting the lap dance—turned his head slightly, his face creasing in annoyance. Not at the men holding me. At me. For being loud. For interrupting his entertainment.

The girl riding him didn't stop moving. Didn't even glance over.

In the corner, that couple—if you could call it that—kept going. The wet sounds of sex mixing with the bass of the music. The girl's moans. The man's grunts. Like I wasn't even there. Like girls getting dragged through this place screaming was just part of the ambiance.

"Please—" I looked around wildly, searching for anyone, anyone who might—

The server stepped in front of me. His expression had shifted from irritated to something colder. More final.

"I told you," he said. "I don't have time for this."

His hand came up fast. I saw it coming but couldn't move, couldn't dodge with these two holding me in place. The slap connected with my cheek and my head snapped to the side.

Pain exploded across my face. Hot and sharp and so sudden that for a second I couldn't breathe. My ears rang. My vision blurred. The whole left side of my face felt like it was on fire.

Oh god. Oh god, he actually hit me.

The server turned away from me. Turned toward the nearby tables where men sat with girls in their laps, drinks in their hands, watching with mild interest.

He smiled. Actually smiled.

"Apologies, gentlemen," he said, his voice smooth and practiced. "New girl. Still learning the rules."

One of the men waved a hand dismissively. Didn't even look away from the girl grinding on him.

My stomach turned over.

Nobody cares. Nobody is going to help me.

The hands on my arms tightened and I was moving again. Being pulled toward a hallway at the back of the club. My feet stumbled over themselves trying to keep up. My face still throbbed. I could feel my cheek swelling already.

I didn't fight this time. What was the point?

We passed through a doorway into a dimmer hallway. Doors lined both sides, some closed, some cracked open. From behind one I heard sounds—a woman's voice, breathy and performative. A man's grunt. The rhythmic creak of furniture.

My stomach clenched.

They stopped in front of a door halfway down the hall. One of the men pushed it open and I was shoved inside. Not hard enough to make me fall, but hard enough that I stumbled forward a few steps before catching myself.

The door closed behind me. I heard the lock click. That heavy, final sound of metal sliding into place.

I stood there for a moment, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then slowly, carefully, I turned and looked around.

It was a private room. Smaller than I'd expected. A couch against one wall, low lighting, a small table with an ice bucket and glasses. The kind of setup that was trying very hard to look classy and just came off as sleazy instead.

I walked over to the couch and sat down on the edge. My legs felt shaky. My face still burned where he'd hit me. I touched my cheek gently and winced. Definitely swelling.

What the hell is happening?

I tried to think. Tried to piece together how I'd gotten here.

Did I drink something? Sign something?

But I didn't feel hungover. No headache, no nausea, no dry mouth. Just the ache in my legs from running and the fresh pain in my face from that slap.

And Shera. God, Shera. Every time I thought about her, panic spiked in my chest. Something told me I need to find her, but I don't know why.

I need to find her. I need to get out of here and find her.

But how? I was locked in a room wearing basically nothing, in a building full of men who clearly didn't give a shit if I lived or died, and I had no idea where I even was.

I need to—

The door opened.

I jerked upright, my arms automatically crossing over my chest again. Voices spilled into the room. Male voices. Laughing, talking over each other.

Three men walked in. No—four. The first three were clearly together, moving as a unit, their body language relaxed and familiar. They wore expensive suits, the kind that probably cost more than my entire semester's tuition. One of them was talking, gesturing with his hands, and the other two laughed at whatever he was saying.

But it was the fourth man who made my breath catch.

He stood slightly behind the others, not quite part of their group but clearly the reason they were all here. Tall—really tall, maybe six-three or six-four. Broad shoulders that filled out his black suit jacket perfectly. Dark gold hair that caught the low light. And his face...

Jesus.

He was beautiful. Not handsome in a safe, friendly way. Beautiful in a way that made you want to stare and look away at the same time. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, full lips. The kind of face that belonged on a movie screen or a magazine cover.

One of the other men stepped closer to him—shorter, stocky, wearing a suit that looked expensive but somehow still cheap on him. He gestured toward me, his voice oozing false charm.

"This one's fresh, Mr. Asgard. Just came in tonight. Very... accommodating, I'm sure."

Mr. Asgard. So that was his name.

The tall man's eyes stayed on my face. He didn't acknowledge the other man's words. Just looked at me for what felt like forever. Then he gave a slight nod.

"I'll take her."

The stocky man's face lit up like he'd just won the lottery. "Excellent choice, sir. Excellent. She's all yours for the evening."

He turned and started herding the other men toward the door, still talking, still smiling that oily smile. One of them clapped Mr. Asgard on the shoulder as he passed. Mr. Asgard didn't react. Didn't take his eyes off me.

The door closed behind them.

The lock clicked.

They left me alone with him.

Oh god.

My arms tightened over my chest. He was still standing by the door, watching me, and I knew—I knew what he was here for.

I had to say somethin before he—

"I'm not a prostitute."

My voice came out steadier than I expected. Small victory.

He didn't respond. Just kept watching me with those unnerving amber eyes.

I swallowed hard. "I'm not a prostitute—I won't do anything with you."

For a moment, nothing. Then his gaze traveled down my body again. Slow. Taking in every inch of exposed skin. Then back up to my face.

"You don't look like a prostitute," he said.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I didn't know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not.

His lips curved. Just slightly.

"What's so funny?" The words came out before I could stop them. "Someone like you—do you really need to come to a place like this to find..." I hesitated, then forced myself to say it. "Prostitutes?"

Because he didn't look like he needed to pay for anything. Men who looked like him, who moved like him, they could have anyone they wanted.

He didn't answer. Just kept looking at me with that faint smile.

Then he shifted. A small movement. His hand adjusting his jacket.

My eyes followed the movement without thinking.

And suddenly he was right there.

I didn't see him move. One second he was by the door. The next his arm was around my waist and I was being pulled off the couch and against his chest.

"Wait—"

His arm locked around me. Solid. Immovable. I pushed at his shoulders but nothing happened.

The fabric of his jacket pressed against my bare skin. Warm. He was so warm. Heat seeped into me and I realized I'd been cold. So cold.

I shoved at his chest. "Let go—"

He didn't.

My heart hammered in my chest. Fast and hard. But this time it wasn't fear. It was something different. Something that made my skin feel too sensitive everywhere he touched.

His hand came up. Caught my chin. Tilted my face toward his.

We were so close now. I could see the gold flecks in his amber eyes. Could feel his breath.

The smell filled my lungs. Wrapped around me. And my arms—the ones that had been pushing—weren't pushing as hard anymore.

What is this?

And then his eyes changed.

The amber disappeared. Replaced by red. Blood red. The pupils blown wide and locked on me.

My breath caught.

A flash in my head—darkness, trees, shadows.

Those eyes staring at me in a forest.