Brax may have died fighting to save me. Now, it was my turn. I'd find him somehow. I'd find him and all of this would be nasty history.

A sliver of light, then a scuff echoed around the black catacomb of our prison. I froze beneath the musty sheets.

A footstep, then another.

My hands clenched, ready to pummel. It wasn't a woman tiptoeing through the night, heading to the bucket in the corner. It was a jailer. I'd paid attention to their mannerisms and noises. The last week taught me how to use all my senses.

I knew with horrible clarity-Leather Jacket had come for me.

A hand patted my thigh, creeping, trying to locate me in the darkness. I stiffened, letting him grope his way, biding time.

When a hand found my breast, I sucked in a breath. Not yet. Wait. I pretended to be dead with terror, letting him think I wouldn't fight. Idiot. My mouth watered to make him bleed. Retribution was a fine thing.

Leather Jacket's pungent breath wafted as he pressed one knee on the bed, moving to straddle me.

I burst upright.

My punch flew wild but connected with a hard jaw. My other fist landed where I wanted: right in his balls. Victory was righteous in my veins and I smiled.

He squealed and rolled off, landing with a thud on the floorboards. Cries and rustles erupted around the room. We'd never had an interloper in the night before. Stupidly, we thought we were untouchable, our virtues kept for our new masters, whoever they would be.

I shot out of bed, kicking in the direction I thought Leather Jacket was. My foot connected but not hard enough. Hot hands grabbed my ankle, twisting. I lost balance and fell, landing in a heap half on top of him. My rib screamed, making me woozy.

Horrible groping trailed up my legs, reaching my hips, waist, and chest. I wriggled and kicked. "Get off me!" I bit his ear as he managed to haul himself on top.

He bellowed, and a flare of metallic rust filled my mouth. I'd drawn blood. It was a flag to a bull.

I went berserk. Everything I'd dealt with swarmed into cataclysmic rage. I screamed and attacked. Nails, teeth, knees, and elbows. I didn't care where I struck, or where it landed. I became nothing but claws and fangs.

Leather Jacket scooted away, leaving me fighting air.

"You want to rape me, you bastard?" My voice wavered with tears and violence. "Come and get me."

Women shouted encouragement as I charged into nothing. I found Leather Jacket stumbling for the door. I caught him and grabbed greasy hair. With strength I didn't know I had, I slammed his nose against the wall.

He screeched as something crunched. Adrenaline drenched my limbs, turning me into a wet noodle, slippery, shaky, but I fought to stay strong. Stay vicious.

The light bulb flared on, blinding.

Ignoring the burn of my retinas, I grabbed Leather Jacket's finger and twisted with all my might. He struck out and punched me in the chest. My lungs collapsed; I couldn't grab a breath.

The door wrenched open and a barrier of men marched in, pointing machine guns in my face. Sucking in what air I could, I jumped back, holding up my hands. A trickle of blood ran from my temple and bruises added to bruises, but satisfaction was a welcome bloom when I looked at Leather Jacket.

Stringy hair was all over the place, a cut oozed on his cheekbone, and he heaved as if he'd been beaten by a gorilla. He snarled, "Vete a la mierda, puta." He nursed his finger and shoved aside a man with a gun, reaching for me.

I didn't think. My body just reacted. I slapped him as hard as I could; my palm burned, but it was nothing compared to my happiness at the red handprint I painted on his cheek. I'd caused grievous bodily harm and enjoyed it.

I was more dangerous than I thought.

He glared. "Ests muerto."

I knew that word: die.

Before Leather Jacket could touch me, two men grabbed him, carting him out of the room. His voice raged as they disappeared.

The remaining men backed out of the room, pointing guns until the lock snapped securely.

I spun slowly in the centre of the dungeon, looking wide-eyed, at the women. Some held sheets to their throats, some gawked open-mouthed.

What did they see when they looked at me? A feral woman who'd signed her own death sentence, or a fierce warrior who'd saved herself from rape?

The pretty Asian girl with long, black hair, dropped her sheet and clapped. "I've wanted to do that since they stole me from the nightclub with my friend." Her voice trembled but the glint of fire in her eyes reminded me of myself. "We'll be free again," she added.

I stared, startled and silent, as a voluptuous black girl joined her clapping. One by one, the ladies clapped and smiles stretched unhappy faces.

One by one, fire lit in their gaze.

One by one, they rallied, and I knew we wouldn't be passive anymore.

We were right, and they were wrong.

Righteousness would set us free.

The next day, I was taken by rope leash to shower again. I'd learned to live with the pain in my joints and muscles-they reminded me of victory, not weakness. A badge of honour.

Once I was clean, Jagged Scar pulled me down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. This part of the house, factory, trafficker hotel-whatever it was-was different. Ugly artwork graced the walls, and the room he shoved me into was a normal study. Glass windows with an industrial view, a desk, chairs, and a man reclining, stared at me.

He was as white as me with blond hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes-the same bright blue as Brax.

My heart twisted.

Jagged Scar forced me into a chair, but I never took my eyes off the man in a business suit.

"Who are you?" I rasped.

The man narrowed his eyes, placing palms on the desk. Jagged Scar retreated to lurk by the wall. Tingles of fear darted down my back, but I refused to bow to terror any longer. I'd drawn blood-that counted for something.

"I'm the man who holds your fate in his hands."

"I'm the only one who owns my fate. Not you. Not your guards. Not your sick operation. No one."

He chuckled. "Ignacio was right. You're a fighter." He leaned forward, twirling a pen. "Being a fighter is what gets you killed. You should let go. Let us guide you."

Ignacio? Was that Leather Jacket? I twitched in anger. "Let you guide me to my death by rape and mutilation?"

He leaned back as if I slapped him. "Stupid girl. If you behave, you will be sold to a gentleman who will treat you like a prized possession. Lavish attention on you. Buy you whatever you want."

My mind ran crazy. I was right. I was to be sold into sex slavery, into bondage.

"I am nobody's possession."

He shook his head, smiling. "Ah, but you're wrong. You already are. Sold. Contracted. The deed is done."

My heart tried to claw its way out of my throat, but I sat frozen, brave. "You won't get away with this."

He stood and threw a package into my lap. I caught it on reflex, horrified to find my photograph on a fake American passport, and papers written in Spanish.

"Already have, pretty girl." He came to the front of the desk, stopping in front of me. He trailed fingertips along my cheek, just as gentle, just as adoring, as Brax used to. "What is your name?"

"You're not worthy of my name," I snarled, trying to bite his fingers.

He stepped back, laughing. "Well, I hope you are worthy of the client who bought you. I don't do refunds." He nodded at Jagged Scar, who'd snuck up behind me. "Do it."

My world ended as hands smothered my face, pressing a rag reeking of chloroform against my nose and mouth. I tried not to breathe, fought to get free, but the fumes stung my eyes, entering my bloodstream.

A fog descended, whispering and stealing.

Unconsciousness claimed me.

Chapter Seven.

Nightingale *

My ears popped on descent.

I instantly recognised the hum of aircraft engines and gentle thrum of metal. I'd been on a plane only a week before. Had it been a week since I'd been a prisoner? It felt much, much longer. I'd changed so much. My life no longer evolved around exams and when I could get Brax naked. Now, all I focused on was survival.

The black hood rested over my head, and I tried to remain calm. Freaking out wouldn't help.

My ears kept popping as the airplane left the clouds, returning to earth. Where was I? They'd given me a passport for a reason, so I must be overseas somewhere.

Time ceased to have meaning as we landed, then taxied a fair distance. Finally, the engines ceased and abrupt silence hurt my ears.

As I sat there, with hands bound and head aching from being drugged, I mentally prepared for the worst. The next stage of my new life. I had to protect myself. Be ready to fight and run.

I couldn't think about regrets and my past. I couldn't think about Brax.

And I definitely couldn't think about what was in store for me.

A sad smile graced my lips. If someone asked a week ago what I was most afraid of, I'd have said crickets. Those damn flying grasshopper creatures scared the bejesus out of me.

Now, if someone asked me, I'd say three little words.

Three little words that terrified, stole my breath, and made my life flicker before my eyes.

Three little words: I was sold.

Noise.

The cargo door of the airplane opened and footsteps thudded. My senses were dulled, muted by the black hood, and my mind ran amok with terror-filled images.

Male voices argued and my arms were wrenched painfully as someone pulled me to my feet. I flinched and cried out, earning a fist to my belly. The blow landed on a particularly tender part, and suddenly, everything was too much. I'd been so strong and it hadn't changed my future. Tears streamed down my face. The first tears I shed, but definitely not the last.

The wetness on my cheeks wasn't cleansing; it made me feel worse.

A cold wind whipped, disappearing up the baggy, brown sweater I wore. Icy fingers of winter said I was no longer in Mexico.

I kept moving until one set of hands released and another set secured me tight, dragging me against a hard torso. "This is for Mr. Mercer?"

"S. Our boss hopes he enjoys this one. She's got spirit. He should have fun breaking her."

My stomach twisted, threatening to evict empty contents. Oh, God.

"Pas de probleme. I'm sure he will."

The French words pricked my ears.

With a harsh pull, my new captor marched me forward. I had no choice but to do as he requested. After a while, he jerked me to a wobbling stop. My rib twinged, but I stood straight and tall. Hunching would show cowardice and uncertainty. I was none of those things. The moment the hood was off, I would run.

A rope looped over my head, catching my ears through the black cloth. I tossed my head, feeling like a prized pony; a thoroughbred ready for the glue factory.

Manly voices murmured, warbling with deep tones and gruffness. I strained to hear, but the wind snatched the vowels before I could comprehend.

The screech of aircraft engines grew louder as another plane landed. We had to be at a commercial airport, but I must've been smuggled in via cargo. I couldn't see anything, but I knew we hadn't been in a cabin with soft seats and air-hostesses. It had been icy cold and dreadfully uncomfortable.

I stood, shivering, while men talked. The tears I shed froze on my cheeks, reminding me to keep my frosty exterior to survive. I had to become an icicle-cool and impenetrable, sharp and deadly.

A hand looped around my bound arm, guiding me forward. I tottered with them, blind and disorientated. The twine around my wrists burned with every jostle.

Why couldn't they invest in handcuffs, or something not as rudimentary? After all, selling women must be a profitable business. What did I fetch? How much for a non-virgin Australian woman with an unfinished bachelor degree in property development?

I'll buy back my freedom. Bubbles of manic laughter tickled. I'll walk into a bank and ask for a loan to buy myself. Because I'm such a good investment. I snorted. Oh, God, I was losing it.

We didn't walk far. We stopped and I stood with my heart thumping, waiting, waiting, waiting.

A sharp tug on my wrists, then I was free. My shoulders ached as I brought my arms forward, rolling, working out the kinks.

I was free.