The limousine pulls to a stop in front of an imposing arched doorway, flanked by two heavily armed guards. Hassan exits first, extending a hand to assist Bridgette. As she emerges from the car, Hassan attaches a gleaming silver chain to the ring at the front of her collar.
Remember, Nadia,
he murmurs, his voice low and authoritative. You are mine. Behave as though your life depends upon it… because it very well might.
As he speaks, Hassan touches the breast pocket of his jacket, and Bridgette knows without looking what lies inside it: the little transmitter Youssef pressed into his hand at the riad. One press of its button, and the team Youssef has waiting in the hills will come for them.
With that ominous warning, Hassan leads Bridgette towards the entrance, the chain clinking softly with each step. As they approach, the guards scrutinize them closely, their eyes lingering on Bridgette’s barely concealed curves. One of them nods curtly at Hassan, recognition dawning in his eyes.
Mr. Alami,
he acknowledges, stepping aside to grant them passage. Welcome back to Le Serpent.
Hassan gives the leash a subtle tug, forcing Bridgette to fall into step beside him, her body pressed close to his. His free hand rests lightly on the small of her back, the touch possessive and controlling. Bridgette fights the urge to recoil, her instincts screaming at the invasion of her personal space.
His fingers trail lower, tracing the curve of her buttocks through the sheer fabric of her outfit. Bridgette tenses, a wave of revulsion washing over her. No one had ever dared touch her like this before, not without her explicit permission. She clenches her jaw, fighting back the retort rising in her throat.
As Hassan leads Nadia into the grand hall, her senses are overwhelmed by the opulence and decadence surrounding her. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and exotic incense, mingling with the underlying aroma of lust and power. Soft, seductive music pulses through the room, setting a hypnotic rhythm that seems to echo the beating of hearts and the throbbing of desire.
Hassan’s grip on the leash remains firm, guiding Nadia through the crowded space. She keeps her eyes lowered, as instructed, but cannot resist stealing glances at the scenes unfolding around her. Beautiful women, barely clothed and adorned with glittering jewels, pose on plinths like living sculptures, their bodies artfully displayed for the pleasure of the guests. Others kneel submissively at the feet of their masters, gazes cast downward, awaiting their next command.
Nadia’s heart pounds in her chest as she searches for any sign of the one she seeks. Every flash of pale hair causes her breath to catch, only to be released in disappointment as she realizes it is not Bella. The frustration builds within her, mingling with the growing sense of unease.
As Hassan leads her through the crowd, Nadia cannot help but read each girl like a piece of stock, assessing their posture, the quality of their collars, and estimating their market value. It’s a habit ingrained in her after years of running her own trafficking empire, and despite the circumstances, she finds herself unable to resist analyzing the merchandise.
Suddenly, the crowd parts, revealing an imposing figure standing at the center of the room. Lucien Dubois, resplendent in an immaculate black tuxedo, addresses a group of enraptured guests gathered around him.
A column for a collector in Brazil,
Lucien announces, his voice carrying effortlessly over the murmurs of the crowd. He rests one hand on the pale concrete surface of the tall cylinder beside him, which stands on a black plinth, illuminated from above by strategically placed lights.
Lucien continues speaking to the guests crowding around the plinth, his suave French accent wrapping seductively around each word. My generous patron in São Paulo paid an astronomical sum to acquire this magnificent specimen.
He traces a long finger down the length of the concrete stone, a lazy, almost loving caress. It holds such beauty inside… on display for but a few more minutes before it will be shipped out. But now, please enjoy the night!
Hassan leads Nadia towards an empty space near the plinth, where several guests have gathered to admire the concrete object. With a gentle tug on the leash, he guides her to kneel at his feet, her eyes downcast.
From her submissive position, Nadia can sense the dangerous aura radiating from Lucien as he regales his audience with tales of the object’s origins and significance. Despite her best efforts to avoid drawing attention, she feels his gaze shift, settling upon her veiled form with unsettling intensity.
And who is this, Hassan?
Lucien inquires, his voice smooth as silk but with an undercurrent of steel. You have been keeping secrets from me.
Hassan chuckles, a sound that rings hollow in the charged atmosphere. My latest acquisition,
he replies smoothly, his fingers absently toying with the end of Nadia’s leash. This one used to be a European businesswoman and now my property.
Lucien’s eyes narrow slightly, a predatory gleam entering his gaze. Is she now.
He crooks a finger, a silent command that brooks no argument. Stand up, ma chère. Let me look at you.
Nadia rises gracefully to her feet, her movements fluid and practiced despite the pounding of her heart. She keeps her eyes lowered, acutely aware of Lucien’s scrutiny as he circles her slowly, his gaze traveling over every inch of her barely concealed form.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing against the drape of her outfit mere millimeters from her bandaged wound. Nadia holds her breath, willing herself not to flinch as he lingers there, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Turn for me,
he commands, his voice low and dangerous. Obediently, Nadia rotates in a slow circle, feeling Lucien’s eyes boring into her back. As she completes her revolution, he steps closer, lifting her chin with a single finger.
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Lucien’s gaze is intense, probing, as if trying to peer into the very depths of her soul. Nadia forces herself to remain impassive, fighting the urge to shrink away from his penetrating stare.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lucien drops his hand and takes a step back. With a flourish, he brings Nadia’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against her knuckles.
Lucien’s lips linger on Nadia’s hand for a moment longer than propriety dictates, his dark eyes never leaving hers. As he releases her, he murmurs something inaudible to Hassan, who nods in response. The exchange sends a chill down Nadia’s spine, a primal warning that she is in the presence of a predator.
A most impressive acquisition, Hassan,
Lucien remarks, his gaze still fixed on Nadia. She has a fire in her eyes that I find… intriguing. Perhaps we should test her mettle, non?
Hassan’s grip on the leash tightens almost imperceptibly, a reminder of his authority over Nadia. Perhaps another time, Lucien. Tonight, I intend to keep her close. You understand.
Lucien raises an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at his lips. Of course. I would not dream of separating a man from his prized possession.
He lets his gaze slide back to Nadia. But do keep her close, Hassan. In my house, pretty things have a way of wandering off.
With that, Lucien turns his attention back to the concrete object, effectively dismissing Nadia and Hassan, his focus on a quartet of burly men who are getting the concrete cylinder ready to be moved.
As the crowd shifts, Nadia catches a glimpse of a figure being led through the hall on a leash. From behind, the girl bears a striking resemblance to Bella – platinum hair, hourglass figure, and a graceful gait despite the restrictive bindings. Nadia’s heart leaps into her throat, her pulse quickening as she tracks the girl’s progress across the room.
Unaware of Lucien’s watchful gaze from across the room, Nadia stares transfixed, her focus singular and intense. The girl disappears up a staircase, swallowed by the shadows of the upper levels. Panic surges through Nadia’s veins. She has to know if it’s Bella. She has to follow.
Without hesitation, Nadia places her palm flat against Hassan’s chest, twice. The signal they agreed upon earlier. Hassan tenses, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he schools his expression back into one of calm indifference.
What is it?
he murmurs, leaning down to speak directly into Nadia’s ear. What did you see?
Nadia angles her head subtly towards the staircase, her eyes conveying the urgency of her request. Hassan follows her gaze, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes the implications.
I see,
Hassan’s gaze follows Nadia’s, settling on the staircase where the platinum-haired girl disappeared moments ago. He leans in closer, his voice barely audible over the hum of conversation and pulsing music.
You want to follow her,
he states, more a confirmation than a question. Nadia nods minutely, her eyes widening with silent pleading. Hassan considers this for a moment, weighing the risks.
Very well,
he concedes, his tone low and measured. But we must be careful. Lucien is watching, and if he suspects anything… it could be disastrous for both of us.
With a not-too-subtle tug on her leash, he begins to navigate through the crowd, guiding Nadia towards the staircase. As they ascend, Hassan keeps Nadia close, his body shielding her from prying eyes.
At the top of the stairs, a dimly lit corridor stretches out before them, lined with closed doors.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy oak door stands slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of light from within. Nadia tugs gently on the leash, indicating that she wants to investigate. Hassan hesitates, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.
Are you certain about this?
he murmurs, his brow furrowed with concern. If we are discovered…
Nadia responds with a determined nod, her blue eyes flashing with resolve beneath the lace niqāb. Seeing no alternative, Hassan sighs softly and pushes the door open, ushering Nadia inside.
The room beyond is a lavish study, dominated by an enormous mahogany desk. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the wall, filled with leather-bound volumes and antique artifacts. On the desk sits a crystal decanter of cognac, its amber contents catching the light from a Tiffany lamp. Beside the decanter lies a sheet of paper, covered in elegant handwriting.
Hassan approaches the desk cautiously, scanning the document. His eyes widen, and he lets out a low whistle. Nadia, look at this,
he urges, beckoning her closer.
Nadia leans over the desk, her gaze falling upon the handwritten sales sheet.
Nadia’s eyes scan the document rapidly, absorbing every detail. The name Celina Ferraz leaps out at her, followed by the staggering figures listed below it. Ten million dollars deducted from the total price, attributed to the theft of the ponygirls. And there, in stark black ink, is Bella’s name, accompanied by a chilling description: trained, belted, key not recovered. The final line sends a shiver down Nadia’s spine: Shipping: by sea, tonight.
Hassan’s voice cuts through the silence, tense and urgent. We must leave, now. If Lucien discovers us here…
Ah, but it is already too late,
a voice purrs from the shadows behind Nadia and Hassan. They whirl around to face the source, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Lucien sits in a high-backed wing chair beside the cold fireplace, a glass of cognac cradled in one elegantly manicured hand. His dark eyes glitter with amusement as he regards the pair, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
You must forgive me for not getting up to greet you,
he says, his voice dripping with condescension. It is not often my guests come all the way up to my study without an invitation. But then, nothing happens in this house without my knowing it, and I did so want to see what you would do.
He rises from the chair with feline grace, setting his cognac glass down on a nearby table with a soft clink. As he approaches, Nadia can smell the faint aroma of expensive cologne mixed with the sweetness of the liquor on his breath.
Tsk, tsk, Hassan,
Lucien chides, his tone mockingly disapproving. Is this any way to treat your host?
Hassan’s face pales, but he maintains his composure, standing tall and defiant. Forgive me, Lucien. I did not realize this area was off-limits. I meant no harm.
No harm?
Lucien repeats softly, as if tasting the words. You have been a guest in my house for years, Hassan, and tonight you creep into my study like a thief. I am wounded, truly.
His smile does not reach his eyes. And I always find out why I have been wounded.
Lucien’s gaze shifts to Nadia, his eyes narrowing as he appraises her. And you, my dear,
he murmurs, reaching out to stroke her cheek with a single finger. Who are you, really? Not just some pretty little plaything, I suspect.
Nadia remains silent, her eyes downcast, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Lucien’s touch feels like ice against her skin, sending shivers of fear and revulsion coursing through her body.
No matter,
Lucien says, his voice soft, almost kind. Pain is a most excellent tutor, ma chère, and I have a great deal of it waiting for you downstairs. By morning you will have told me your name, and a great deal more besides.
He smiles. My dungeon is very good at persuading pretty things to talk. You could ask the last girl I kept down there… oh, but you cannot. She has been sold.
Lucien snaps his fingers, the sharp sound echoing through the room. Instantly, a dozen heavily armed security personnel pour in from hidden entrances, surrounding Nadia and Hassan in a tight circle. Their faces are impassive, their weapons trained on the intruders.
Take them,
Lucien commands, his voice cold and authoritative. Search them thoroughly, then take her to my dungeon and him… bring him to the interrogation chamber. I want answers, and I want them now.
As the guards move to seize them, Hassan suddenly lunges forward, knocking over a nearby vase. The crash of breaking porcelain is followed by a blinding flash of light and a deafening boom. In the chaos, Nadia sees Hassan reach into his pocket and press the button on Youssef’s transmitter. The extraction signal.
Before she can react, rough hands grab Nadia, pinning her arms behind her back. She struggles briefly but soon realizes the futility of resistance. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Hassan being similarly restrained, his face contorted in pain as a guard delivers a vicious blow to his stomach.
Enough!
Lucien bellows, his voice cutting through the commotion. Get them out of here. And someone clean up this mess.
Cold metal encircles her wrists, the click of the thick metal cuffs echoing ominously in her ears. Before she can utter a protest, another set of cuffs is secured around her arms just above the elbows, locking them tightly together.
Nadia struggles against the restraints, a muffled cry of pain escaping her as the cuffs dig into her skin, but she keeps her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes fixed on the floor. One of the guards forces a wadded cloth into her mouth anyway, stuffing it in so deep that she gags, and ties it in place with a strip of silk torn from her own outfit.
Beside her, Hassan is similarly restrained, his face etched with pain and anger as the guards roughly manhandle him. Lucien watches the proceedings with a cold, satisfied smirk, his eyes glittering with malicious intent.
Get them out of here,
he orders, his voice dripping with venom. I want them separated and prepared for questioning. Immediately.
The guards comply without hesitation, dragging Nadia and Hassan towards separate exits. Nadia’s mind races, her heart pounding in her chest as she desperately tries to formulate a plan. The extraction signal has been sent, but will Youssef and Carl arrive in time?
As she is hauled down the hallway, Nadia’s eyes fall upon the black plinth, still bathed in light but now eerily empty. The concrete cylinder has vanished, spirited away to an unknown destination. The sight barely registers in her panicked mind; her focus is solely on escape and survival.
The guard holding her leash tugs sharply, causing her to stumble forward. As she rights herself her teeth clench around the gag, and a muffled cry of pain escapes her throat. They continue their descent, the sounds of the club fading into the background as they move deeper into the bowels of Lucien’s lair.
