Another round of grabs. One man scratched deep into the soft flesh of my inner thigh, and blood welled instantly.
I kicked him in the chin. The crowd roared.
Carlos was controlling the rig; I could see him behind the curtain with his hands on the lever.
He raised me up, shifted me to the side, and dropped me again, just low enough for the men to grope me.
I fought harder. Twisting. I couldn’t think. I screamed incoherently for them to stop touching me.
Carlos yanked the rig up—then let it fall again.
Each time it was worse.
Each time, there were more hands on me—more shouting.
I wasn’t performing anymore.
I was bait.
No, I wasa product.
And somewhere, Delgado was watching it all, measuring every bid, hearing every one of my screams, seeing every drop of blood.
And I knew.
I wasn’t leaving this stage until someone bought me.
After what felt like forever, Carlos swung the pole back over the stage, suspending me high above the floor as the bidding continued at a frantic pace. When I glanced over at him, he sneered—lips curled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction—and gave me a smug little nod, like I was getting exactly what I deserved.
Cold, smug, sadistic bastard!
My costume hung in tatters, and my voice was raw from screaming, so I remained silent, holding on for dear life.
I was barely aware now of the voice echoing through the club’s speakers. I caught something about a final bid. My arms trembled. My grip slipped. My thigh bled as I shook.
Then everything exploded.
Gunfire cracked like a lightning storm as bodies began to explode beneath me.
A man in the front row lurched backward, blood fountaining from his throat. Another staggered and collapsed with a hole where his eye used to be.
Screams erupted. Tables were overturned. Crystal shattered. Men in suits trampled each other, shoving their way toward the exits. Another gunshot took out the speaker system.
The music died.
And then I saw them.
Black-clad men swarmed through the club with weapons drawn. They moved fast—silent and deadly.
One of Delgado’s soldiers ran toward the stage and got dropped with two bullets to the chest. Another tried to pull a pistol from under his jacket, only to get his neck sliced open. He fell face-first onto the floor, twitching.
I clung to the pole, high above it all. Frozen.
One of the stagehands ran toward the men with a chair raised over his head.
That was when I saw him…my stalker!
My breath stopped.
