Prologue
Lore, November 2045
Get out. I have to get out.
Raucous laughter and cigar smoke filled the small dining room, clinging to the heavy red tapestries and black tableclothswith a persistence I envied. My head lolled to the side a little as I barely kept myself upright at the table.Everythinghurts… especially the limbs I was using to sit with. The faint trickling sensation from my ass was a disgusting reminder of exactly why I had that soreness.
Elio Messina’s men weren’t known for their manners when it came to women. And his visitors… even less so.
The Devil himself sat at my right, a hand circled around my biceps at the crook of my elbow. I couldn’t stand to look at where his ringed fingers pressed. Nasty purple bruises and distinct needle holes throbbed with every pulse, and the uncomfortable pressure of his fingertips digging into that sensitive area was just enough to break through the drug-induced haze he liked to keep me in. The dark bruises were hardly as noticeable compared to the bleeding bite marks running from neck to wrist down both arms. Elio wouldn’t let me wear anything that covered them, either. Not even bandages. He liked to see all the bleeding wounds dirty the white dresses he made me wear. And he liked the very visual representation of his ownership of me. Shifters' bites were one of a few injuries our skins scarred from, created by a protein carried in our saliva. They were meant to be unbreakable vows between mates.
Thesescars would be a constant reminder of the most shameful, disgusting violations against me. Crimes against my body meant to break my spirit.
“Think we could have one more round with her before we leave for the States?” Elio’s son, Gabriele—marriedson at that—sat across the round table from us, leering at the deep cut of my dress. “She marks up real nice. If you’re ever inclined to sell her, I’d–”
Elio snarled, startling the other two men who’d been chuckling at his own son’s audacity. “You’re lucky I fucking share her, boy. You know she’s a gift.” His hand curled under my chin, and heyanked my face toward his. “Or rather, a peace offering from McGregor’s mob to ours.”
The man to my left whistled low. I hated that I even flinched at that sound. “Damn, no wonder her pussy tasted like heaven. They don’t make them Irish women like that anymore.”
I tried to keep the grinding of my teeth unnoticeable. But the hand that curled around the edge of the table didn’t escape Elio’s sharp eye. “Mmm, no, they don’t.” His hot, damp breath brushed against the side of my face and made me shudder in disgust. “I would never think of giving this pussy up, either.”
Don’t grit your teeth, don’t speak. Don’t let them know they almost broke you.
This became my daily mantra. I repeated those words to myself over and over until they were a long, unbroken chant. All I had to do was survive. I had to bide my time and wait for the right moment to fight back. If I could survive two years of this hell, I could survive another day.
Elio’s phone buzzed incessantly on the table. Whatever it was had to be urgent, because the damn thing had been vibrating nonstop for the last ten minutes. Finally, he gave in and yanked the phone up to his ear. “What is it?” he hissed. “You know better than to call at this time of night. I’m fu–” A low murmur came through the speaker. I couldn’t tell what the caller was saying, but Elio’s face morphed into a mask of repulsed irritation. He lowered the phone to press it against his chest. “Sorry, gentlemen. I need to step out and take this.” He waved his hand in my general direction, and I had to fight not to shrink into myself. “Consider it a free-for-all on the whore, in return for cutting our time short. Gabriele will escort you out in thirty minutes. Thank you again for coming all this way to meet me. I’m sure the Twisted Sixes miss you dearly back in Vegas. I look forward to the possibility of a partnership.”
The implication made me want to vomit. As if I hadn’t been violated enough tonight.
Both of them grinned lecherously as Elio swept from the room. The guard standing at the door left with him. I was alone in the room with two of the most vile wolf shifters alive. And they were looking at me like I was the star of their most debauched fantasies. The man sitting closest—I couldn’t give a single fuck what his name was—reached over to wrap his massive hand around my throat, and at the barest touch of his rough fingertips I completely lost it.
Elio was usually meticulous about what he left within my reach. I stabbed him in the hand with a fork once, and now my dinner setting was the only one lacking utensils of any kind. The damage I could do with a butter knife was even more gruesome. And these assholes were about to learn it the hard way.EspeciallyElio’s bastard son, Gabriele.
My hand blurred to Elio’s knife, snatching it up quicker than the man could reach for my neck. In the next breath, I twisted at the waist, stabbing the silver utensil straight into his neck. His Adam’s apple tried to move, struggling to swallow as he gurgled wetly and his throat began to fill with blood, a satisfying deluge running down his chest. I took advantage of their shock and climbed onto his lap while gripping the knife’s smooth handle again, my other hand burying itself in his greasy, slicked-back hair before ripping the blade viciously to the right. A brutal gash opened the side of his muscled neck, pouring a beautifully vibrant curtain of blood over his tan skin.
The fox primal inside me took over completely. I was too weak to shift before, but the animalistic nature of my fox pulled a vicious growl from my chest as I whipped around to slash at the other man’s face, catching his cheek. Stunned, and with a hand pressed against his face, I flipped the knife around and stabbed him in his right eyeball, all the way to the hilt.
The wetsquelchof his brown eye bursting made my mouth water. So did the satisfying scream that ripped from his mouth as he fumbled with trying to pull the knife out before falling to the floor, twitching. That wasn’t enough for me. My sharpened teeth wrapped around the front of his throat, and with a vicious bite and jerk of my head, I mutilated his windpipe. The men both lay dying, drowning in their own blood.
Gabriele had just made his way around the table, a look of pure rage on his face, reaching out with both hands to snatch me up from my previous victim. Snarling like an animal, I ripped the knife from the man’s eye and leaped straight toward Gabriele’s chest, and with a final burst of energy, knocked him to the ground. Some kind of pain-riddled scream broke from my very soul and escaped out of my mouth as I stabbed the knife straight into his jugular. A glorious fountain of blood spurted from his wound as I pulled it back to stab him again. He stared up at me with shock and gore splattered across his face, waiting for the final blow while his breath gurgled and sputtered.
Elio must have walked back down the hall with his guard, because the door banged open just as I made my way to the dining room balcony overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I’m sure he thought the restaurant was secure enough, perched on the edge of steep cliffs. He underestimated the fact that I would rather throw myself on the jagged rocks below than stay with a piece of shit like him for another second.
“Get her!” Elio roared to the only other breathing person in the room, his bodyguard, who lunged across the room trying to reach me. I had already thrown the glass door open and scrambled up to stand on the railing by the time he made it to the balcony. Elio followed right behind him, face beet-red and nostrils flared.
With my back to the sea and a bloody grin on my face, I flipped them off with both hands and launched myself from the railing,surrendering to the frigid winter air. If Elio Messina’s mottled face was the last thing I saw before I died, it would be worth all the torture and degradation knowing I had fallen out of his grasp.
The freefall was the most peaceful minute I’d ever had in my twenty-two years of life. Just before the cold water took me into its embrace, I vowed to myself that if I survived, I would never be Lorelai McGregor again. She had been dead long before I jumped from the balcony. But the monster that would take her place… she would be the nightmare that kept Elio Messina awake for the rest of his miserable life.
Fox in the Hen House
Grant, June 2055
“Product number eight-four-zero-two, sold. Buyer sixty-four, please claim it at loading dock four at the conclusion of this auction.” While the auctioneer paused before the nextannouncement, the low rustle of movement in the auditorium and quiet murmurs of buyers filled the space. “Next on the docket, product number six-eight-seven-zero-four. A pristine lineage, perfect for breeding or submissive demands, it–”
My leg jostled restlessly, bouncing up and down, even as my other leg crossed over at the knee. Despite my demand to sit in front of a monitor for work, I hated staying still for so long. Really, I’d rather be in my apartment, at my treadmill desk, than sitting in this stuffy suit, having to listen to the constant drone of the auctioneer calling bids. Regardless, I forced my eyes to keep firmly removed from the stage where the… products stood.
The date I was forced to bring—I couldn’t remember her name, something starting with a T?—snaked her hand over my thigh. It crept down to tuck between the crease where my leg met the plush seat, and she gave a squeeze like she was trying to distract me. “You’re making me nervous,” she teased. Her voice was falsely pitched high, and it grated on my nerves. “Why are you so jittery?” She dug in her red-lacquered nails and dragged them up the inside of my right leg. “Do we need to go somewhere and take the edge off? I’m happy to–”
