Gomes pulls up to the gate sideways, my door facing the massive gate. Two soldiers approach, guns in hand. “Time for you to get out,” Gomes says to me in a trembling voice.
“I’m going,” I say quietly and open the door.
One man trains his gun on me while the other approaches, and my heart stops. My hand is shaking as I hold out the birthday card. I say nothing.
The man takes the birthday card and looks over at Gomes. Then, he nods and eyes me. He says something to me in Portuguese—a question.
I panic. “I . . . I don’t know,” I say, my voice small, and I cringe when he repeats it again. It’s not hard to act scared in front of these men. I’m terrified.
He says something again and then begins to pat me down roughly, taking his time squeezing my ass and breasts. I cringe and endure his touch, my eyes closed, horrible memories flashing through my mind again. I can do this. I can do this.
Naomi, I repeat to myself. I must save Naomi.
The man slaps my ass and laughs when I jump, then hands the card back to me. He gestures me forward, and the gate opens. Only then do I realize I hear party music.
Of course. It’s his birthday party.
The guard leads me in, and I stare in amazement as people swirl around us. There are balloons and people in suits and girls in bikinis everywhere. And guns. Everywhere, there are guns and armed men. It’s a weird contrast to see someone holding an assault rifle and standing next to the punch bowl, but there it is.
And at a table under an umbrella near the pool, sits Mr. Freeze. He’s a sliver of ice among the sea of color, and I feel my stomach churn in fright at the sight of him.
The guard leads me right to him, and all eyes turn in our direction.
Oh God, I feel so utterly conspicuous. Do they know I’ve got the tracker? Oh God. Oh God.
Hudson gets to his feet, his pale hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. His suit is a pale, pale blue that almost seems white, and his tie the same color. His sunglasses are the only splash of color anywhere. He says something to his guard that I don’t understand, and then both look at me.
With a shaking hand, I hold out the birthday card, my head bent.
Hudson takes the card, flips it open and reads it, then tosses it aside. He steps closer, and his hand brushes my cheek. Even his fingers are cold. It takes everything I have not to flinch away, but I keep my gaze downcast.
“So, little biter,” he says to me. “Are you ready to be mine now?”
“Yes, master,” I say. I hate the words. Hate them. He’s not my master.
He tucks a finger under my chin and tilts my head back, examining my face. My eyelashes flutter and I keep my gaze down and let a shiver or two in so he knows that I’m afraid.
After a moment, he grunts approval. “And have you learned the games I like?”
Games?
Panic flashes through me. Games? What games? Gomes was supposed to teach me games? What kind of sick games does this man like?
My response must show on my face. He tsks and turns to his table, saying something in a pleasant voice. Then, he gestures at his guard. “Take her to my room. Make her ready.”
The guard grabs me by the elbow, and before I can ask what he means, I’m dragged inside the house. I get a glimpse of a mansion filled with potted plants and pretty tiled floors as I’m dragged through, and then I’m heading up a set of stairs and down a hall. Passing several more doors, I’m brought into a bedroom.
The guard heads right on in through the bedroom and to a door at the back of the room.
“Where are we going?” I stammer. “Hello?”
The guard doesn’t answer me. Instead, he flings the door to the closet open.
Except, it’s not a closet. It’s another room. A guard is sitting there, smoking a cigarette and flipping through a magazine. He stands at the sight of me, and the two guards begin a conversation. The new one eyes me lasciviously, and then I’m passed over to him.
We head through another door, and I’m taken down a narrow, cold set of stairs. Hudson’s house is a maze, and it almost feels like I’m being taken through a secret tunnel or something. I hope Daniel will know where to find me, but I’m getting more frightened with every moment.
The new guard takes me a few doors down and then opens one marked privado.
This room . . . is a sex room. There’s a cross with cuffs on it at the back of the room, a wooden horse, and all kinds of various paraphernalia in this room. It’s horrible. My frightened gasp makes the guard laugh, and he pushes me in. “Strip.”