One moment, she was tottering on the stone driveway in her mile-high heels. The next, Junior the Henchman was leaning over her, fitting a soft leather blindfold over her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

Forget about equilibrium. She felt herself falling over but had no idea if she was about to crack open the front or back of her skull. Lanky arms caught her, and she picked up on Junior’s distinct scent of chicken wings and sweaty T-shirt. She had no choice about having to inhale the stuff for a few minutes more. Not if she intended to keep at least half her promise to Josie now.

Senses keen. Senses keen. Senses keen.

With the mantra embedded in her instinct, she tried to stay upright in the damn heels while listening, smelling, or hearing any element of their surroundings that could help their chances at breaking for an escape. As she suspected, the mansion was on the water. Lake Washington was more placid than the depths of Elliott Bay, but she still heard boats rubbing against a dock and ducks honking at each other. Before they got to the front door of the big house, Junior pulled her off to the left, around a corner, and down a slight incline. The wind, filled with more mist, hit her with more force. They were being led closer to the water, which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on where the boat keys were kept.

Junior finally pulled her to a stop. Heavier footsteps approached behind them. The spicy smell of a clove cigarette swirled with the mist. Cologne joined that combination. It was smooth, not an in-your-face American scent.

The new arrivals to the party were definitely foreign. And definitely staring at her. The weight of their rearview inspection pressed on her bare shoulders and upper back, but she straightened her spine and forced her head to stay high. She wouldn’t bend for these animals. Not unless they made her, damn it.

A door opened, and King’s distinct laughter danced out into the night. “Gentlemen! Welcome! I trust you had no trouble with the directions?”

“They were flawless.” A refined baritone voice gave the words, though its slight European accent brought out every note of wickedness in the follow-up. “Everything so far is impeccable.”

Sage barely resisted the urge to jab him in the leg, or worse, with one of her stilt heels. At the moment, her balance was more important to keep intact.

“I am so glad you think so,” King replied. “Please come in. I think you will be pleased with these facilities. We have made certain they provide all the equipment for you to exercise your special tastes.”

A few feet to her right, a choked gasp cut the air. Rayna was letting the fear get to her. Her outburst was followed by a sharp smack. Rayna cried out louder.

“Knock it off, bitch!” her henchman commanded.

This exchange took place as the Europeans filed inside the building. King apparently traded places with them, because his was the next voice to slice the air. The bastard wasn’t happy.

“You twit! What did I say about hitting them?”

Rayna’s guard fumed aloud. If Sage was a mind reader, she’d likely find the guy debating about how to point out that King had violated that rule already, and the evidence was plastered across the left side of Josie’s face.

The henchman finally protested, “She was about to scream.”

“Then let’s handle the challenge, shall we?” King shifted as if taking something from each of the guards. No. Wrong perception. Sage found out just how wrong in the next second. The asshole had been giving them all something. “Fasten the bits well. If any of them slip, I’ll have your balls for it.”

Before Sage had a second to process what he’d said, her lips were being shoved apart by a long leather tube fitted horizontally between her teeth like a horse’s bit. Though the contraption was much cleaner than a wad of dirty rags, the fuck you on her fear threshold was the same. The black void of her vision rushed the nightmare along. In an instant, she was back in that sweltering jungle. Back in that Quonset hut. Back in that moment where accepting the defeat was easier than fighting it.

Senses keen? Why? There was no way out of this. Nowhere to run, nowhere to be, nobody to become except the pawn into which King had transformed her. Garrett was going to touch down soon in a land where he’d spend weeks searching for her, when she would actually be in some Bavarian dungeon, helpless to escape, concentrating on nothing but taking her next breath.

“Move.” Junior jabbed his gun into her back. The feel of the barrel was different. They’d likely let the henchmen play with bigger toys for this part of their little adventure. She guessed he now had a semiautomatic of some sort.

They were led inside, where it was blessedly warmer. That didn’t soften the cold impact of the wood floor when Sage was pushed down to her knees. She smelled savory hot food and rich red wine, making her empty stomach growl, until the other essences in the room snuck into her awareness. More leather. The tang of heavy chains. The musk of recent sex.

Oh God.

She wasn’t hungry anymore.

One breath after the other. One breath after the other.

Leather couches crunched as people sat. Glassware clinked on tables. King chatted with the men as if they were at a casual cocktail party. Comments were traded about the wine and the weather, all as if they didn’t stand there with three bound, bit-gagged, half-naked women kneeling on the floor nearby. Their insouciance started to piss her off. She tried to contain the feeling, logically tracing it back to her terror, which turned the confusion of her mind into sheer chaos.

By the time the men approached them again, she literally thought she’d burst from her skin.

King let out an anticipatory sigh. “So, my friends…you have had some time to look at our fresh flowers. As you know, the first two are young, healthy, and very strong. The third is older but in magnificent condition…and might bring an experienced flair to certain services.”

One of the men reacted to that with a heavy cough, before he said on a chuckle, “Indeed.”

Another man echoed the mirth. “Gustav is a bit…errmm…anal about some things.”

King laughed heartily. “Well, then! Perhaps she is the perfect fit. Or can be stretched to be!” After the men rewarded him with jokes that sounded like verbal slabs of grease, he offered, “Would you like to have a try at her, my friend? We can fasten her down on any of the benches for you.”

A deep grunt came from Gustav’s direction. “Perhaps later. Klaus has bigger wood to saw than me tonight and less time to get to it. There is that saying, yah? Age before beauty?”

King laughed again, punching the sound full of even more fake hilarity than before. “All right, then! Klaus leads the fun tonight!”

“As I do every night.”

The voice behind those words had been the quietest one of the trio—which made its owner the one Sage feared the most. The measured control of it was roughened in certain places by vocal gravel that tugged weirdly at her gut. She didn’t want him to touch her, yet every time he spoke, that was all she could think about.

“Well then, Klaus my friend, which one of our young flowers would you like to smell deeper?”

Sage didn’t want to hear the bastard’s answer. If he picked Rayna, she’d be in agony. If he picked her, she’d be in Purgatory.

A leg pressed against her back. Another slid in front of her and pressed a hard boot to her kneecaps. A large hand, full of steel-fingered command, descended on her head.

“The blond has a certain sass about her, yes?”

Sage tried to swallow. Only trouble was, her mouth had gone bone dry.

“Ah!” King exclaimed. “Very good choice! Where would you like her to be placed? The stockade? The fucking swing? The whipping bench?”

“I place my own sluts.”

The man’s voice took on an edge of anger with the statement. Sage’s chest vibrated in reaction, struggling to get air into her freezing, shaking body. Klaus hoisted her up, but her legs weren’t into cooperating with his control or hers, dangling beneath her like numb rags. Klaus supported her with one hand twisted in her corset strings, and the other now wound into her hair.

“Somebody take off those silly shoes,” the man barked. “And you, boy—hand me your knife.” Sage trembled harder at that and whimpered against the gag. “Be still.” Klaus gave her the order on a growl. His hand left her hair, shifting to her bound wrists instead. With a single swipe, he cut loose the zip tie.

Adrenaline shot in. Sage didn’t stop to ponder why he’d done something so stupid, choosing to just capitalize on it. Though her hands barely worked, she formed them into claws and aimed straight for his face. A moment of distraction was all she needed. Once she could see again, she could run. And once she could run—