Page 108 of Wicked and Claimed

Ms. Winters frowned. “This is our newest premium member and his associates. They’ve been vetted.”

“Still need ID.” The guard’s hand rested on his weapon. The other pointed to a window at the top of the gleaming white multistory resort. “I’ve got orders.”

As if he didn’t have a care in the world, Nash produced the documentation Stone and Trees had created. His pulse quickened as the guard scrutinized it. After tense seconds, the man finally nodded.

They passed through ornate double doors into what looked like a giant theater—one he recognized from the auction. A massive four-poster bed now dominated the stage, black silk sheets and heavy restraints a promise of what was to come. Around it stood equipment shrouded in black—implements of torture masquerading as pleasure and a warning to any who might resist.

Nash’s blood ran cold.

Nearby, a cabinet filled with crops, whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and clamps… The choices seemed endless. He liked good—consensual—impact play. But the implications of this forced discipline, rather than the funishment he enjoyed, turned his stomach.

“Our Midnight Sanctuary. It’s something, isn’t it?” Ms. Winters shot them a practiced smile. “You’ll gather here for tonight’s claiming ceremony. It will be…unforgettable.”

Nash forced a smirk past his revulsion. “Looking forward to it.”

Ms. Winters led them away. More corridors. More security. More surveillance. How the fuck would they ever rescue these victims and get out undetected?

Finally, they headed down a quiet, more private hallway—an upscale guest wing as evidenced by the thick, ornate carpet and the elaborate sconces. Their icy guide stopped at a pair of doors across from one another and waved Ethan and Kane to their rooms.

They disappeared behind their respective closed doors with cautious glances.

Then his guide stopped at the end of the hall. “Your suite, Mr. King.”

Heart hammering, Nash barreled inside the luxurious room.

It was empty.

“Where is she?”

Ms. Winters sent him a cloying smile. “Your merchandise will be presented to you at tonight’s claiming ritual. Before sunrise, you’ll return here. We’ll deliver champagne brunch at noon. Then you two will be left undisturbed unless you request food, supplies, spa services…” Her smile turned knowing. “Or use of our specialty rooms.”

“Specialty rooms?”

“Dungeons, Mr. King. We offer facilities for those requiring additional motivation. Speaking of which, if your purchase proves uncooperative, do let us know. We have methods to make them more…agreeable.”

Nash’s stomach turned. “Drugs?”

“That’s one option. We have others—and an exceptional success rate.” She gestured to a leather folder on the desk. “You’ll find a schedule of upcoming gatherings. Attendance is optional, though encouraged. Dr. Reid will examine your breeder weekly to check for conception and any other medical complications. Once pregnancy is confirmed, you’re free to leave with your property. Mr. Gray handles any dissatisfaction, though refunds are rare.”

She indicated the phone on the elaborate desk against the wall. “You can contact your associates through the switchboard. All communications are monitored, of course. For everyone’s safety.”

The threat was clear in her icy smile.

“Otherwise, think of this as a luxury vacation,” she concluded. “With the added benefit of a new toy. Remember, all interaction with merchandise must occur on premises. Attempting early departure will have…unfortunate consequences.”

Her heels clicked toward the door. “Your evening meal should arrive shortly. Your food preferences have been taken into account.”

“What about my…breeder?” He hated saying that word. “She’ll be fed, yes?”

“Of course, and quite well. We would never mistreat your merchandise. I suggest you rest between now and the ceremony, Mr. King,” Ms. Winters added from the doorway.

Then she was gone, the door clicking with finality behind her.

Heart revving, Nash moved around the suite, his footsteps echoing across marble floors as he catalogued details. Haisley’s vanilla-musky scent—something uniquely her—lingered in the air, confirming what his heart already knew.

She had been here. She was still alive.

In six hours, he would have to watch her be paraded in front of a crowd. Would have to “claim” her like property. Would have to pretend to be exactly the kind of monster he was here to destroy.

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