Hey, everyone, since I wasn’t able to publish Stand this year, I’ve decided to share another chapter from the book in hopes of somewhat making up for it. Here’s to a release date in 2025! Enjoy!
My heart was fluttering in my chest like a butterfly on crack. I hadn’t been this nervous since my own damn wedding. I felt absolutely ridiculous standing in this obnoxious gown next to Darren in the elevator while he exuded his usual calm and collected demeanor in a custom-fitted black-on-black tux.
I tried not to trip on the shimmering floor-length emerald chiffon that wrapped high around my throat, conveniently concealing the fading bruises. The sheer glittery sleeves stretched down to my wrists, intricate dark green lace beading cleverly placed to hide my brands of ownership. The sweetheart cutout teased a tasteful amount of cleavage while the bustier cinched too tightly at my waist.
Or maybe it was just my own panic that was making it difficult to breath.
“Jaden.”
“Huh?” I nearly snapped, my stupid dangle emerald earrings swinging against my jawline.
“You need to relax. It’s a charity gala. Not a firing squad.”
I exhaled harshly. “Give it time,” I murmured back.
No one said it couldn’t morph into one.
Darren paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side and turned to me. “I’m sorry, but didn’t you just not so long ago take on an entire security team of at least ten men and blow up their entire storage facility?”
My blood rushed at the memory. God, that felt like forever ago now.
“Yeah, I did that,” I replied with a reassuring nod.
He smiled snidely. “Then I think you can handle this.”
“I just feel ridiculous.”
Darren gazed down at me from the corner of his eye, the snideness of his grin morphing into something warm and almost pleasant.
“But you look so damn beautiful.”
And then the elevator doors opened and the chaos commenced.
There were swarms of people everywhere. Colorful gowns flowed in all directions, men in expensive suits and tuxes, noise and chatter mixed with glasses clinking. There was so much to pay attention to, my situational awareness going into overdrive to assess for threats and potential exits. But then a large warm hand grasped my own and suddenly I remembered to breathe.
The first exhale was all the relief Darren waited for before tugging me along to the bar and ordering me a glass of champagne and a bourbon for himself. A shot of tequila would have been more appreciated, but I accepted the glass with a long discrete sip. My eyes glazed over the crowd, finding Scott, Clive, and Owen drifting along the outskirts, popping in and out of my peripherals, but never far.
“Better?” Darren asked, as he leaned casually against the bar, bringing the glass to his lips.
“Yes, thank you,” I answered after my third sip, but my voice was not convincing.
Darren chuckled. “What could you possibly be afraid of here?”
My eyes bounced up to his.
You… Always you.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, and I think that’s the problem. I feel unprepared.”
“Unprepared to do what? Behave and look pretty? So far, you’ve done a phenomenal job of at least one of them,” he said, and then his eyes darkened. “I don’t expect you to require additional motivation to achieve the other, but you’re already well aware I won’t hesitate to provide it if I think otherwise.”
I scowled at his unnecessary threat, but then immediately trained myself to soften it, not wanting to attract attention. I didn’t want to think of the things he would provide to motivate my behavior, especially knowing how much he would enjoy it. I decided to swallow my anxiety down with the rest of my champagne, hoping it would make things marginally better.
But it wasn’t better. If only champagne could act as a decent pain killer than the meds I took earlier for the inflammation in my hip. All that dancing and fucking the night before had really done a number on me, which in comparison to everything else I’d been through was pretty pathetic. But it was what it was.
Allowing my eyes to travel, they followed the sound of smooth yet rhythmic classical music being played by some incredibly skilled musicians, setting the scene for a soft evening. Couples twirled along the dance floor, moving in rhythm with the music.
What was this charity even for?
Darren cut my assessment short when he took my empty glass and placed it next to his on the bar. Taking my hand, he brought it up to his mouth and gently kissed my knuckles, his sensual dark blues locking with mine.
“Dance with me,” he said, a knowing smile curving his lips. It naturally wasn’t a request
Ugh.
“Did we not just learn a valuable lesson last night about my dancing?” I chided as I pointlessly tried to pull my hand back. He kept it trapped in his own, but lowered it to a more comfortable height. “I don’t want to cause another distraction.”
Darren smirked as he glanced down at my left hand, fingering my weddings rings. The same ones I had to scrub with a spare toothbrush last night to get all the dried blood out from between the stones.
“As long as you’re dancing with me, I’ll allow it,” he stated, swinging his heated gaze back up to mine.
Darren didn’t wait for a response as he took my hand, wrapped it around his arm, and lead me to the dance floor. I felt my nerves grate as my heels clicked on the hard surface, and I suddenly realized why this was so jarring. The dress I was wearing, with sleeves long enough to cover my wrist tattoos. The embellished fabric around my throat to conceal the bruises from Darren’s hand when he almost strangled me to death nearly a week ago. My hair and makeup professionally done. All of it added for one single purpose – to enhance the performance.
While this was a private event, and I got the impression that it catered to a much less “unlawful” crowd, people who were actually legitimate and didn’t secretly run criminal trafficking empires behind closed doors. And yet here we were, about to literally waltz right in like we actually belonged here. Like Darren was one of them. And it told me that even he was not immune to the required performances of society if he wanted to maintain an upstanding appearance outside of the criminal underworld he ruled.
The wolf in sheep’s clothing.
As we approached the dance floor, I recognized the song they started playing, the pretty strings of Aurora by Lindsey Stirling playing in the background. I had a playlist of just her music that I loved to swing my bō to, the flow of everything so damn relaxing I could go on for hours without even noticing.
Quietly releasing a deep breath, I allowed Darren to pull my body into his and immersed myself into the performance alongside a dozen other dancing couples. Smooth as water, he twirled me around the dance floor like he was made for it. He moved with a practiced ease, allowing me to follow his lead without effort or strain. Even in the three-inch heels that barely allowed me to see over his shoulder, I glided over the floor without missing a beat. My body was automatically in tune with his, easily matching his pace and rhythm despite the dull ache in my hip. For one small moment, I actually forgot about the performance and willingly spiraled away into whatever direction he chose to spin me.
When the song ended, the room stopped, an applause replacing the music as Darren twirled me for the last time and then pulled me into his chest. The clapping continued long after we stopped, and as I looked over, I noticed too many faces focused intently on us instead of the musicians.
“Why are they staring at us?” I asked quietly, nervous of the sudden attention.
“They’re staring at you,” Darren answered, almost smugly.
I frowned, glancing up at him. “What? Why?”
A warm grin curled up his lips. “When you look and move the way you do, how could they not?” He said it like he understood the compulsion, like he could actually sympathize with someone for once.
But they couldn’t just be staring at me. My gaze quickly hunted for my convictions, hoping he had to be wrong. And he was, catching the hungry looks of some of the other women in the crowd as they sized Darren up. And not so subtly either.
If they only knew.
Darren leaned down so that his mouth was touching my ear. “They’re all fantasizing about you right now, and I have half a mind to lay you out on this floor so they can watch me fuck you until you’re screaming my name and coming all over my cock.” His words made me suck in a breath, anxiously holding it to avoid reacting. “By the time I’m done, there would be no doubts left in their minds that you’re fucking mine.”
Without pause, he wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and kissed me like he was starving. His threatening words left a shiver down my spine that made me hunch from the chill, my stomach clenching with apprehension. It wouldn’t be the first time he fucked me in public, but it would be the first time with an actual audience.
When he finally pulled back, I could feel my lips swelling from the harsh flavor of his obsession, the taste of possession still lingering on my tongue. His lips on mine had broadcasted a very clear message for all who could see, that we were both very much claimed by the other. And clearly it was enough to make everyone around us blush uncomfortably. Thankfully, the musicians picked up their next song, causing the other couples surrounding us to start moving again, though some of them didn’t know how to focus on their own dancing partner.
I cursed under my breath. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to cause a distraction,” I grumbled quietly, then stepped back to flee. I had actually meant that part. But naturally, Darren wouldn’t let me, refusing to allow me even an inch in the other direction as he tightened his grip on my body.
“You can distract them all you want, princess,” he snickered. “As long as they understand I’ll kill them if they’re caught staring for too long.”
God, I wanted to roll my eyes.
“Then I suppose we should stop tempting them, don’t you think?” I whispered impatiently. “Unless you want to prove me right about the firing squad.”
A grin curved up Darren’s face as he chuckled softly. “Come on,” he teased, releasing his grip and ushered me off the dance floor.
Placing his arm around my waist, Darren led me back to the bar so we could get another drink and then headed to our table. But as he steered me through the crowd, I was surprised at the amount of times we had to stop so he could chat with the people ignorant enough to approach him. Or maybe they were secretly just like him, likewise hiding in sheep’s clothing so as not to disturb the innocent flock around them.
A few of the faces were recognizable, but the conversations were completely irrelevant, mostly small talk, legal business, and compliments of my hair color from other women. Sometimes the conversations weren’t even in English.
But I played my part as the perfect wife, speaking only when spoken to and very little, smiling when appropriate while Darren kept me nearly glued to his side. His arm was like solid steel around my waist, affording me zero chances to slip away, even if I wanted to.
I could tell he wasn’t interested in a single word spoken. His demeanor was more cordial than usual, but still just as relaxed. He was effortless in his agenda, passing through conversation after conversation, each person totally bewitched by him, completely oblivious to the cold and callous killer he actually was. It was almost sickening to watch, a true Oscar worthy performance. I was thankful when the charade finally ended as we sat down at our table closest to the stage.
It wasn’t two minutes later when a mic was tapped. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please take your seats, we are about to begin.”
Sounds of shuffling ensued as people moved to their tables, voices dying down as a woman stepped up to the podium at the center of the stage.
“Good evening, everyone!” she said enthusiastically, a wide bright smile plastered across her face. “Welcome to the 7th annual charity event for Hope After Human Trafficking.”
My blood froze in my veins, stiffening my entire body as my brain registered what had just been said. My tongue was suddenly dry and thick, my stomach caving in on itself while my heart battled for release from my chest. Panic was imminent.
I don’t know how well I contained the horror in my eyes, but when I looked over at Darren, all I could feel was a familiar bucket of ice drenching my body. The sly knowing look on his face was a warning and a challenge to keep my shit together or there would be consequences. But the little hamster running from wheel to wheel inside my brain wasn’t concerned with the consequences. It was too busy being confused over what the fuck was going on. How it was possible we were even here.
How the fuck did one of the biggest benefactors of human trafficking attend a charity event meant to help survivors from his very own influence? I was beside myself. Angered that I had once again been tricked into enduring another trigger for my PTSD over an event that was nothing but a cruel joke to him.
I was confused as to why he would even put himself in such a vulnerable position and make himself so well known here. And then disappointed in the fact that he still felt the need to torture me like this with at least a hundred other people around to unknowingly witness it.
I couldn’t even focus on the presenter’s speech until I suddenly felt the lights single in on our table.
“And a special thank you to our top benefactor, Mr. Darren Davis, for once again hosting this event at his magnificent grand hotel. You are truly one of a kind.”
Oh, my God, I’m gonna throw up.
Darren smiled, raised his glass, nodding at the crowd as they applauded him. Fucking applauded. I don’t know how I managed not to stab him with all the spoons and butter knives on the table in front of everyone, but it was a strength meant for Zeus.
There would be words later. More than words. Fists, and blood, and probably a lamp or two. Squaring my shoulders, I released a slow deep breath, promising myself I would hurl the very first thing I could touch at his head as soon as we got back to our hotel room.
Noticing my reprieve, Darren leaned into my ear.
“That was a brilliant performance, my little queen. Very well done.” God, the cockiness in his voice was enough to get me to smile back just the same.
“Just wait till later,” I whispered back.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”
The rest of the event was spent biting the inside of my cheek until the only thing I could taste was champagne and blood. Every word spoken by each speaker held me captive in my seat – the stories of survivors, the success of the charity, the impact it had made funding rescue operations against human traffickers across the country. There were lawyers, doctors, judges, police officers, social workers, and even federal agents, all offering their insight about the vast industry of human trafficking.
I learned a lot more that night than I ever thought I would about the subject. One of the saddest things was learning that most trafficking situations were run by the people who knew their victims. Parents exploiting their children, boyfriends manipulating their girlfriends with false love that eventually turned to violence. Young, impressionable runaways, girls with debilitating insecurities, the impoverished, hopeless drug addicts, the woefully naive – all things traffickers used against them to coax their victims into a false sense of trust until they were completely trapped.
Aside from the parents selling their kids, which was just unconscionable, the lover boy method was probably one of the most heinous forms of entrapment. Pretending to be the loving, doting boyfriend in an effort to get your victim to fall for you, and then manipulating them into sleeping with other men for money. It was a dwindling practice since it seemed to be less effective, but the alternative was always blackmail or violence. Imagine the sorrow of betrayal when you realized the person you loved, who you thought loved you back, who you trusted, was just using you the entire time. And now it was too late to get out.
As awful as Darren’s industry practice was, I was glad to know it accounted for not even a full .001% of human trafficking. The kinds of auctions he held were either damn near incomparable, or they flew so far under the radar that they were practically fiction. No wonder his auctions were so profitable. His competition barely existed, at least in the United States. Or maybe it was because he made sure to snuff out anyone who thought to compete against him. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Even with all the horrific stories of the survivors, their fight for freedom was inspiring, and it almost brought me hope – until the moment reality kissed me on the cheek and reminded me that even with all their work, Darren was still here, thriving in spite of it all. And I fucking hated him for it.
Dinner was difficult to sit through, the food turning sour in my stomach as I fought through each bite. Our dinner companions eyed my half-eaten plates, practically praising me for my “small stomach” and bird-like eating habit. Pacifying them was easy, but I knew Darren could see right through me.
The longer the night went on, the crueler it felt. So many survivors talked of freedom, the moment they were able to live their lives as humans instead of slaves. It was like dangling a carrot in front of me that I could never reach. They had escaped and survived, and I was still just presently surviving.
My fists bunched under the table, but I swore to myself my time would come. It would come just as theirs had come. But when my time finally came, it would bring the reckoning Darren’s world unquestionably deserved.
The last speaker of the night was a young woman, most likely in her late twenties. She was a frail looking thing – very pale with dark brown hair. Yet her voice was strong, steady, and assured. But as she spoke, the contents of her story became familiar, and it shook me to my core.
The memory of waking up in a dog kennel, with no clothes and no idea how she got there. Being unknowingly auctioned off and then finding herself in the backseat of a van, bound for who the hell knew until she suddenly woke up in Mexico. She’d spent the next three years of her life down there until her captors mistakenly believed she had died from a drug overdose. She’d been left for dead in a fucking dumpster.
I couldn’t stop by body from shaking, the tremors so strong I looked like I was shivering. Darren seized the opportunity to wrap his hands around my bare shoulders, the warmth of his skin soothing the tremors, but did nothing for the knots in my stomach. And just when I thought I couldn’t handle another second, her eyes suddenly caught mine, and then shifted two inches over. Her face quickly went white, her words stopping midsentence, as she stared at the man beside me.
My heart stopped.
She fucking recognized him.
It hit me like a ton of bricks, watching her recognize her trafficker in the middle of a speech, in front of dozens of people, during a human trafficking charity gala.
Her silence went on for several awkward seconds until words finally stumbled out of her mouth in an attempt to regain her composure. But there would be no recovery. She finished quickly, apologized, and then rushed off the stage, disappearing behind the curtain.
My eyes immediately caught the predatory determination that hardened Darren’s face. A single nod to Scott off in the distance was enough to put the man into action, igniting a whole new set of fears in my core.
“No,” I whispered pleadingly, placing my hand on his arm, hoping to gain his attention. But a single warning glare from him was all it took for me to reluctantly remove my offending hand, but still I tried. “Please.”
Taking my arm in his hand, he gripped it tightly, causing me to wince as he leaned in to my ear. “Behave,” he warned, his voice so deadly serious it almost made me sick with terror.
What was he going to do?
“Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our evening. We once again want to thank you…”
My mind couldn’t focus anymore, too busy doing backflips on how to prevent Darren from going after this poor girl, but I never even got the chance to try. He was gone before I knew it, completely disappearing like the shadow he was. I stood from my seat, my eyes hunting every square inch of the room for him like I might have some hope of stopping him.
And then Clive and Owen came for me.
“Time to go,” Owen said soberly.
Swallowing back the dread coating my mouth, I stepped away from the table with shaky knees and allowed them to escort me back to the private elevator. The second the doors closed on us, I lost my breath.
“He’s going to kill that girl.”
They said nothing. The panic rose.
“I can’t,” I inhaled. “I can’t let him do this.” I started to fucking shake.
Both of them turned their heads to eye me over their shoulders.
“Don’t make me sedate you,” Clive threatened.
Desperation burst into fury.
“Goddamn it, fuck both of you! I can’t–”
“What are you gonna do, huh?” Owen started, turning around to crowd me in the small space. “Follow him? Barge in and physically stop him? You know damn well the outcome of that.”
“I don’t care. I could warn her–“
“You’re too late. She’s already been tagged. Now, let it go.”
The elevator doors opened to our floor and instead of waiting for me to follow, they both took hold of my elbows and pulled me into the suite, releasing me only when I was back inside the bedroom.
“Stay in here and behave,” Clive warned. “Test me once and you’re out for the night.” And then he shut the door, locking me in.
“You fucking bitches!” I shouted back, kicking my heels off into the door. “I want my fucking dog!”
Camaro was still with the staff who tended to her when she couldn’t be with me. Now would be a good fucking time to bring me my emotional support boss into the room.
Moving to the dresser, I yanked at the back of my dress, searching for the fucking zipper so I could finally get out of the wretched thing. I tore at the fabric, taking my frustrations out on the ridiculous gown until it was a mess of ribbons on the floor.
But it satisfied nothing.
Pulling at the drawers, I searched until I found one of my workout skorts and a tank top, and dressed myself in a mad rage. And then I paced along the room for what felt like hours until my shoulders hurt from the tension.
Maybe it was better if I was sedated.
At least then I wouldn’t have to feel like this. Helpless. Weak. Useless. Again.
I felt sick knowing I was tied to a man that was having an innocent woman killed somewhere in this very moment.
Marching my ass to the window, I ripped the curtains open, ready to yank the door wall open and step out for fresh air. Until I heard Clive yell from the living room.
“Jaden! I swear to God, if you open that door!”
I leaned my forehead against the glass in defeat and exhaled my grief.
Motherfucker. I could just kill them both, right?
And then I realized Camaro still hadn’t been returned to me.
“Where the fuck is my dog!” I shouted in return, wondering why they still hadn’t brought her to me.
My thoughts of turmoil and murder were then immediately interrupted when the power went out. All the lights in the room went dark, as did the light from outside the door. Glancing back toward the window, I could see the rest of the hotel was still lit, so it was only our area. That was a bad sign.
Moving quietly toward the bedroom door, I listened for any sound, but could hear nothing. The silence lasted for too long, making me grab for the butterfly knife I’d hidden in my luggage. Crouching again by the door, I could hear a commotion coming closer, the sounds of fighting and scuffling getting louder. And then whatever the fight was clashed against the door until it finally gave way and Owen crashed into a man beneath him, his fist raised in the air.
“Jaden, run!” he shouted as he began to strike the guy in the face several times. He looked like he had it covered so I made a dash for the living room only to get tackled to the floor. Pain spasmed through my hip and down into my leg, but the surge of adrenaline gave me the distraction I needed to focus on my attacker.
Using the momentum, I curled in and rolled as best I could, keeping my feet tucked in, and then immediately kicking them out when I had the chance. My bare feet found hips and then pushed as hard as I could, throwing the person off me, giving me enough time to get to my feet, and shove my butterfly knife right through his Adam’s apple.
All around me, fighting ensued. From the corner of my eye, Clive looked like he was losing his fight with another guy while Owen was still combatting with another.
Where were the hell were the rest of the guards?
A fist came into my peripherals, nearly missing my jaw as I ducked out of the way, countering with a swipe of my knife, cutting through air. Pushing my loose hair from my face, I caught the sight of a polished white grin looking back at me. It definitely needed some blood coating those teeth.
“The fuck are you smiling at,” I said, lifting my leg to kick him in the face. He dodged the kick, but not the strike to his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he stumbled back clutching his neck until he collapsed to the ground. But before I had the chance for a single breath, another gunmen tried to pistol whip me across the face. I fell back, twisting out of the way while kicking my leg out just in time to catch his jaw with my heel.
A sudden prick to my skin caught my attention, my adrenaline spiking even more upon seeing a small dart sticking out of my arm. My body went limp.
“Son of a…”
Fuck.