But something about Muscle Guy—with his black and orange Beavers hat and intense stare I sensed behind the dark glasses—licked at a memory, and it came back with such startling clarity, I couldn’t have spoken if I’d wanted to. He’d been on that busy street the day Zach called me from outside the restaurant. Even my brother had noticed him noticing me.

The shock still hadn’t abated by the time we neared the end of the tunnel to face the last door. My feet ached from the long walk, and I shuffled them nervously.

“I’ll take her in,” Vinnie said, his fingers biting into my arm. “Wait out here.”

“Yep.” Muscle Guy slid the gun into his waistband and leaned against the wall, crossing his beefy arms.

Vinnie reached for the knob, and I squeezed my hands into fists. Whatever waited behind that door couldn’t be worse than what I’d already been through. He shoved me into a room that was vastly different from the tunnel. The stone floor chilled the soles of my feet, but it was smooth and free of dirt. So were the neat brick walls that housed shelves of antiques. Another set of shelves held rope and other restraint devices, filming equipment, DVDs, and whips and paddles. My gaze veered to the fine art displayed on the walls. I’d bet a safe hid behind one of the paintings.

I forced my attention on the rest of the room. A large area rug covered the center where an oversized oak desk sat next to an odd piece of furniture that looked like a tall ottoman, though it had a restraint system and four wooden legs.

The air thickened with a musky vibe that could only be described as sexually deviant, especially considering the row of black and white photos hanging on the wall behind the desk. They were large, the size of posters, and all of them featured the same blonde in various poses of humiliation. I swallowed past the lump of dread in my throat, fixated on the signs of distress and fear on her stunning face. The grimace of pain, the open-mouthed cries that resembled screams of agony rather than ecstasy.

“What is this place?” I whispered, my throat too tight to manage anything else.

Vinnie shoved me into a chair facing the desk and stood nearby, his gun pressed to my head. From the corner of my eye, I saw him dig out a cell and punch in a number.

“The package is here, boss.”

And that was that. Five little words, and I was merely a possession. Not long after, a door to the left opened, and a man I thought I’d never see again stepped into this crazy room that didn’t make any sense.

Or maybe it made perfect sense and I just didn’t want to admit it.