Someone a few cells down had been humming and laughing for the past hour or so—a sign of insanity. You take a free man and chain him in a tiny cell, forcing him to kill and rewarding him for it, and some men will crumble beneath the weight of guilt. Wheeler had learned that insanity was contagious to anyone close enough to listen to the ramblings of a man beyond reason.

“Who’s in there?” a woman whispered. “Are you a dancer?”

She must have been from one of the clubs.

“Hello? Please answer. Lacy’s gone now, and she was the only one I had to talk to. Oh God, I just want to go home.” Then she began crying. “Please, please… someone talk to me. I’m so scared.”

“Dammit,” Wheeler muttered to himself. “I’m here.”

“Who are you? What’s your name?” she asked, sniffling away her tears. “No one else here talks to me. Lacy was the only one.”

Then the crying started up.

“I’m Wheeler. What’s your name?”

“Bo.”

“That’s an odd name for a woman.”

She laughed in surprise. “That’s rude. My mom thought I was going to be a boy.”

“You work at one of the clubs?”

“How did you know? Yes, I work at Teasers. Are you a Regulator?”

“No.” She must have thought he was undercover or something. “Someone I know who works at Club Sin was attacked.”

“Lacy?”

“No.”

“Oh. Lacy worked there. I just can’t believe this! What did I ever do to anyone?”

He listened to her chain angrily slinging around and Bo talking to herself. A woman like her wouldn’t last long in a place like this. What the hell was Delgado thinking? Maybe in the years since Wheeler had left, cage fighting had changed. Maybe they got their kicks from hot strippers going at it.

A door opened at the far end of the hall. From where he sat with his back to the wall, he had a clear view of anyone who passed in front of his cage. Something heavy slid across the floor, and a man spat out a curse.

“Well, you fucking carry her and I’ll drag him, you big pussy.”

The guard passed in front of the bars ahead of him and Wheeler launched to his feet, gripping the door with his free hand. “What are you doing with her?” he shouted.

The guard stopped and shifted Naya in his arms. She was unconscious, and her head lolled to the side. He noticed a sneaker missing, and she had small red bumps on her legs and twigs in her hair.

“Friend of yours?” the guard asked, openly mocking him.

“I want to speak to Delgado!”

A man appeared in front of the cell on the left. “Calm down, Mr. Cole. No need to shout.”

The guard holding Naya moved out of sight, and another guard followed behind him, dragging a large, dark-skinned man. After shutting the doors, the guards hurried out.

Wheeler sized up the man in front of his cell. He had deep-set eyes of a pale shade, like hazel or blue. Delgado looked like a slick stockbroker with his brown hair combed back and his outfit of dark slacks and a button-up shirt that molded to his body. He wasn’t at all what Wheeler had expected. He’d envisioned Delgado as some sniveling, overweight, greasy human with missing teeth. This man in his forties had all his teeth—sparkling white—and a deep line carved into his right cheek in the shape of a crescent moon. His nose was so straight that it resembled an arrow pointing down. Delgado was agreeable to look at, and maybe that made it easier for people to trust doing business with him. Looks could get a man just as far as they could a woman. His brows weren’t sloped in an angry line like Wheeler’s sometimes were, and he didn’t wear a frown. Nor did he smile. He maintained an impassive demeanor despite the woman sobbing in the cell next door.