CHAPTER ONE Blood-curdling screams sliced the air then rose to a piercing wail. The young woman, from whom the screams emitted, her face overly made up, dressed in a short hot pink revealing silk robe, panties, bra, and matching high-heeled slippers, stood with her back against the wall. The room was elegant—draped in rich gold-colored silks, satins, and velvets. A gold king-size brass bed was the focal point of this room. It sat center, up against the wall. Other furnishings in the room were a loveseat, a cocktail table, two chairs, and a dressing table. The woman’s agonizing screams that had brought the others racing into the room had now turned to hysterical sobs. Stark terror gleamed from her eyes. Her mouth moved, forming words that would not come. On the bed another woman, in her early twenties, lay. Her nearly nude body—she wore a pair of skimpy gold panties and matching bra—was spread eagle. Both feet were tied to the foot of the bed. Her wrists were tied in a similar fashion to the headboard, and a soiled man’s handkerchief covered her mouth. She was in a semi stupor. Tears rolled down her cheeks and mingled with the blood that still oozed from the many wounds that covered the front of her body—apparently inflicted by some sharp object. A mournful cry struggled in her throat, echoing her misery. Hysteria filled the room and mingled with unanswered questions. “Out!” Phil Sleets, a tall, broad-shouldered, strikingly handsome, caramel-colored, slightly graying man, dressed in a black tuxedo, directed this command to the women in the room. The woman, glued against the wall, was propelled from the room by two of the other women. Louisa Tindell rushed into the room and stopped just inside the door. She stood only five feet, three inches tall, but her countenance told one instantly that she wielded the power in this establishment. This slender, dark-skinned, exotic-looking beauty was in her mid fifties but looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. This woman knew her capability to stand out in a crowd, and was, therefore, not intimidated by anyone. Thus, she surrounded herself with beautiful people of color—the people who helped her run her business. Her deep brown eyes fell on the figure on the bed, and her beautiful face became a mask of terror. “Oh, my God!” she moaned. She stood there for a few moments watching the men as they tore away the ropes that bound the woman’s prostrate form. Rage mixed with fear tore at her guts. “My God!” she said again. “Who could have done such a thing?” She moved to the bed and cradled the helpless woman, her hands and feet free now, in her arms. “What deranged bastard did this to you?” She looked up at a tall sinewy man dressed in a guard’s uniform who hovered above her. “Where were you when this happened?” she roared. The man flinched. “She… she has always been able to take care of herself,” he stammered. “We didn’t expect anything like this.” Louisa gently laid the woman back down on the bed and rose. She hissed up into the man’s face, “You have to expect any and everything in this business! I thought I made that clear when I hired you! Every customer is to be searched before he enters a girl’s room! Who searched this one?” “I did,” a big, burly, barrel-chested man, also in a guard’s uniform, said. “He must have had the ropes and whatever he used to cut her taped to his body.” “You did…,” Louisa sneered up at the man who had spoken her hands on her hips. She slapped him hard across the face. The man flinched and put a hand to his jaw. “Perhaps you should start making them strip!” Louisa said. She turned her attention back to the wounded woman. “How long has she been like this?” she said to no one in particular as she sat back down on the bed. She gently placed a hand to the side of the woman’s face. “It couldn’t have been but a few minutes,” Sam Yates, a man in his mid forties, dressed in a silver tuxedo, said. This dashing, debonair, charismatic, male specimen, who left women swooning in his wake wherever he ventured, stood about six feet two inches tall and weighed approximately one hundred ninety pounds. His complexion was on the high-yellow side. He stood, a worried expression on his face. “Who found her?” Louisa asked. “Tanya,” Phil said. “Bring her to me,” Louisa ordered. One of the guards went swiftly from the room. Louisa turned to Sam Yates. “Who left the stage with Kittie?” “I don’t remember, but I’ll find out,” Sam said. He was the auctioneer, and he should have remembered. It was his job. He knew he had no excuse and that Louisa wasn’t buying it. He turned to leave the room. “Never mind. I’ll talk with you later,” Louisa snapped. Sam knew what that meant. She was going to read him up one side and down the other. He was getting careless, and that was not allowed. “Who did this to you, Kittie?” Louisa asked. Kittie’s voice was barely audible, as she gave a laborious account of her assailant. “I know which one he is,” one of the guards said. “So do I,” another one said. “He will pay,” Louisa said through clenched teeth. She looked at Kittie again. She felt sick to her stomach. In a soothing voice she spoke to the injured woman again. “We have to get you to a doctor, but you know you can’t tell what happened.” “I know,” Kittie said in a strained whisper. “Why did he do this to you?” Louisa asked. “So he could suck my blood,” Kittie said, sobs struggling to escape her throat. Louisa stood. Her eyes blazed as she took all the men in at a glance. “Find the pervert and bring me his balls,” she said.