Kimberly Moore kept her eyes focused on her long, transparent skirt. The silky material provided no cushioning for her knees on the cold tile floor. But she should be used to misery- since the day she’d been kidnapped, her life had held no comforts, just pain and abuse. And it looked about to get worse. Don’t move. Don’t tense. Don’t show anger.

The Overseer stepped closer, his boots-black like his soul-entering her field of vision. “The three buyers are in the living room. Serve them drinks, hors d'oeuvres. Use your bodies to please them. I suggest you all do your best. If you’re not bought, you’ll entertain the staff in any way they choose, and then be auctioned off next month.”

A new owner. Trembling started deep in Kim’s center, and bile rose into her throat. She tried to swallow, but her collar seemed to tighten, choking off her breath, choking off her life. Forcing a slow inhalation, she kept her hands still. Don’t try to rip it off. A scar ran up her neck from the first collar she’d cut off, slicing herself in the process.

Lord Greville had beaten her until she’d vomited from the nightmarish pain. As her hands had smudged the blood on the concrete, she’d futilely wished her knife had sliced deeper-an artery and not merely her skin.