I lay on the ground completely numb and stared into the lights, as women stripped on the stage, and men begged for a taste of me. Bastards crowded around and reached their dirty hands inside to touch me. If my name were Butterfly Wings, they had ripped them completely off. For the first time, I felt helpless and broken.

That unforgettable night in Vegas when I pretended to be a whore to lash out against Finnley, I said dirty fucking things to the people in that club. I knew why Finnley was so upset with me now, because the profession could be dangerous. It had an ugly side to it, and I was in the middle of the cesspool. Reminders of that night stung, as the dirty words that I had once said to strangers were being spat back at me. Lady Luck hated me, and Karma was a bitch.

But what did I do to deserve this?

I couldn't think clearly.

I closed my eyes. I had been taken and brought to a sleazy underground prostitution ring somewhere in Europe.

But the accents. They weren't European. Right?

With all the strength I had, I stood. I grabbed onto a bar that hung from the top of the cage and steadied myself.

"Where am I? Where the hell am I?" I screamed. My throat was raw with pure hatred.

"Dance for us, virgin slut. Give us what we want." A man yelled and threw sweaty dollar bills at me. I couldn't hold my body upright any longer and slumped back to the floor. The shock of it all, and the drugs that swept through my body, were too much.

Virgin slut. Virgin. Vir–

Why did they keep calling me that? Wet dollars stuck to my skin as I lay there contemplating, and trying to calm myself and grasp onto some sort of reality.

I grabbed a fist of money and crumpled it in my fist. U.S. currency. As my vision faded in and out, I made up my mind to be the most uncooperative bitch in this place. Jennifer Downs did what she wanted, when she wanted.

I wasn't sure how much time passed or how many songs played. After several women danced, the perverted men became bored with me and left me to lie on the bottom of the cage like a filthy fucking animal. I would cry if I could muster the emotions to do it, but weak people cried. I wasn't weak or strong, but somewhere in the middle: numb and void of all emotions, other than hatred. But what was the opposite of hate? Love? It couldn't be that simple, could it? Stop it, Jennifer.

Lights flashed across the room and reflected on the floor. Regrets flowed like water down a stream. If I weren't found, having to live this type of life would be a nightmare where death would be the only escape.

I had found my new low and was waist deep in it.

Welcome to your personal dark paradise, I thought.

"I don’t fucking care how much it costs, do it," I yelled into the phone before slamming it on the counter.

Seventy-two hours had passed.

She had been gone for seventy-two, long agonizing hours, and no one knew what was going on. Not even me, and it angered me to an unhealthy level. Private investigators swept London, and I even hired people in Paris. Everyone came up short, which was in-fucking-excusable. The fuse on my patience had been lit, and I was going to blow the fuck up at any moment.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn't recognize who stared back: a man with crazy hair, wild eyes, and scruff. Fucking scruff! I was always clean cut. Always. Impressions were important, and I liked to be ready for the stalkers that lurked behind buildings to take snapshots of me: the most fuckable CEO under the age of 30. Give me a bloody break.

I had no control over my appearance while not knowing if she was okay. Shaving was the least of my fucking worries. I hoped for once she would close her mouth and not talk back, but if I knew Jennifer—an unnerving feeling tugged in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't quite place it. Statistics say after three days, the odds of finding a missing person decline significantly.

I would drive myself mad thinking about her skin on mine.

Her smile.

Her lips.

The way her hair felt between my fingers.

The last look on her face.

The horror in her voice as she screamed my name.

Earlier, Luke called. I told him to leave and go back to Vegas. He'd finished his project quicker than expected and said he would stay for me, but I told him to leave. A part of him blamed himself for Jennifer's disappearance but for no reason. Luke did the best he could, and there was nothing more that could be done. Abbot and his men were on the prowl. If anyone could find Jennifer, it would be them. The men that were born to fight and steal, and would do anything for money. They were loyal to Luke and I because we ran with them when we were younger. Actually, we ran them.

I knew that whatever I did in life, I would be leading. Never been much of a fucking follower. Being in control of situations was what made me tick. Give me a challenge and I will accept and conquer. But at this moment, I would follow anyone who would lead me to Jennifer.

Mark my words, if they touched or hurt her in any way, whoever was responsible will wish they hadn't. Love made people do ridiculous things. With love, I would destroy the world with my bare hands and make it my bitch. Destruction raged dangerously inside of me.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I stared out the window and watched the people scurry on the sidewalks. My hand wavered. Control slowly slipped through my fingers.

My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up.

"Felton speaking."

"Abbot."

The silenced droned on.

Abbot didn't play well with others, but what could be expected from the man that ran the underworld of London. He was the sub-culture and so were all the men that ran in his pack. Although he was one of the most frightening gang leaders on this side of the Atlantic, he didn't faze me. I beat his ass when we were teenagers, and we both knew that I could and would do it again, especially in my current state.

We bled together. We fought together. We laughed together.

Nothing could take that camaraderie away, not even a fucking ocean or time.

"I've found your driver. Shall I slit his fucking throat?"

I heard muffled screams in the background, and an evil smile crept across my face. Abbot's weapons of choice were really sharp knifes, and I was certain the point of his favorite one rested on the driver’s throat. Abbot could find anyone if I asked, but nothing came without a price. I didn't pay monetarily. The cost was merging my current life with my past, something I never intended on doing.

"I'll be there."

"I'd like to kill him where he sits, filthy piece of shit," he said to the man as if I weren’t on the line then hung up the phone.

I grabbed the keys to the Mercedes and traveled to a warehouse on the east side. I parked in the back and composed myself. I hadn't seen some of the people inside since I left for Columbia. What a fucking reunion.

Abbot wasn't stupid enough to conduct business in the open warehouse but rather preferred the basement. I walked to the corner of the room and found the inconspicuous door that led to the stairs below. I clenched my hands into fists and tried to get ahold of myself. I wanted to beat the stupid fuck senseless, but I had a goal: to find out who he worked for and where they took the woman who stole my heart. When she was taken, they subsequently took away the last ounce of love I had left. If something happened to her, I would swear off all emotions for the rest of my fucking life. I'd take it as a sign that I wasn't meant for love, that maybe life had a different path for me. I hoped it wasn't a vicious one.