Chapter 12

**Allison's POV**

The light is too bright. My eyelids fight to stay open as I try to focus on the figure before me, someone strangely familiar, glaring at me with intent.

"Allison. Hi. We've met before—though I'm not proud of the circumstances. I'm Thessa, and I'm in charge of The Hunter Girls."

Waking up to this voice feels unsettlingly familiar, almost like waking up to my mother's voice, except this woman's tone is gentler, more polished. She's beautiful, probably a decade older or younger than me—it's hard to tell.

I try to get a grip on my surroundings, but the confusion is overwhelming. I have no idea where I am. Maybe I'm still at the house, or maybe somewhere worse, as Darius had threatened to take us somewhere.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice raspy and uneven.

"A nightclub…"

My eyes widen. "A nightclub?" I repeat, inexplicably enthusiastic. Why am I excited about a nightclub? A thousand things could go wrong here—nightclubs are dens of evil, after all.

Thessa smiles. "You really don't get out much, do you?"

She seems nice. I can tell she is, even though I still harbor some resentment for the prank she pulled at the store. But I've concluded she had no choice—she's probably just as trapped in Darius's web as I am.

"No," I admit, feeling a wave of shame. She must think I'm incredibly naïve.

"It's a blessing and a curse," she muses. "I never liked being outside either. I was socially defective. My parents had to drag me out, force me to do things no child should do. They were criminals. The Hunters saved me from them."

If I take her at her word, she's suggesting that Darius and his stuck-up brother are the good guys. I almost want to laugh.

"What am I doing here? At the nightclub?" I ask as the thought hits me.

Thessa shrugs nonchalantly, pulling the ribbon from her ponytail and letting her luscious dark hair cascade down her back.

"You're here to have fun. But first, you need to change out of that outfit." She adds a teasing chuckle, making me self-conscious about my jeans, oversized t-shirt, and jacket. How bad could this be for a nightclub? But based on Thessa's classy black mini dress, I'm clearly out of place.

I can hear faint, muffled music through the walls—probably soundproofed. I'm glad no one can hear my thoughts right now. My naïveté would have them rolling on the floor in laughter.

"Does he approve of this?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I cringe at my own words.

"If you mean Darius, yes. He brought you here himself, to his office, and he wants me to get you ready. He wants you to look as... alluring as possible. He wants men to look at you and be overwhelmed with desire."

I try to digest her words, but it's a terrible idea. Is she saying Darius intends for me to sell my body? The thought sickens me. My first time will be with some stranger who wants nothing but my body…

"Is that what the girls do?" I ask, my voice trembling as I bite back tears.

Thessa bursts into laughter. "No, most of us are spies. We handle the guns; we don't use our bodies unless we want to. Darius doesn't force us to do anything. But you… you're more like his prey, or perhaps his pet."

A boulder seems to settle on my chest, pressing down on me.

I hadn't noticed the fashion bag in her hand until she tosses it to me playfully. "Everything you need is in there—a dress, shoes, jewelry, and some light makeup. I'd help you, but I've got work to do. Get changed and come out. The bouncers will direct you to the boss's meeting room. And remember, be a good girl—you don't want to get on Darius's bad side."

I nod, and she leaves me to dress. My heart pounds in my chest as I dump the bag's contents onto the floor. A gasp escapes me as I see what's inside.

"What in the world…?" I mutter in horror at the so-called 'dress' staring back at me. If it even qualifies as clothing. I pick it up and throw it back down, outraged. "What is this!?"

There's no underwear, just a silky golden scrap that could barely pass as a dress. I glance around the office, barely noticing its dark, elegant decor. Everything about this place repels me now.

"The shoes are taller than middle fingers," I grumble, "and the jewelry… Well, I suppose I could wear that." I know full well that Darius will lose his mind when I show up without the dress.

I'm helpless, worried to the bone, and nearly in tears. But then it hits me.

This is an opportunity! Being in Darius's office is a chance to ransack it! I could dig for secrets, find something—anything—that might make him less terrifying, something that could give me a little leverage.

I scan the office for cameras. If he has them in his home, he must have them here too. But I don't see any. Is this luck, or am I being careless? I don't want to add ransacking his office to my list of offenses.

After a thorough check, I decide there are no cameras. "Neat freak, aren't you…" I mutter, irritated by how meticulously organized his desk is. A telephone on the right, a box of tissues, a rack of business magazines, two staplers, a stamp, ink… deodorant? What's deodorant doing on his desk? "Psycho."

There are no files on the desk, but I'm sure I'll find something in the drawers—if they're not locked.

Like a little mouse, I tiptoe around the desk and sit in his grand swivel chair. The scent of his cologne hits me, and the comfort of the chair almost makes me forget where I am.

I refocus and pull open the drawer. My heart leaps when I find it unlocked, but then my excitement plummets—it's empty. Completely empty.

My teeth clench in frustration. This might not even be his real office, which is probably why he brought me here in the first place. He's always ten steps ahead, and I hate him for it.

I reach for one of the magazines on the rack, hoping to distract myself. Reading has always been my escape.

The Body of a Goddess.

Take All of Me, Baby.

Wet Pages.

Wait, what…? These aren't business magazines—they're pornography! My brain stutters as I take in the scantily clad models on the covers. Who arranges pornography on a visible rack in their office?

Darius Hunter. Of course, he does what he wants.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick up one with two naked women kissing on the cover. Is this who I'm supposed to become? One of these impossibly hot girls? If I could look like that, it'd be a miracle, but I'm way too shy for this. I take a deep, shaky breath and open the magazine, only to be met with an image that shocks me—a woman staring into the camera with a man's full length in her mouth.

I swallow hard, my heart racing. I've read some pretty wild things in books, but this is different. This is real. And there's no love, no passion, just… emptiness. What drives them?

A knock on the door snaps me back to reality. I fling the magazine across the room.

"Madam? It's time for your meeting. The boss is asking for you. Shall I escort you?"

That's one of his men, politely speaking from the door instead of barging in. I respect that. Unlike Darius! The memory of the shower incident still haunts me—he almost saw me naked. I still can't believe he stopped himself. Why did he?

The meeting. I know this could be the worst night of my life, but running away isn't an option—I've mentally blocked that idea.

As I stand, something cold brushes my hand under the chair. It feels like a hilt. Excitement washes over me as I tug at it, and it gives way.

"Ha! Gotcha… Oh, shit!" I gasp as I pull out a knife. It's beautiful, with a golden blade and a dragon head emblem on the hilt.

Another knock on the door. "Madam, please, you may come out now."

Right. I should go. I look around the office for a wrapper or anything I could use to wrap the knife. My eyes settles in the crappy content I had emptied from the fashion bag, the golden dress sitting wildly on its own. In a hurry, I pick it up and wrap the blade of the knife, tucking it into my hip, well concealed under my oversized shirt and jacket. I put on the jewelry that accompanied the dress, feeling like a confused hippie.

Then I open the door and welcoming the novel scent that hits me in the gut. "Hi. Sorry I'm late—!" I apologise to the bug guy in front of me, over the loud music. " Oh God I don't feel too well." I lie, swaying on my feet, to be caught by the guard.

He looks me over, clearly wanting to question my outfit but decides against it. Instead, he lifts me into his arms like a child.

"I'll help you get there ma'am..." He promises me.

And I don't even try to protest.