Chapter 1

April

It looms ominously before me, and I fight to hold back a sob.

As soon as I see the shiny black door, my feet start to drag and I'm struck by how empty and silent my surroundings are. There's no one around this seemingly demure and rich neighborhood. Everyone's at their fancy jobs, working hard for their comfortable lives, and the upscale club is closed to the public right now.

There's no sign telling what the place is because there doesn't need to be. If you know, you know. And I'm completely aware of The Black Door and what it is. What's waiting for me on the other side will change both my life and my uncle's. His feet aren't dragging at all and he's got that look on his face that tells me I better hurry up my steps.

I just can't make myself do it. All the preparation, the coaching, the threats. I have to go in there and play a part, but my feet are trying to rebel just a little bit. Uncle Harris hates rebellion.

His hand grips around my arm, his thumb and forefinger digging all the way to the bone. Tears well up in my eyes, which surprises even me. As if tears will do anything.

"You'd better not cry," he hisses, even though no one is around to hear. "You think you'd be happy to finally be able to repay me."

I know it's futile, but I try again. For the thousandth, maybe the millionth time. "Let me get a job," I plead.

Ever since I graduated high school I've been begging for the chance. Looking for an opportunity to slip away and make any kind of money that would get Amelia and me away from him. He keeps a sharp eye on both of us, though. Our apartment is no better than a prison cell. The number of times I've wondered if a prison cell might be better is higher than how often I've begged to get a job.

He only sneers and pulls me closer to the door. "Do you think you can make enough at any job you're qualified for to pay me back for what I've done for you and your sister?"

The insult about my uselessness doesn't even register past my panic. "As long as it takes," I say, really digging in with my heels now. "I'll work three jobs, give you every penny I make. I'll keep helping out at home, too."

By that, I mean keeping his low-level thieving ring running smoothly: file serial numbers off things that shouldn't have them, pry gems out of stolen rings, and put cookies on the table when his cronies come over to squabble about their share. But my only real goal is to keep Amelia out of it at all costs.

Uncle Harris leans in close, jerking me hard toward the door. His other hand rises and I blink but don't flinch. I don't think he'll hit me. He's been laying off the last couple of weeks, so I won't have too many bruises for tonight.

His cruel, thin lips curl into a chilling smile. He doesn't have to hit me to make me do what he wants. "Seven years," he says, his face inches from mine. "It's been seven years since my deadbeat brother left me with you two brats and not a single dime to cover the costs. How do you think you can ever hope to pay me back? Not just the money, but the time?" The hand that isn't digging into my elbow reaches and curls around the heavy brass door handle. "No, April. I don't want a trickle of any minimum-wage jobs you might be able to scrape together. Not when you can make me rich."

Cool air wafts out from the darkened club and he gives me one last warning squeeze as he pushes me through the door. I don't have time to feel sad because of the distant memory of my father. He wasn't much better than Uncle Harris, but he'd never have done this. His smiles were kinder, his touch gentle and at least somewhat fatherly.

I harden my heart as we make our way through the front part of the nightclub and passed the bar. I can barely take anything in as I fight to get into character. There's no way out for me, but once this is over, I'll find a way to get Amelia out before her time arrives. Even if it comes down to killing Uncle Harris and finding out if a real prison cell is better than living with him.

We enter into a brightly lit hallway. There's an industrial kitchen to one side and a row of doors to the other. One is marked private, another stage entrance, then there are a few innocuous offices that look like they could belong in a normal office building. But I know what they really are.

Hell. I'm in Hell.

The woman in one of them calls us in, a brisk smile on her business-like face. She introduces herself as Ms. Calloway, the manager of the place. She reaches across her desk to shake my hand and hers is warm and soft, as if she's human.

"What makes you want to take part in our little auction?" she asks.

Holy crap, a job interview? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Uncle Harris tensing. No, she's just making sure I want to be here. Maybe some women want to sell off their virginity to the highest bidder. Who knows? But Uncle Harris has drilled it into me that it's essential I play the part right.

I breathe out and smile, making my eyes wide and full of, what I hope comes across as, excitement. More than anything, I want Ms. Calloway to see through me and put a stop to this, but then what will happen later on tonight at home? Not just to me, but to Amelia?

"I'm looking for adventure," I say. "There's so many things I want to do, and they all take money, right?"

We all laugh as she studies my driver's license. "And you're over eighteen… This is your legal guardian?"

She's looking at Uncle Harris, who nods, his smile relaxed and pleasant. I jump back in.

"And my best friend," I say, forcing back bile. "He's just here for moral support."

"If this is really what she wants, then I can't stop her," he says. "But I can make sure she gets a fair deal and is completely safe."

Ms. Calloway nods. "All of our clients are vetted. We've never had a single complaint, and we have quite a few repeat participants. April, you'll get forty percent—"

"Just forty?" Uncle Harris butts in. "Surely that's negotiable."

She turns to him coolly. "It's not. But you can be assured the amount will far exceed her expectations."

"I'm fine with it," I say. She pushes the paperwork I'm supposed to sign across the desk to me.

There's a tiny thrill of being in charge for a second, even if it's not real, and even if I'll pay for it later. This is supposed to be all about me right now, and for once, Uncle Harris isn't going to get his way. It doesn't seem to register to him and he clears his throat to argue.

Ms. Calloway's brow furrows and she rests her hand on the paperwork before I can take it. "April?" she asks. "Is this something you're really interested in being part of?"

She looks at Uncle Harris, who finally looks away, remembering what's at stake. He can't act like he's in charge or she'll know I'm being coerced.

"If you're sure you're getting a fair shake," he says as if we walked out of here right now he wouldn't explode with enough rage to shake the Brooklyn Bridge on the other side of the city. "That's all I'm here for."

I can't make out what the papers say, and it doesn't matter anyway. That minuscule thrill of power is gone, replaced with a fear that freezes my hand on the pen. I stiffly sign my name, keeping my head down to hide the tears I can't seem to blink back. With another deep breath, I gush about how excited I am. How does she not hear how robotic I sound? I guess I'm a better actress than I thought.

There's some more chat, and a few laughs, but I'm no longer there. Panic is crashing around in me like a wild animal caught in a net. It's all I can do to stand up, shake her hand, and smile while I tell her I'll see her again tonight for the auction.

This is it. I've known for months now, but always thought there would be a way out. It's never been so real.

Ms. Calloway directs us toward a back exit and as we leave, I see a man standing near the door. He catches my eye and for a brief second I come back to the moment, my fear and desperation receding at the way his brow furrows over his deep blue eyes in the most beautiful face I've ever seen on a man. He takes up almost the entire hallway, his broad shoulders and hard pecs stretching his black t-shirt taut across his tall frame.

Our eyes meet and the concern in his is palpable. Is he an angel sent to save me? Golden blond hair falls in waves almost to those big shoulders, certainly making him look like one. His piercing eyes seem brave enough to stand up to someone even as awful as my uncle. I must have stopped dead in the hall without realizing it, locked in this man's gaze.

Uncle Harris reaches to shove me along before I can somehow ruin everything, only stopping short of renewing his death grip on my arm when he sees the angel's eyes turn to him. His perfect face is now a mask of scrutiny and a muscle works in his jaw. He turns toward Uncle Harris, his big hands tightening at his sides. He's going to do it; he's going to save me.

"We've got lots to do, April," Uncle Harris says in his jovial voice that has fooled so many in the past. "Let's get going, hon."

I wait for my angel to swoop in and smite my wicked uncle, but he only frowns and reaches to open the back door for us. Disappointment hits like a sledgehammer to my middle as Uncle Harris guides me through the door, and I tear my gaze from the beautiful man.

No one who could work at a place like this could be anything other than a devil, no matter how angelic he looks. My last shred of hope is gone. No one will save me.