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When I hear the door open, I don’t move. There’s no point. They’ll show their faces eventually. They always do.

And when the bag is lifted, I have a mind to say something cunning. Like “Surprise” or “Here’s Johnny.” But I don’t. While I can handle a beating, I’m not dumb enough to ask for one.

The phone pointed at me is new. I look away when I catch sight of it. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me, not completely. I see the red light. Not sure if it’s to give the video to someone or just for their own enjoyment to look back on.

“Look. Proof that you’re not as untouchable as you think.”

I don’t speak. I’m not even looking at him, just the floor. Four men came in, but the recording is for someone else. Someone they think will care. Good luck with that.

“You took something from me. Now I’ll take something from you. You’re not untouchable, Hounds.”

The last word has me looking up. Not at the camera, but at the man who spoke. He’s older than the other three. Thick hair, full beard, and a mustache. Gray throughout. Younger than Ruby’s dad, but not by much. He has muscle, just like the others, but he’s not the biggest. That goes to the guy by the door with his arms crossed. He’s as big as the damn thing he’s holding up.

They all have vests on, but other than the light swinging above my head, the rest is dark. I can make out their features but not their name patches. Not even their club name is visible in the low light.

The one holding the camera is smaller, if that’s a thing, compared to the rest. Stoic, but getting close. Close enough to see all emotion drained from his eyes.

And the last one? All I see are teeth, smiling wide as he hops from one foot to the other. He keeps coming close and backing away. He’s unhinged, and I fear him more than the others.

But the man in front of me is clearly in charge. He’s running the game.

And the one with the bad intel.

“You’re going to need to get your money back,” I mutter, looking away for a moment, trying to keep my eyes on the jumping one as he moves out of my line of sight.

“What’d you say?” the one in charge asks, leaning close, and I see his vest name: Psycho.

Awesome. My luck is getting better by the minute.

“I said, whoever you paid to get intel, you need to get your money back.”

“And why is that?”

I shrug. Well, as much as I can with my arms tied to the chair. “The Hounds don’t give a shit about me.”

The man by the door snorts. “She lies.”

I look around at all of them and directly at the four walls caging me in. “Why would I lie?”

The guy takes a step away from the door. “The Hounds are stupid cunts, but they don’t let just anyone into their compound. You were walking out of their place. You belong to someone. Don’t care who, just that you’re theirs.”

“Now, now, Demon, let her speak,” Psycho says with a lazy grin before looking back at me with raised eyebrows. “Got some issues with the Hounds, huh? Care to share?”

“Demon? Seriously?” I wait for them to laugh, but they don’t. “Who the hell are you people?”

“We ask the questions,” Cameraman barks, and I flinch back at the quickness.

He’s right. I know this game. I know how to play it. I was letting my curiosity get the better of me. Something I need to lose if I plan to stay alive.

“Okay,” I say with a lick of my lips.

“Who do you belong to?” Demon asks.

“No one.”

I saw the hit coming before the jumping bean even made his move. They’re making a video. No way my blood won’t be spilled on it.

“Tell us,” Psycho says in a gentle voice, as if that would make it any less true that I already did.