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The worst part was waiting for our turn.

Patrick and I had rented Neeve for thirty minutes. I asked for her to be tied up with ropes to a wooden board because I wanted to throw knives at her.

It was Target Practice Tuesday.

I wasn’t allowed to kill her. I’d even signed paperwork that if I accidentally killed her, then I would take her place.

Naturally, Jessica signed with a wide smile plastered across her delicate face because she was just as sick as they were.

Xeniya wasn’t.

I tapped my foot, waiting to be called, knowing that despicable and horrible things were happening as I waited.

Without weapons, though, I couldn’t act. And disappearing in front of everyone would only announce that we were at war.

I needed weapons and the element of surprise if I was going to do this.

Luckily, Patrick had managed to get us an early time slot, which worked in my favor for more than one reason.

It limited how long Neeve would be left at their mercy, and it kept all these men gathered here, waiting.

And I had wonderful plans for them.

Thirty minutes later, they called our names and escorted us into a room where Neeve was tied to the wooden board.

She wore one of the infamous diaphanous dresses that left nothing to the imagination. Green—to match her hair—and completely see-through.

I shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the onslaught of memories threatening to overwhelm me.

I had a mission.

Save the girl.

This was no time to break down.

Drawing a deep breath, I let the music slide over my skin. I’d asked them to play my playlist throughout the compound while I took my turn with the girl. It was a badass woman playlist, the kind you’d work out to or fantasize about murdering men to.

But I wasn’t going to pretend.

Oh, this was going to be a blast.

I opened my eyes, jumped up and down with a squeal, then ran to the table holding my knives. They’d given me far too many.

Big mistake.

“Babe, isn’t this wonderful?” I asked, my voice dripping with false cheer.

Cameras streamed everything live to the sick fuckers paying to watch.

“Yes, it’s so great,” Patrick said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I can’t wait!” I squealed, picking up a knife.

Turning it over, I tested its weight in my hand.

Lovely.

I hated myself for what came next, but the show had to be convincing. Knife in hand, I skipped over to Neeve and stopped in front of her. She glared down at me.