Page 10 of Trapped By the Cartel

I couldn't help but find it absurd that my laugh drew more attention than their nakedness.

"This is insane!" I exclaimed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Utterly and completely insane! You expect me to just… stroll around in the middle of this place? Surrounded by half-naked men? It's like a fever dream! A very, very strange fever dream."

I stopped laughing abruptly, the reality of my situation crashing back down on me. The amusement evaporated, replaced by a rising tide of panic and anger.

This was no joke. They really had me trapped here.

"And you expect me to just… accept this?" I demanded, turning to Damon, my voice trembling with frustration. "Thisis ridiculous! This is insane! I'm not some pet to be paraded around your… your naked club!"

My eyes darted around the patio, taking in the casually lounging men, and a sudden wave of claustrophobia washed over me. I truly, really was trapped, confined within these gilded walls, surrounded by strangers who were barely clothed. On top of all that, their nakedness was the most absurd factor.

"I don't want to be your prisoner," I protested weakly, my voice cracking slightly. "I didn't ask to be here! You took me from the forest! You kidnapped me!"

I glared at Damon, his amusement unwavering. His eyes were still sparkling with that infuriating mix of enjoyment and possessiveness. He really was enjoying seeing my outburst, wasn't he?

"As I said before, you're not a prisoner, Elliot," he said calmly, as if addressing a child throwing a tantrum. The thought made me furious. "You're a guest. A very special guest."

"A guest who can't leave?" I retorted. "A guest who has been stripped of his freedom and forced into this… this bizarre situation? That's not a guest, Damon. That's a hostage!"

He understood that and we both knew it, but he still wasn't going to admit it. He just wanted to keep toying with me.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain control, but the frustration was bubbling up inside me like a volcano about to erupt.

"And for the love of all that is holy," I added, gesturing wildly at his naked body, "put some clothes on!"

The demand felt strangely liberating, a small act of defiance against this surreal situation. It wasn't about the nudity itself, it was about the power dynamic, the blatant disregard for my boundaries, and the sense of being reduced to an object of amusement.

"Put some clothes on! Please!" I repeated. "Just… cover up a little!"

Was that really so difficult?

Damon stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The playful smirk slowly faded from his lips, replaced by a flicker of something else—surprise, perhaps? Or maybe… amusement. He found me so funny, didn't he?

"Demanding, are you?" He said. "I hadn't realized that you were going to be quite so assertive and sensitive."

Sensitive? He didn't know anything about me.

He paused, studying me with those piercing blue eyes. "Very well," he said finally, a mischievous glint returning to his gaze. "If it's what you want."

Yes, it was what I wanted, but was he really going to give it to me?

He stood up suddenly, turning towards the manor.

"You're serious? You're just going to… go inside?" I asked, incredulous. "To get clothes? While I'm standing here, freezing and feeling like I've stumbled into some bizarre, naked cult convention?"

And I knew what he was going to tell me. He was going to tell me to follow him. As if that could solve anything.

He simply shrugged, a gesture that oozed careless confidence. "Efficiency isn't always immediate, Elliot. Patience is a virtue." He then turned and began walking towards the mansion, beckoning me to follow. "Besides, it wouldn't do to catch a chill before we get properly acquainted with our surroundings, so follow me."

I was right.

Regardless, I reluctantly trailed after him, muttering under my breath about the absurdity of it all. The sheer laziness of it! "So, what's inside? More naked men sculpting marble statues? Do you have a fully clothed butler serving champagne?"

He chuckled, his voice echoing through the sprawling gardens. "Something like that. We prefer to call it 'refined living'." He paused, glancing back at me with a knowing smirk. "And yes, we do have a rather excellent sommelier."

The interior of the mansion was even more opulent than I'd imagined. Vast hallways stretched out before us, lined with priceless artwork and illuminated by enormous chandeliers. The air hummed with quiet activity—hushed conversations, the clinking of glasses, the soft strains of classical music drifting from somewhere deep within the house. It felt like a museum, but lived in, and quite lavishly at that.

"This is… excessive," I said, not daring to raise my voice.

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