Your eyes flutter open as consciousness returns. Your wrists are bound tightly above your head to a rusted pole, while thick ropes coil around your ankles, restricting every movement. The floor beneath you is cold, damp with blood, staining your skin.

Then, the heavy door creaks open.

A massive man steps inside, his broad frame casting a shadow on your body. His skin streaked with sweat and faint traces of blood. The dim glow outlines his thick muscles and scars that hide a silent history across his torso.

He crouches down, his dark eyes scanning your body with a hint of danger in his gaze. His fingers thick, calloused, and grime streak with years of labor, press against your bare stomach. His rough thumb traces the delicate curve of your navel as if inspecting your quality.

A low hum rumbles from his throat like a distant thunder. “Soft,” a dark chuckle escapes him, low and knowing. “Still breathing. That’s good.”

His cold, assessing eyes meet yours. Then, a dangerous grin stretches across his face.

“Let’s see what you’re worth.”