"The slavers are here." Francine Garret licked her lips—she could almost taste the caps. The plan was going perfectly, and now they needed to get the courier out of the casino before her friend came looking for her. She had never dealt with the Omertas before, but she knew that failure was not an option if she wanted to keep on living, which she did. The offer had been out of the blue—why would someone as rich and powerful as Nero Omerta have any interest in a ragtag little courier like her? But the Garrets weren't ones to ask questions before they counted the caps.

"Good. Blindfold her and take her out through the basement door. The caravan should be waiting there with the payment in full. Tell them not to stop until they get to New Vegas cause it'll be their asses on the line, not mine."

James entered the room behind his sister. "Is it really a good idea to be doing business with these…mobsters? We could keep her here, you know. I'm sure she'd make a fine escort."

Francine patted her brother's cheek condescendingly. "Don't you worry, Jamie. It will be well worth the risk. Besides, we have enough whores to go around. Or are you just dying for a chance to get at her yourself?"

James blushed, but was interrupted by the delivery of a briefcase full of caps. "No matter," Francine continued. "She's out of our hair now. Time to stop and smell the success."

Before Dahlia had the chance to catch her breath, more men entered the room and tied a piece of cloth over her eyes. She felt hands lift and carry her down several flights of stairs before chucking her into the wooden floorboards of a moving vehicle. Instinctively, she began thrashing about, moving her body as much as her bondage allowed. She felt her legs connect with something warm and heard someone above her swear loudly. But instead of the kick she expected in retaliation, a wet cloth was pressed up against her face and she blacked out.

Dahlia awoke knowing only that she was dealing with professional slavers. The combination of drugs, gags, bindings, and blindfolds ensured that she was going nowhere—well, except for wherever the slaver caravan was taking her. If only she'd stayed awake, she would at least known how long they had been traveling. A jolt that sent her flying into something hard let her know that they had stopped.

"Get her inside, quick," an unfamiliar voice barked. In response, she was thrown over someone's large shoulder, carried roughly up some stairs, and unceremoniously dumped in the floor. She kept still this time, waiting for whatever would come next.

After the jostling of the slavers was gone, there was silence, and Dahlia began to realize the severity of her situation. There were plenty of people who wanted her dead, and the Garrets had probably sold her to someone with a grudge. So now here she was, most likely awaiting her execution when she should have been sleeping soundly on her lumpy cot next to Boone. Boone…he was probably starting to get worried about her by now.

She could see his eyes, angry and narrow through his sunglasses, his solemn forehead furrowed as he worked on his rifle. How long would he hold out hope for finding her? How many days, weeks, months would he spend in and out of every town, asking for her, before he gave up? Another woman stolen from him by slavers. Not that she was like a wife to him or anything, but she knew how hard it was to go back to living alone.

Just then, the sound of a door opening distracted her from her maladies. This time, the voice sounded familiar...