A/N: I won't be able to update again for a couple weeks. Lots of other projects need my attention. Soooo, here you go. I wrote much of this chapter back in February. I hope you. . . well, maybe 'like' and 'enjoy' are the wrong words. . . I hope you appreciate it.

Bella changed into the clothes her partner set out for her; a pale blue, lace cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. She spritzed her hair with spray and used her large-barreled curling iron to set loose curls around her shoulders. As she reapplied her makeup, her hands shook, making it nearly impossible to keep her lip and eye makeup smooth. Were they being watched? Listened to? Masen hadn't given her any indication that it was safe to relax their performance.

Bella snuck glances at Masen as she worked. He was completely calm. Cool. Running through the motions of grooming and dressing himself as if he was going into the office, not a sociopath's brothel. His attitude gave her confidence. She didn't know what to expect at this dinner, but he probably did. She just needed to remember the plan. Be passive. Be invisible. Follow his commands without question. She scrunched her curls a couple of times, smoothed her dress over her hips and stood by the door, waiting for him.

Masen's phone rang as he was tying his silver bowtie. "Cullen." He held his phone against his shoulder, snapped his fingers at her and beckoned. Bella hurried over with a gait that screamed of conflicting instincts, 'run away' versus 'obey'. As it turned out, he just wanted to attach a leash to her collar. Bella gulped heavily and lifted her hair out of the way, the bare skin on her neck and arms breaking out in goosebumps. Masen was holding onto the leash, but otherwise ignoring her. He nodded in answer to something his caller said, "Got it. Raise it a hundred, no more. Make them work for every penny. . . Yeah. I'm getting ready now. Sorry you can't be here. . . I know. You're earning your commission alright. Next time." He hung up, pocketed his phone and the brass room key, along with the nasty little black fob that activated her collar.

He transformed from Masen to Cullen in a blink. It was chilling to look into her partner's eyes and see no trace of the man she knew and trusted. She felt as if she had stepped into a scene from a horror movie where a loved one is possessed by an evil spirit. His lips turned up into a grim smile. "Okay, little rabbit. Let's see what if these boys are all they're cracked up to be. But I'm warning you, embarrass me, and you'll be begging me to sell you before the night is done. Let's go."

Tottering on too-tall heels, she followed him to the door. When they stepped out into the hallway, Aro appeared, as if by magic.

"And punctual, too! My, my, Mr. Cullen. I'm starting to think you're the perfect man."

"Well, that makes two of us. Left or right?"

Aro doubled over, giggling, with his long-fingered hands braced against his knees. "Oh, my darling man, I think I love you. This way, this way!" The concierge set off down the hall, leading them back toward the main entrance. Occasionally he let out another soft laugh, but the sound was swallowed up almost instantly by the thick carpet.

Bella kept her arms at her side, occasionally taking a quick step to keep some slack in the short leash that ran from the back of her collar to her master's wrist. The light had become so dim that she couldn't even make out the pattern in the carpet. She looked back up at the ceiling and squealed in fright. The eyes of every gargoyle-like carving were starting to glow red.

"What's gotten into you?" Edward Cullen barked, tugging on the chain.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, realizing now that red light was being fed through the fiber optics to illuminate the hallway. The passage was bathed in a murky, pinkish glow.

"Don't hassle the poor thing. I think it's wonderful that she appreciates the artistic effect. I'll have to tell Master Dalmatia. He will be so flattered that you like it!"

Bella's skin was still crawling when they reached the grand entrance. She immediately recognized Zafrina on the other side of the room, towering above the other girls and most of the male guests. Her braids were piled into a beehive atop her head, and she wore a shimmering, gold halter top and mini skirt.

Looking around, Bella was overwhelmed by the number of people that continued to pour through the front door. There must have been fifty or sixty guests already. Afraid that she would give away too much, Bella kept her eyes on people's chests and below, determined to avoid all forms of eye contact. She went where her master steered her, following Aro's lithe form as he slipped through the crowd, occasionally stopping to greet someone or introduce them to Edward Cullen.

Waiters were making the rounds with trays of champagne flutes. Clusters formed around the Volturi's girls. There must have been almost twenty present. Slipping around the perimeter, set apart from the throng by their black suits and militant postures, the Volturi guards kept their eyes on the proceedings.

Mr. Cullen's arm was around her, broadcasting the fact that she was private property, as if her distinctive collar didn't already set her apart. He was chatting up a lawyer while two other men chimed in periodically. A few minutes later, William Gibbs joined them, clapping Edward familiarly on the shoulder. That earned him admiring glances from the other three men who had already decided that Edward Cullen was a man of importance. Bella was making a study of their shoes when a gong sounded, signalling for the crowd to migrate to the dining room.

They followed the flow, caught in the press like so many cattle. Masen's left hand cupped her upper arm, his thumb briefly stroking her shoulder, the only reassurance he could give her. Nothing terrible was going to happen tonight. Not to her, at least.

They took their seats at one of twelve long, rectangular tables. The tables were set in slanting pairs, like the chevrons on a military uniform. 'V's. Of course. In the far corner, a grand piano sat on a slightly elevated platform. A man sat, his back to the crowd. He played an easy, swinging jazz tune that fit comfortably beneath the buzz of conversation and laughter. As the other guests located their name tags, Bella tried to memorize as many names as possible, matching the person to the name whenever she could without allowing her gaze to rest on any one spot for long. Tanya's intelligence was thorough, but she had only tied a third of the guests near her to the Volturi in her database. The majority were unfamiliar or foreign.

There were plenty of visual distractions. The dining room was at least sixty by one hundred feet. The coffered ceilings soared high overhead, lit by four crystal chandeliers which cast a sparkling glow over the assembly. Each place was set with real silver flatware, the soft, milky glow of the silver set off by the blood-red silk napkins. The wine was served in black goblets, cut like crystal but completely opaque.

"Dearest friends, old and new, welcome, welcome!" Aro called out in a high voice, standing in the center of the room. He turned as he spoke, taking in everyone's smiling faces. "Mr. Volturi extends his apologies for bowing out of tonight's festivities at the last second. Alas, pressing business has yanked him away from us." He pouted, and there were disappointed groans throughout the room. "There now. It's okay. He implores you to take full advantage of our cunning chef's latests culinary achievements. But. . ." and he paused dramatically, "Don't forget to save some room for dessert!" He punctuated his exclamation with a lewd thrust of his hips, and sat down amid the cheers and laughter of the crowd.

Right away, waiters began to set small plates before each guest. Bella held her hands in her lap, waiting for her master's cues. The white dish had a delicate, scalloped edge. In the center, a single inverted mushroom cap overflowed with a fragrant blend of bread crumbs, shredded poultry, shallots and chopped herbs.

"Quail-stuffed portobellos. Would you like fresh truffle, sir?" the waiter asked her master.

"Just a touch."

The waiter scraped fine flecks of white truffle over Mr. Cullen's appetizer, his gloved hands holding the precious fungus between the tips of his thumb and pointer finger. "And your girl?"

"Might as well," he shrugged.

The musky scent was dizzying, almost overpowering. Bella breathed shallowly as the waiter moved on to the next guest, asking the same question. The seat on her right remained vacant.

"Eat," came the command, so Bella lifted the ornate hors d'oeuvres fork and picked at the food in front of her. It was a small serving, but the flavors were so strong that she was grateful when the waiter removed her plate and replaced it with a clear vegetable soup. Tiny shrimp and curls of leeks swam in the golden broth. Again, following her master's lead, she ate everything in front of her.

At the table near the door, a crowd of young but well-dressed men led the room in both foul language and raucous behavior. Two scantily dressed girls sat amid the six young men. The animals pawed and groped them as they ate and drank, seemingly entertained by their ability to accomplish several levels of debauchery at once. When one of the men pushed a girl under the table to kneel between his legs, Bella had to look away.

The third course was little more than three ounces of white fish, laid out on a bed of escarole. A paper-thin slice of lemon lay, almost translucent, over the fish. Bella tried to divine the motives behind Mr. Volturi's show of excess. The presentation of every course, the impeccable service, the constant flow of expensive wines. . . his guests were experiencing an European gastronomic experience unlike anything they could find anywhere else in the country. He was setting the bar so high that these men would never find a more completely hedonistic experience in their life. Perhaps the first step to commanding their loyalty was earning their admiration.

The next course was served in a tiny dish. It was nothing more than a paper-thin slice of meat, bathed in tart red juice with a halved cherry balanced on top. Bella watched Mr. Cullen eat it in a single bit, a look of astonished pleasure on his face. He caught one of the waiters by the sleeve and pulled him closer, whispering something into the young man's ear. Bella couldn't hear what he said, but the waiter walked directly to Aro and bent close to pass on the message. Aro's eyes lit up and her popped up from his seat to bow toward Mr. Cullen with a flourish. Cullen raised his wine glass in reply.

Something along the lines of 'My compliments to the chef', she guessed. Even Edward Cullen kissed ass, it seemed. The noise level rose in sync with the quantity of wine consumed. With it, the piano music became louder, bawdier.

William Gibbs, seated two tables over, called out and waved for Edward to join him. He stood, set his napkin down on his seat, leaned over her and hissed, "Stay," before wandering over to his business associate. Gibbs made a show of introducing Cullen around his table.

Bella picked at the tiny morsel of veal which she discovered was soaked in sour cherry wine. The man across from her had avoided looking at her while Edward Cullen was there to see him, but now that she sat alone, he blatantly stared at her and tried to strike up a conversation. Bella set her fork down and traded it for her wine goblet, holding it above her lap and gazing into the dark liquid. The same waiter reappeared, removing the plate with one hand and setting down a fresh fork and steak knife with the other. They put sharp weapons within reach of their captives? Were the Volturi that confident?

A heavy-set man with yellow-gold hair and quivering jowls pulled out the empty chair to her right. "Well, hello, darling. I don't think we've met before."

Bella cringed as the man's humid breath washed over her ear and cheek. He reached across with one meaty hand, three gold rings reflecting the light from the chandelier. His fingers brushed her hair back over her shoulder, then he planted his hand on her right thigh. Feeling sick to her stomach, she raised her wine glass and sipped carefully. She didn't allow herself to visibly react even though her insides were quaking as his hand slipped higher. Thankfully, Masen stepped up behind her right then, clearing his throat loudly.

The man looked over his shoulder and flinched. He sheepishly withdrew his hand and asked, "What do you call her? She's ravishing. Makes me wish I was a younger man so I could really get my money's worth out of the lovely things." He let out a wet, throaty chuckle that made the soup in her stomach curdle.

Bella envisioned herself picking up her steak knife and skewering his fat hand to the table. She couldn't do it, but the mental picture was very satisfying. She was able to relax a little when Masen reclaimed his seat on her left. He didn't reply to the other man, he just laid his napkin back in his lap and reached for his water glass.

"The name's Richard. I'm late, of course," the older man introduced himself to Masen, talking across Bella in a loud voice. "Traffic, you know. But it looks like I'm in time for the main course. Steak tonight, eh? Always the best food, the best wine. . . and the most beautiful women. Our friends sure know just how to make a man feel special, eh?"

Bella kept her eyes on her lap as the servers in tuxedos set out the main course. The slaves' portions were small, but still looked delicious. The steak on her plate was glistening with garlic butter and chopped fresh herbs. It sat, bathing in its juices, next to a modest serving of mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables. The scents instantly triggered a Pavlovian response.

Masen picked up his own silverware. He gave her a single-word command, "Eat."

She followed his order without hesitation, cutting a small corner off her steak and lifting it to her mouth. She paused mid-chew when Richard started talking again.

He was gesturing with both hands, his knife and fork hovering above his untouched plate with its enormous steak and heaping sides. "So dainty. I love it! Did you train this one? Did you bring her to sell or trade? Because I tell you, I've always been one to rent not buy, but a well-trained kitten like her, I could really see-"

Bella heard a swish and a metallic click on her left a split second before Masen's arm shot across her plate and buried a hand-forged folding knife in the loud man's steak. Richard's voice cut off with a strangled, choking sound.

Masen unceremoniously lifted the dripping slab of rare-grilled beef, dropped it onto his own plate, and wordlessly resumed eating. Richard's mouth gaped. Bella was hard pressed to keep a straight face. With casual, gentle strokes, Masen dissected the steak bite by bite, the easy glide of steel through cooked flesh an eloquent demonstration of the blade's keen edge.

Around them, conversation had come to a complete stop. Richard's gurgling protestations were finally cut off when Masen set the knife down, carefully dabbed his mouth with his napkin and turned to face the older man. His voice rang out, colder than ice, in the sudden stillness of the dining room. "Hello, Dick. My name is Edward. And if you ever lay a hand on one of my possessions without my authorization again, I will take much more than the food off your plate as payment." Bella was the only one who continued to eat and drink, eyes down and timidly obedient. The rest of the guests mumbled and murmured in confusion.

Aro's delighted cackle cut through the buzz. "Oh, Mr. Cullen. You do have a flare for the dramatic! Bravo, bravo! Don't worry, dear Richard. We'll grill you up another steak, pronto!" With his hands on his hips, he scolded the other guests. "Well, don't sit there goggling like fish, people. Eat! Eat!"

The other guests did gradually return to their food and conversation. On her right, Richard seemed to have lost both his appetite and his tongue. When the promised replacement meal arrived, he picked at it timidly before burying his face in his wine glass.

Bella kept her eyes mostly down, but she snuck glances up and down the table and around the room, noting faces both familiar and strange. Next to Aro sat a tiny girl with blond hair. She was dressed provocatively in denim boy shorts and a tiny white lace bra. Bella's eyes watered. The girl could have been anywhere from 10 to 16 years old, but by her flat chest, narrow hips and large, limpid eyes, Bella was certain she wasn't much older than twelve.

The girl had a sweet but pouty face. As Bella watched, she got up from her seat and climbed into Aro's lap, curling up like a kitten with her blonde head tucked under his chin. Aro greeted her with an indulgent smile, wrapped his arms loosely around her nearly nude body and kept talking to the man beside him. His slender fingers stroked up and down her back. Just like a cat.

Bella set her fork down and reached for her wine glass again. She tried to commit each face to memory. The waiters, the guests and the captive girls. She wanted their images burned into her mind. She worked her way around the tables, frustrated that so many people were sitting with their backs to her. Patience, she chided herself. So far, three of the girls were possible matches for the missing girls in Special Agent Mahardy's file.

Bella became a little bolder. Nobody was paying her any attention. Masen was deep in conversation with a Japanese businessman who sat across from him. Their conversation was stilted and broken, but no less animated for the language barrier.

Bella's breath caught and her hand jerked, almost spilling her wine. She had inadvertently locked eyes with a man. Flat, serpentine yellow eyes, too washed out to be called hazel, stared back at her. Bella called on Marie's nature to take the lead. Her eyes widened and she shrank back, but she didn't look away. She couldn't. The man's hair was stringy and blond, receding on top. A mouth too wide for his narrow jaw twisted into a feral smile. . . a smile that turned her bones to jelly.

Hypnotized and terrified, Bella weakly set her glass down. The man stood up, pulling an emaciated girl along with him. Her dark hair was cropped short and uneven, almost to her scalp in places. She was wearing a plain white bra and cotton underwear, but both were so frayed and filthy that they were mottled gray and beige. Her ribs stretched her opalescent skin, and her hip bones jutted out alarmingly. It was horrific. Bella found herself staring down advanced starvation while surrounded by an excess of food.

Then the girl looked up. Too sharp features. Too large eyes. But Bella knew those eyes. Mary Alice. . .

Bella looked back at the place where they had been sitting. The man's plate still held the remains of an enormous meal. They had served him so much that he couldn't even finish it. The plate beside him was pristine and white. It had come straight from the cupboard to the table. Empty. Other girls had been eating. She'd seen them. Was Mary Alice being punished for something?

Exhilarated that they had found her, but horrified by Mary Alice's condition, Bella was trembling with emotion. Hatred for the man set fire to her nerves. She closed her eyes to hide it. He was coming her way.

"Mr. . . Cullen, is it?"

"Who's asking?" Edward Cullen replied in a distracted tone. He had been in the midst of a conversation with the man on his left.

"You can call me James."

"Which means that isn't your real name."

"Is Cullen yours?"

Mr. Cullen smiled condescendingly. "What can I do for you, James?"

"Actually, I came to offer you a bit of advice. You must be new to this game. You keep feeding your bitch like that, and she's going to get ideas into her head. She's going to think she can fight you. Maybe even run away."

"If I want to fuck a scarecrow, I'll move to Iowa," Mr. Cullen sneered, his eyes skimming James' companion. Bella flinched. Mary Alice didn't move at all. She didn't seem to care that they were talking about her. Her eyes were looking through them. Seeing what, Bella had no idea.

"So you like it when they fight back."

"Maybe I do," Mr. Cullen agreed with a smirk.

"It's a lot harder to keep a low profile with a black eye," James taunted, obviously seeing the trace evidence of bruising on the newcomer's face. "Think about it. I've been doing this for years. I know what I'm talking about."

"I must say, it's always nice to hear from the experts."

As with everything Edward Cullen said, the words were polite, but the tone was dripping disdain and sarcasm.

James sneered in response and turned away, yanking Mary Alice along behind him by the thin leash that hung from her dilapidated leather collar. The other men seated close to them eyed Cullen. Twice in one night, he had gone toe-to-toe with men they knew. . . and he had stomped all over them. Not only that, but their host's spokesman hadn't batted an eye. He'd even congratulated Edward Cullen for his audacity. Hours ago, less than five people in the room knew him. His reputation was quickly growing to titanic proportions.

As people finished their steaks, the waiters began to make their rounds with the vegetable course, cold asparagus in a balsamic-sesame vinaigrette. Bella kept her eyes on her plate as she carefully cut up sections of asparagus. She didn't want her admiration for her partner to show.

The gong sounded again, signalling the end of the meal. Servers had placed trays of petit fours out on a buffet, along with hot coffee and spirits. Some men grabbed smalls plates and coffee cups while others trickled from the room with girls in tow. The Japanese man that Masen had been conversing with approached Aro, who placed the blonde girl's hand in his. She slipped daintily from the concierge's lap to follow her assignation from the room.

Shocked, disgusted and sick at heart, Bella sat stock still in her seat and waited for Masen to make his next move.

It wasn't what she expected.

Edward Cullen turned her chair almost 180 degrees with a quick yank that snapped her head around. He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. But he didn't stop there. His fingertips hooked beneath her jaw bone and continued to pull up, forcing her out of her chair. She wobbled and tried to steady herself, but the chair and table were too far away. Her fingers wrapped around his larger wrist, trying to take some of the stabbing pressure off of her chin and throat.

"That asshole could be right, but I like a little meat on you," he mused with a speculative smile. His free hand dropped down and squeezed her right butt cheek.

Marie whimpered, but knew better than to pull away.

"I like you with a little fight. A bit of spark. It makes life more. . . interesting."

His mouth came down on hers without warning. His lips and tongue were rough. He dug the thumb and middle finger of his right hand into her jaw joint, brutally forcing her lips apart. Marie's fingernails scrabbled at his wrist and forearm, drawing blood. He laughed into her mouth.

"I do hope you try to run again, little rabbit. Catching you always feels so good. Come along now," he commanded, trusting her to fall in line behind him as he left the dining room. He didn't need the leash. He had fear.

Hoots and jeers pummeled her back. Bella was feeling faint. She breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to ward off the fog that crept around the fringes of her vision. This was definitely another world, and it had a name. She was in hell.

I seem to have gained a whole slew of new readers over the course of the last couple chapters. I have no idea where you all came from, but I sure am happy that you're here! I am curious. . . how many guys are reading this story? My husband has only made through chapter four. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Oh, yeah, and I actually like Iowa. Sorry guys. No offense intended. Edward Cullen is a bigot and an asshole.