Chapter 1The Missing Wife

Six months ago, my wife vanished without a trace.

Six months later, I watched her get bought by another man, like some kind of toy.

It all started with that trip she took.

* * *

My wife’s name was Sarah. Twenty-nine years old, with looks and a figure that could give some B-list actresses a run for their money. The kind of drop-dead gorgeous woman who turns every head on the street, twice.

That day, Sarah said a girlfriend had invited her on a trip, and she'd be back in a couple of days.

I didn't ask where she was going, just told her to be safe. I even Venmo'd her five hundred bucks.

But three days later, her phone went straight to voicemail. Then, nothing. Complete radio silence.

I rushed down to the police station to file a missing person report.

The officer told me the last place her phone pinged was at LAX.

Based on my description of the situation, the cops guessed Sarah might have ended up somewhere south of the border, maybe Mexico, maybe further.

Hearing "south of the border" immediately brought to mind all those horror stories you see online – cartel kidnappings, organ harvesting, human trafficking, electric shocks, women being abused… terrifying stuff.

That day, practically choking back tears, I begged the police to do whatever it took to bring her back.

But they told me they could only do their best. After all, nobody knew for sure if she'd really gone down there.

A month later, a video clip from my buddy Nate confirmed the police's hunch.

Sarah was definitely somewhere bad, caught up in something dangerous.

It felt like I’d been plunged into ice water. My wife, always so careful, so cautious – how could she end up in a place like that?

The video was maybe twenty seconds long.

Through the shaky camera work, you could tell it was a big casino.

At least twenty gambling tables visible. Gamblers totally engrossed in their games.

And there was Sarah, wearing a skimpy black bikini, bunny ears perched on her head.

Smiling the whole time as she dealt cards at one of the tables.

Seeing that, one term immediately jumped into my head: casino bunny dealer.

Sarah hated gambling with a passion. How the hell did she end up dealing cards in some shady casino down south?

No, impossible, this isn't real, I thought. But it was unmistakably Sarah.

What made my blood boil, though, was seeing guys openly groping her.

Shoving cash into her bikini top. Slapping her ass. Filthy grins plastered on their faces.

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. I was shaking with rage.