Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“This client is very prestigious in certain circles,” he continues before I can answer. “If the performance is just right, then it’s very good news for me.”
He didn’t have to make the threat of the opposite if it isn’t up to expectations. I already know how bad he can make my life, and I feel queasy, knowing that as bad as things are for me, there are people here who have it much worse. I hate being grateful for what little crumbs of civility they offer me, and more so, I hate the way I fucking eat them up, ready to ask for more if that’s what they want of me.
Good news for him means more money, more clients, more people whispering about how incredible he is. I swear the man would suck his own dick as a reward if he was capable.
Having a good performance, and getting more clients, also means more men and women will be hurt. They’ll need to increase production, and none of it will be done with consent.
I want to ask which of his men will play the male role, but I know better. I wish I could request anyone but Pirro because he’s the most volatile. He’s the one most likely to leave the worst injuries behind when he’s done. Raul would see it as questioning his authority, something he never hesitates to affirm.
“I’ll fight,” I assure him, giving him a weak smile if anything to keep from crying.
Refusing, or telling him I don’t have the energy any longer to give him what he wants, isn’t an option, and I don’t do it to save someone else the pain. I can only look out for myself, and hope my efforts protect Alani.
I can only hope the guy who is cast as my attacker will simply fuck me, maybe slap me in the face a time or two, rather than cutting me or biting away pieces of my flesh. The long-healed wound on my shoulder itches with the thought.
“I knew you still had it in you,” he says, in a way that would be almost fatherly if it weren’t for the context of our conversation.
Before he can walk away, the phone in his pocket begins to vibrate. My heart rate doubles because I know it has to be Alani calling back, again. I plead with the man, hoping the look in my eyes is enough to give me what I want.
He lifts his head only an inch, but I fully understand what he’s trying to convey. He holds every ounce of power. This entire organization is his to command, and that includes me.
He pulls the phone from his pocket, showing me that DON’T FORGET is lighting up the screen. For a split second, I consider how cruel the man could be, but instead of silencing it and shoving it back into his pocket, he hands it over.
I reach for it, my heart breaking when he connects the call and places it to his ear, issuing a greeting in Spanish as he answers it.
Knowing my sister hears his voice makes my skin crawl. It feels like a violation, despite the hundreds of miles that separate the two of them.
He nods as he listens to her, a smile I want to scratch from his face pulling up the corners of his mouth as he speaks in broken English, as if the man isn’t as fluent in the language as I am.
There’s a glimmer of pride in his voice when he pulls the phone from his face and hands it back in my direction. He can see the fear in my eyes, and I know instantly it’s what he was searching for.
I don’t even have to pretend I’m breathless when I press the phone to my ear.
“Alani?”
“Is that man your boyfriend? Is he what’s keeping you away for so long?”
I want to break down and cry, wondering how many confessions I could get out before he rips the phone from my hand.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“So you just happen to be standing right beside him when he answers the pay phone?”
She hasn’t questioned me much over the last couple of months. I owe that to always having been honest with her before my abduction, even when it meant hurting her feelings or telling her something she would never want to hear. Like the night our parents died, and I had to pick her up from a friend’s house with the bad news that our lives were changed forever.
“I was waiting in line. Figured I’d try one more time before going back to camp.”
She makes a sound that says she understands and that she thinks I’m full of shit.
I pray she settles on believing the lie. The last thing I need her doing is asking questions I can’t answer or, worse yet, trying to figure out exactly where I am.