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)
He rolls his hand in front of him, telling me to hurry up.
“I have to go. There are—”
“Other people waiting to use the phone,” she grumbles. “Talk to you next week.”
The line goes dead, but Pirro checks to make sure when I pass the phone to him, before sliding it back into the front pocket of his jeans.
“It’s time to go to work,” he says, standing at the end of the bed.
There’s no arguing, no telling him I don’t feel well. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie. I haven’t felt well a single day since I arrived, and that sickness just grew when my expectations were laid out. I fought against them, uncaring about what happened to me. There was no way I’d ever do the things they wanted, but then Raul Cortez, the man who owns this place, sat across from me and wordlessly handed me a photo.
I sobbed, running my fingers over Alani’s smiling face. I knew what they wanted, and without him saying a word, I knew what the consequences would be if I didn’t give them what they wanted.
I stand from the bed, waiting for Pirro to get his fill of my naked body, unsure if I’ll be handed a robe today or not. The only consistent thing around here, other than the weekly phone call to Alani, is the inconsistency.
“This morning is easy,” Pirro says as he follows closely behind me as I walk into the hallway.
I step aside as one of the other guys struggles with a woman fighting against him, as he all but drags her down the hallway. I remember being her. I remember spitting in their faces and telling them I’d slit their throats given a half-second chance to do so. It’s very possible she has no one to threaten, no one that losing would make her wish she was dead. Some days I wish that were the case for me, but they’ve effectively used Alani to keep me in line. I know I have a breaking point, that one day they’ll ask too much of me, but they haven’t found it yet. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my sister, to keep her in the dark about where I’ve been the last four months.
She thinks I took a job with a humanitarian organization that offers medical care. She thinks I’m in Peru, in a small town on the western coast of South America, where I have to travel over an hour to a small village to use a pay phone to speak with her. It keeps her from calling the number back that shows up on her cell phone.
There will come a time when she either gives up on me altogether or she asks too many questions. I know Raul and Pirro will eventually stop the calls, but right now, they’re a very effective threat, a reminder of what I’m trading my compliance for.
I swallow down the threat of bile in my throat as I open the door.
The man on the bed is smiling, his hand already working up and down his erection.
“Don’t shower when you’re done,” Pirro says. “The next one wants it sloppy.”
I give the best fake smile I can manage as I walk into the room and close the door behind me, when all I want to do is take the lamp from the bedside table and smash it into his head.
Chapter 2
Nash
“Pair of fours?” Pirro asks, a sly smirk on his scarred face. “You can’t win with fours.”
Several of the other guys around the table chuckle at my misfortune as Pirro shows his hand. Pocket aces as if he really thinks I believe that he’s lucky enough to get them the last four hands.
He’s fucking cheating, and if this was the only game I was playing, there’s a very good chance I’d put a bullet in his head. But poker isn’t the main activity of the night. I’m also not playing with my own money. This is business. All overhead, including sitting at the same table as these pieces of shit and gambling away thousands of dollars, is provided by Angel Guerra, the owner of Mission Mercenaries.
Angel isn’t exactly my boss. He’s more like a facilitator. He finds jobs and hires them out, paying the expenses and, of course, keeping a cut of the money for himself. It’s his way of staying safe at home while others put their lives at risk. I think a lot of people would be bitter about it, but I’m not. I live for shit like this. The more danger, the better. The greater the risk, the greater the pay, or however the fucking quote goes. I’m not in it for the money, but the payout doesn’t exactly suck.
“This is my last hand,” I tell the men, as the guy to my right shuffles the deck of cards.