Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Who was that?” Angelo asks.
“No one,” Damiano mutters. “Carlo, take us back to land.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Carlo mumbles. “We need to fuel up if we’re going to continue searching.”
“I need to get to my system at my place,” I say. “We’re wasting time out here.”
Eden
I’m sitting on the floor, with my back to the wall where the other four women are standing.
The one with the blank stare whispered something in a language I’ve never heard, but it sounded like a prayer.
God. It’s me. Eden. Your least favorite child, seeing as you keep dumping shit all over me. If you’re listening, I’d really appreciate a break right about now.
I lift a hand and brush my fingers lightly over the bruises on my face and the massive bump on my head that feels like it’s the size of an egg.
When I came to, the man with the gun was gone, and so was the body. There’s blood on the floor, and I keep staring at it.
The door opens, and two armed men come in. They gesture with huge machine guns for us to come.
Where? Why?
Shit.
“Let me go,” one of the women starts to cry. “Please.”
My eyes dart between her and the men as I climb to my feet. I’m hit with a dizzy spell that makes the bile in my stomach churn.
One of the men aims his weapon at her and barks, “Shut the fuck up and come so you can piss and drink water.”
My body begins to tremble violently, and not wanting to die right here, I walk toward the door while keeping an eye on the men.
When I step into the hallway, there’s another armed man who nods for me to go into a restroom.
“Please,” I hear the other women beg, and I brace myself to hear a shot being fired. My skin tingles, and the trembling in my body gets worse.
“Leave the door open,” the man in the hallway orders. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
Walking into the small restroom, I have some cover by a wall. I quickly relieve myself before drinking as much water as I can handle. God knows when we’ll get something to drink again.
When I step into the hallway, I’m grabbed by my arm and shoved back into the room. Stumbling, I manage to keep my balance while shooting the asshole a glare.
Minutes later, the door is locked again, and the woman who was begging begins to cry hysterically.
Walking to the window, I look outside, trying to see where we are. It’s night again, but my eyes widen when I can make out a dock and various types of boats.
We’re not at sea anymore.
I keep standing by the window until I notice it’s starting to get light outside. When it feels like hours are passing with no one coming to the room, I sink down to the floor and pull my knees up to my chest.
Surely, they won’t keep us here for much longer?
None of the women are talking to each other, and when the silence starts getting to me, I say, “My name is Eden. What’s yours?”
The one who was crying hysterically whispers, “I’m Milania.”
The other three remain quiet, making me think they’re traumatized out of their minds.
“Hi, Milania.” I try to offer her a smile. “How did you get on the boat?”
“I was told there was work in New York. I paid two hundred and fifty dollars, and when I was picked up in Miami, I was brought here. That was many days ago. They keep drugging us.”
“It’s so we’ll fuck for drugs,” the one with the blank stare suddenly murmurs in a monotonous tone.
Glancing down at the two bruises on my arm, I gently rub my fingers over them.
There’s no way I’ll get addicted. I’m not Mandy.
I lift my head, and climbing back to my feet, I look out the window again, but it’s quiet on the part of the dock I can see.
I wrap my arms around myself, and as the reality of my dire situation really sets in, destructive emotions fill my chest.
What does Dario think happened to me?
Poor Tyrone. He must be beside himself with worry.
I hope Quincy survived.
I suck in a shaky breath as my eyes start to blur with unshed tears.
I’m not going to let them turn me into a junkie who’ll do anything for a hit.
I refuse.
I’d rather die.
None of my tears fall as I keep staring out the small window.
After a while, I sit down again and hug my knees to my chest. The cold is getting to me. It feels as if it's creeping into my very bones.
I struggle to process the hopeless emotions and to come up with a plan. But what can I do? Just like the other four women, I’m stuck. I have nothing I can use as a weapon.
A hell of a lot of time passes where nothing happens, and it starts driving me crazy.