Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“No, no, no,” I mutter as I crawl up to my knees.
The guy quickly shuts the door before I can even try to get out.
I bang on the door and the windows. “Let me out!”
They open the front doors and step inside while the van wobbles sideways from their weight.
“Where are you taking me?!” I yell into the thick metal bars separating us.
The guy in the passenger’s seat turns his head, the smile on his face as rotten as the words he speaks. “The Netherlands.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Our clients will love a little fighter like you,” he muses morbidly. “After you’ve been trained to behave, of course.”
I shriek and punch the bars, but to no avail.
“Scream as loud as you want. No one’s going to hear you now, kid.” He grins. “There’s only one thing street rats like you are good for … to be sold to a wealthy Dutch mobster.”
Aurora
I gulp. No wonder he doesn’t even behave like a normal human. He’s been stuck in cages all his life. He said he’d been here for years, but I never understood just how long that meant. How deep this depravity goes.
All this time, he’s been hungry. Hungry for food. Hungry for the outside world. Kept on a leash and forced to do the bidding of whoever owns him.
My face softens, and I can’t even look at the bread without tearing up.
“Why are you crying?” he asks.
“Because …” I don’t know what to say.
I thought I knew what hardship was. The things I’ve witnessed, the things my papa did to other people, killing them in cold blood, that was harsh. But this? This is on another level.
“I don’t want your pity,” he growls.
I brush the tears away. “I’m not pitying you. I just find it hard to digest.”
“It’s my truth. My world,” he says with a growl, and he takes another big chomp out of the meat.
His world.
This world of fighters, survivors, and boys who live on the street.
This world I only saw a tiny glimpse of when my papa took me with him on his business trips.
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“I don’t have them,” he says.
I blink a couple of times. “Like, never?”
“They died.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that I wonder if he feels nothing or feels too much.
“I … I’m sorry.”
“It was years ago,” he says, gazing at me in a stern manner. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, I think it does,” I say, taking a small nibble of my bread. “Everyone needs parents. I couldn’t bear to lose my papa.” It’s out before I realize it, and it makes it hard to swallow.
“You will,” he states. “Everyone dies.”
“I know …”
I hate the thought. I don’t want the people I love to die. I don’t have that many people to love. But he states it so matter-of-factly, like he doesn’t even care, that I’m starting to wonder if it’s indeed a weakness of mine.
“What about your mother?” he suddenly asks.
“W-What?” I mutter, caught by surprise.
“Your mother, you never spoke of her.”
“Oh.” I avert my eyes. “She … died.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay. I mean, I guess you can’t miss people you never knew,” I reply, and I look up at him again. “But I do wish I could’ve gotten to know her. Even if only for a day. My father always said she was beautiful, with flowing black hair and pearly white skin like Snow White. He hated that I looked like her.”
“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t hate you.”
I can’t help the tiny smile from creeping onto my face.
“So how did you grow up?” he asks.
I don’t really know how to answer that without sounding incredibly insensitive.
“Oh, you know … with my papa. You’ve seen the house. He took care of me,” I say, rolling my eyes out of embarrassment.
“What’s he like?”
I avert my eyes. “Strict. But he’s only like that because he loves me.”
“Because of love?” he growls.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a bite of my bread. “He wants to keep me safe. That’s why there were so many rules.”
“Because he’s a mobster,” he fills in, finishing his meat.
“Yes, but that’s not all. I mean, it’s tough being his daughter. But I’m really grateful for all the things he’s given me. I’m thankful I’ve been able to live a life of luxury. And I don’t mind the strictness. I don’t want to be a burden, you know?”
“A burden?” He frowns.
“Ah, never mind,” I say, wishing I never said it out loud. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. You know, compared to what you went through.”
“Why would you be a burden?”
His question catches me off guard, and all I can do is stare with my lips parted.
“You’re beautiful. Smart. Resourceful,” he says.
The bread drops from my hand.
What?
Did I just hear that right?
My eyes widen, and my jaw drops even farther. Slowly, my entire face heats.