Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“P-p-p-please.”
“I would’ve killed you anyway, Rod. You know that, right? You think I’d let you take out one of my soldiers, go to his house, kill his wife, and rape his daughter without hitting you back?”
“The Franchesis will pay you to get me back. If you just—”
“You think I need money?” I cluck my tongue. “That’s what you think?” I grip him by the hair and lift him to his feet with one hand.
He screams, the agonized sound soothing the discomfort in my gut. “D-d-don’t!” His eyes dart to the cabinet in the corner.
“Shhh.” I shake my head, then point at it. “You’re worried about that?”
He blubbers.
“No, Rodrigo.” I walk him backwards and grab one of the shackles that hangs from the ceiling. When I lift his arms, he screams as his shoulders pop out of place. I hook him to the shackles and back up.
When his screams finally turn back into blubbering, I continue, “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to use any of those tools on you.”
He looks up at me through his swollen eyes, and even through the marred flesh, I can see the slightest flicker of hope. He thinks he has a chance of escaping, that I might let him go. That I’ll stop hurting him. That hope is what I’m going to enjoy snuffing out.
It’s what I need.
I raise my fists and grunt when I make contact with his already-broken nose.
He screams.
I can feel the tension draining away as a smile crosses my lips. “Don’t worry, you piece of shit. I’ll finish you with my hands.”
9
LUCRETIA
The house is huge. At first I thought it was on par with my parents’ villa. I was wrong. This place has rooms upon rooms, an indoor and outdoor pool, a weight room that seems fit for an NFL team, and the garages are full of outrageously expensive cars. I thought my family was rich, but I’ve never seen this kind of wealth.
I can go wherever I want. No one speaks to me or tries to stop me, even when I walk into the garages. The soldiers stationed around the house glance at me, and a few openly gawk, but none of them bother me. I suppose Mateo feels I’m sufficiently caged. He’s right. There’s no way out of here. Not with guards on the hallways and a small army scattered around the grounds.
My heart sinks more and more as I explore. Each soldier is another reason why I’ll never escape. I finally make my way into the kitchen. Everything is stainless steel and polished to a shine. Foods are set out on elegant trays along a center island, though they aren’t all fancy. In fact, one of the trays is a chafing dish with what looks like pizza rolls on it.
I couldn’t eat breakfast, not sitting on Mateo’s lap while he mocked me. But now, alone in the kitchen, my stomach growls as I survey the food. I grab a white plate from the end of the counter and snag what looks like freshly baked bread, some burrata to slather on it, a couple of pizza rolls, and what looks like egg salad sandwiches with no crust.
The fridge is stocked to the gills with tons of things my mother would never allow in our house. I could count the times on one hand that she ever let me have a soft drink. Here, I grab a Dr. Pepper and take all my food to a small table at the back of the kitchen. It’s tucked away in a picture window that gives a view of the same rose garden I could see from the window upstairs.
With one more look around, I feel safe enough. My back is to a wall, and I can see both doors in and out of the kitchen from here. Not that I think Mateo would be mad that I’m eating his snacks. He seemed to want to feed me this morning, though I have no idea why. He doesn’t care about me. I’m just a trophy for him, like a body part kept by a serial killer. I shiver at the thought and tuck myself even farther back against the wall, a slight chill coming in through the windowpanes. Winter’s almost here. I should be at school. I think back to my schedule for this semester. At this time of day I would’ve been in my psychology class. Not my favorite subject, but it might’ve helped me navigate this situation if I knew how to deal with psychopaths.
I turn my mind away from Mateo. It’s the only way I’m going to settle my nerves enough to eat. Instead, I look out at the garden. The roses haven’t died off yet. Or maybe they just go dormant for the winter—that sounds more correct. There are still some flowers here and there, most prominent among them a section of red roses that bloom vigorously despite the chilly wind. I recognize them instantly. Mateo wore one of them yesterday when he destroyed my wedding.