Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Okay, fine, but you’re like…what?” Van sneered. “Thirty-years old? One look at you, and they’ll laugh their fucking asses off. Right before they cut out your throat.”
“Despégala pues!” Her face caught fire. “I’m twenty-eight, dickhead.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Tate said softly. He didn’t raise his head, but his eyes drifted upward and locked on Van. “She could pass as eighteen, and you know it. Look at her. They’d pay double the asking price to get their hands on her.”
A heavy feeling sank in her stomach. She wasn’t surprised Tate defended her, but she’d expected a godawful fight from him. No way was he okay with her plan.
“They trade in untouched, underage pussy.” Van folded his arms around Amber, taking her with him as he leaned forward, his glower carved from stone. “Have you forgotten how I know that, Tate?”
“Not one person in this room has forgotten who you are, Van.” Tate bolted from the chair and faced the wall of windows.
Arms across his chest, spine stiff, Tate stared out into the darkness. Or maybe he was glaring at his reflection. She knew he hated the way he looked, but he hated Van more for capturing him because he was attractive.
Van closed his eyes, his expression unreadable. Amber curled tighter against his chest and whispered in his ear. Across the room, Josh reached for Liv’s hand and pulled it into his lap.
They had all been Van’s slaves once. And there were more at home—Ricky, Tomas, Luke, Martin, and Kate—all nursing their own invisible wounds under Camila’s roof. She didn’t spend as much time with Van as she did with the others, but the dynamic between him and his former captives was improving, slowly adapting into something a little less hostile.
Van had been the one to initiate a truce. The money Mr. E had collected—the payments from buyers who didn’t live long enough to indulge in their purchases—totaled in the millions. Van could’ve hoarded that money after Liv killed Mr. E, and maybe he did keep some of it. But he’d given an ungodly amount to the nine people he’d abducted and tortured.
Camila’s share funded her vigilantism. Did that mean she owed him her forgiveness? She wasn’t sure she’d ever reach that level of acceptance, and she wasn’t the only one.
Every person in the room fought inner battles, their fears birthed in the same attic, their perspectives cut by the same whip. Tragedy had shackled them together, but when the locks fell away, they remained unified in their soul-deep appreciation for freedom. They understood one another in a way no one outside their group could.
That intimate camaraderie was palpable now in the stillness that enveloped them. The silence didn’t isolate her. It connected her to them, her fellow survivors, her fighters, her closest friends.
“Camila wasn’t underage,” Tate said, glancing over his shoulder at Van. “She was seventeen when you took her. When you chose her.”
Not helping. Camila pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tate—”
“I didn’t choose her.” Van addressed Tate, but his eyes drilled into hers.
“What do you mean?” A chill hit her core.
“I was given your identity, location, and the buyer’s contact number for the delivery when I finished your training.”
She looked at Liv for validation.
“You were our first transaction.” Liv absently traced Josh’s fingers where they tangled with hers. “The only one Mr. E set up for us. Van and I handpicked all the others.”
Her hand slid up Josh’s thigh, fingernails scraping across denim, teasing the curve of his groin. She might’ve picked Josh because he met the buyer’s requirements, but in the end, she’d chosen him for herself.
“I’m sure your plan is one-hundred-percent vetted.” Liv stood and folded her hands behind her.
The capped sleeves of her corset-style shirt accentuated her delicate shoulders. The tiny waistline flared over the curves of her hips, drawing the eye along the tight fit of black denim on her legs. She wore casual clothes like lingerie, as if every cinch of fabric and peek of skin was deliberately designed to tantalize and distract. If she hid a knife behind her back, it would go unnoticed. Until it was too late.
“You’re fully prepared to walk into a nightmare. Your worst nightmare.” Liv prowled toward Camila, her lilt hypnotic, seductive. “You’ve envisioned the vilest scenarios even as you know your imagination hasn’t scratched the surface.”
True, she’d mentally prepared herself, but it didn’t stop her heart from racing. “Yes. Of course.”
“They’ll restrain you.” Liv circled her, trailing fingers along her arms. “Humiliate you. Whip you.”
“I survived it all before.” She stood taller.
“They’ll rape you.” Pausing inches from her face, Liv glared with enough potency to summon goose bumps. “You haven’t survived that.”
Liv’s fathomless brown eyes brimmed with tortured experience. Torture she’d both inflicted and received.
“I was trained how to submit.” Camila rolled back her shoulders. “I know how to keep my head down and attached to my body. I’ll survive.”