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)
He shook against a full-body spasm, his eyes bulging as he stared at the needle stuck in his delicate flesh. “Ten at night.” He spat out a month, a day, and GPS coordinates.
Oh, thank fuck. It was only two days away, but she was ready, having tracked and hunted this operation for four years. Her veins sizzled with the need to finish this.
As Tate left the garage to shout the coordinates to Van, she removed the syringe.
Larry cried out in relief then glared at her with bloodshot eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You’ll beg for it before he’s done.”
She tried not to let that threat worm its way inside her, but it penetrated her resolve and formed ice in the marrow of her bones.
Shaking off the dread, she turned and found Liv drifting along the wall where dozens of dolls and mannequins hung from hooks. Van’s garage was a workshop. His little shop of glassy-eyed horrors.
She took a step toward Liv then thought better of it. “Hey, Liv? You okay?”
Liv stiffened, her hand lifting to smooth down her straight, black hair. “I used to hate these things. Part of me always will, you know?”
When Van collected slaves, he also collected freaky plastic people. Now he made dolls out of leather and gave them to homeless kids.
Still fucking creepy.
Liv relaxed her posture and strode back to the table, her graceful legs encased in black denim. Her moods were difficult to follow, switching on and off like the masks she used to wear.
“Did he tell you why he has a fascination with dolls?” Liv asked, tone silky soft.
Camila shook her head. She and Van didn’t have a let’s-share-stories kind of relationship.
Sadness etched Liv’s slender face. “Maybe he’ll tell you some day. It puts all of this”—she gestured at the wall of leather bodies—“into perspective.”
Curiosity itched beneath her skin, but Van’s doll fetish would have to wait. Liv held out another syringe, this one with a thicker needle, the tube filled with Pentobarbital stolen from a vet clinic.
As Camila reached for it, Liv pulled it back, her voice low. “Let me do this for you.”
Liv had killed slave buyers with blades, bullets, and even her bare hands. She certainly had the stomach for it. But Camila had helped with some of them. She could do this.
“Thank you.” She held out her hand. “This is nothing compared to what I have to do next.”
“What are you planning, Camila?” Liv released the syringe, her expression a cold mask.
A shiver rippled through her. That had been the tone Liv used when she held a whip, posed to strike. When Camila’s world had been confined to four windowless walls in a soundproof attic.
Deep breath. She was here because she didn’t want other girls to end up in chains, where they would learn how to beg for an orgasm, how to stroke a man’s cock, and how to relax into the bone-rattling bite of a whip.
She forced her attention on Larry, his eyes closed and breathing even. Passed out. Maybe already on his way to death.
Aiming the syringe over his heart, she slammed it down and drove hard and fast. When his eyes flashed open, she depressed the plunger and held a finger over the pulse in his throat until his eyes closed and his heart stopped.
She stood there for a moment, waiting to feel something. Like what? Killer’s remorse? Was that a thing? All she felt was purpose. It strengthened her backbone and energized her pulse.
“Got to make a call.” She headed toward the door.
Liv caught her arm and swung her back around. “What’s your next move, Camila?”
That was the tricky part. Liv, Tate, none of her team would like it.
“I’ll fill you in.” She pulled her arm from Liv’s grip. “But I have to deal with the body before it stinks up Amber’s garage.”
Liv studied her face, probing too closely, too deeply. “You’re carrying a torch, girl. The damn flames are burning in your eyes. Someday soon, it’s going to devour you.” Liv’s expression softened. “You can’t save them all.”
“I know.” But she could save a lot of them.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a new burner phone from her bag on the counter and headed toward the front door.
Van blocked her path, arms crossed over his chest. “Who do you call to deal with dead bodies?”
“An old connection.” She trusted Van more than she ever thought possible, but she didn’t trust him with this.
“What the fuck kind of connection? Liv said you did side jobs for some cartel. Are you bringing that shit to my front door?”
She might’ve mentioned something along those lines at some point. She didn’t do anything for any cartel, but it was highly probable that her connection did. “I’ll move the body off the property. They won’t come anywhere near here.”
His jaw stiffened. “The same thugs that were supposed to dispose of my body.”