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 cut Matias’ jeans away from the injury and set to work, cleaning and preparing the wound.
She lifted Matias’ hand and used one of the bandages to clear away the blood. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Ten years.” His fingers curled around hers.
“A year after I was captured.”
“Yeah. It took some time to organize.”
“Jesus, Matias.” Her heart panged. “You could’ve told me this during any one of our phone calls. I would’ve joined your efforts and helped you.” We could’ve been together all these years.
He shook his head. “I was in a bad place those first few years. I killed more slave traders than I captured. So fucking reckless and dangerous and angry.” He lifted his chin at Frizz. “This guy kept my head on straight.”
Frizz paused during a stitch and stared at the ground.
“You’ve been doing this with Matias since the beginning?” she asked Frizz, studying his youthful face. “How old are you?”
Frizz closed his eyes, opened them, and reached for the knife beside his knee. Then he lifted the blade to his mouth and cut each stitch, one by one, pulling away the threads as he went.
Matias squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, her insides twisting in knots.
“I was eight when Matias found me.” Frizz’s voice cracked, soft and chalky with disuse.
Her heart clenched.
He glanced toward the house, but his gaze turned distant. “He pulled me out of a place just like this. My old man…” He cleared his throat, his inflection gentle and distinctly American. “My father used to sell me to men like those in there. The men wanted to hear me cry and beg. When I wouldn’t do it, my father hurt me very badly.”
An ache pressed against the backs of her eyes and seared through her chest. She wanted to reach for him, hold his hand. Matias looked as if he wanted to do the same, but didn’t move, so she followed his lead.
“I like to sew my mouth.” Frizz licked his bottom lip. “So I won’t forget.”
“So you won’t forget…?” The lump in her throat burned painfully.
“I’ll never give them what they want.” He stared at his unmoving hands, fingers clenched around the needle. “They’ll never hear me beg, never force…themselves in my mouth again.”
She tried to keep the tears at bay, tried not to look at him with pity. All she could think about was an eight-year-old boy, abused and molested, living with a cartel and following the capo around while he slaughtered predators.
Maybe it was the best form of therapy. Hadn’t she done the same thing?
“What happened to your father?” She had a damn good guess.
“Matias castrated him.” Frizz smiled. “And cut out his tongue. He removed other organs, too. Then he killed the bastard.”
Her stomach curdled. “Is there anything left of the man in the room you were in?” she asked Matias, nodding at the house.
“Pieces.” Matias looked over at her and shrugged. “I have a really sharp knife.”
“Good.” She lay her head on his shoulder. “Did the little girl…did she watch that?”
“I sent her to the closet the second I charged in.” He tensed, relaxed. “Those girls will be removed without witnessing the gore.”
She traced the ink on his forearm, following the branches with a finger. “Okay.”
Frizz sewed up Matias’ leg wound in silence. Then he restitched his lips without a mirror, his fingers expertly moving the needle through the existing holes. She watched through a new set of eyes and no longer saw a scary freak. As he poked the needle through his flesh, she thought of it as a lip piercing, a rebellious expression of self. A fuck you to dear old dad.
When he finished, he gathered the supplies and strolled into the house, whistling a cheery, unfamiliar tune.
She sat alone with Matias for an endless moment. The heavy hush between them bled into the darkness, dampened by the buzz of winged insects.
“When we get back, I’m calling my friends, Matias.” She slid her hand over his thigh. “They need to know I’m okay.”
“Anything you want.” He turned his face toward her and put his lips on hers. Slightly open. A tiny gliding movement. Then he kissed her nose.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the slaves three weeks ago?”
“I wanted you to love me despite this.” He pulled away, bracing elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead.
“I would’ve loved you no matter what. It was inevitable.”
“Through all your one-night stands, what would you have done if one of those men told you he saved child slaves? Would he have become more to you than just a hookup?”
She rubbed her forehead and stared at him sidelong. “That’s such a crazy what if. I don’t know.” But she did know. She would’ve clung to that connection.
“Your heart beats for the end of slavery. If you found that same passion in someone else, anyone else, your heart would’ve cemented you to him.” He met her eyes. “I didn’t want to be just anyone. I wanted to be your one, passions and pursuits aside. I wanted you to choose me for us.” He looked back at the landscape. “So I let you see whatever you wanted to see at the estate and waited until you saw me.”