Series: The Rossi Crime Family Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
After a while, her sobs quiet down and eventually her crying ceases all together, but her grip on my shirt never eases up. Her breathing evens out and when her head rolls from my chest onto my arm and I see her eyes closed I know for sure she is out.
I look down at her face, studying her features, taking in her natural beauty. It’s no wonder the men selected her. With her long blonde hair framing her heart shaped face she looks like a sleeping angel in my arms. My eyes drift down to her split lip, there’s smeared blood across it, a small cut in the corner, and her swollen jaw is turning black and blue with bruising. Looking at her...at how fragile she is it pulls a memory from deep inside my head.
An image of Mira appears in my mind. I try to shake it away but this situation is all too similar to hers. I’m holding a small frail body in my arms, her eyes are closed, blood covers her face just like it did Miras. And just like back then I can’t help her. I can’t save her. I can’t save anybody.
“Stop Mira.” I yell. I hate having to play with my baby sister.
She’s so annoying, all she ever does is follow me and Tyler around.
“Ivan,” She whines, looking up at me with big blue eyes.
“No Mira, go play by yourself.” I sneer, turning back to Tyler. We start walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the playground.
“I want to come with.” She demands, her tiny feet sounding behind me. I whirl around, and she stops dead in her tracks.
“No. You’re too little.” I boom over her, watching tears glisten in her eyes. I clench my fists at my sides. I feel bad for hurting her feelings but I don’t always want to play with her, sometimes I just want to play with my friends.
“You’re so mean Ivan. The worst.” She pouts, turning around, bouncing the giant purple ball in her hands. It bounces away from her and toward the street.
My heart pounds inside my chest…
I squeeze my lids shut for a short time, trying to catch my breath as the memory washes through me. Once I’ve calmed myself a bit I get up, still holding her in my arms, and very gently lay her down onto the mattress so she won’t wake up. She immediately curls up into a tight ball on the mattress, her tiny hands tucked under her angelic face. I look down at her naked form knowing that I can’t leave her here like this. It’s an irrational thought knowing what she will be sold, but while she is here the least I can do is give her some type of modesty and make sure she doesn't freeze to death. So I pull off my black long sleeve thermal t-shirt and cover her small body with it like its a blanket.
When I straighten I take another look around the empty room. How long has she been here? I can’t fucking remember but I know the auction is not for another three weeks.
I exhale a ragged breath, scrubbing a frustrated hand down my face. I shake my head in anger, I can’t worry about this shit. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of this for her. I just need to go have a drink and forget this whole shit show ever happened.
I take a few steps towards the door and glance into the tiny bathroom. It’s fucking filthy and there is no soap or a towel… not even fucking toilet paper? How the fuck can she be expected to remain sanitary when they don’t even give her the necessities needed to do so.
Fuck, what am I thinking? She isn’t being treated like a human because she isn’t going to be seen as one here. I’ve never considered thinking of the women brought here because I never saw them. I never paid an ounce of attention to them because I didn't want to.
But now that I have I’m appalled. My blood boils at the thoughts and I have to stop myself from slamming the door shut behind me when I leave the cell. I want to find someone to punch and yell at but I really have no one to blame other than myself, and that makes this ten times worse. Guilt is a bitch and it’s hitting as hard as it never has before.
The men working for me just follow my orders, they don’t come up with this shit on their own and if I don’t order them to do something then they aren’t going to fucking do it, so this is on me.
I walk from the first floor, and up the stairs to the second floor, my feet pounding across concrete. When I reach the door to my room I unlock it, and twist the knob, walking inside. I slam the door closed behind me, and walk into the bathroom connected off the bedroom. I shouldn’t be feeling shit for this woman...and still I can’t get the image of her without a single fucking thing out of my head. There are other women here all on that same floor, experiencing the same things she is, so why the fuck don’t I care about them too?