Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Diego asked me to choose a girl. He’d been almost casual about it. Wearing a smile I hadn’t trusted in years.
I’d refused at first, telling him to punish me. Not them. Begging him to. I wasn’t sure what they’d do to the chosen girl, but I was certain it wouldn’t be good.
He’d told me again to choose. That it was either one or all.
So, I chose.
Because one was better than six, wasn’t it?
God. I feel sick. I wipe my face on my shoulder, but salty tears still slide down my cheeks and into my mouth.
He didn’t use a gun. It would have been bad enough if he’d used a gun, but he wanted to make a more lasting impression.
I’d seen a blood bath before then. Seen the aftermath of my parents’ murders. But what Diego did next, I think it’s what changed me. Broke something inside me. It’s knowing it was me who chose her. Who condemned her.
And he made sure I’d never get involved again.
I don’t wish I could forget that night. I owe it to that girl to remember. She died because of me.
I still hear her screams some nights. Still see my brother’s rage as he wielded the crowbar down on her knees, shattering them. Then moved to her elbows as she hung there, helpless and in agony. Calculated and cruel, he beat her to death while we all watched. And all along, I knew she was dying because of me.
Just like this girl was raped because of me. I guess Marcus took that page out of Diego’s playbook.
I turn onto my side, wincing with pain when I do. Marcus lined the front of my body with his belt. From my chest down, he used his belt to lash every inch of me, that terrible man holding me up, shouting at Marcus when the leather caught him, too.
I didn’t scream. Not once. I know it only made him angrier, but I couldn’t give him that. He stole my tears though. Those I couldn’t help. At least the women quieted. Although what happened to them was a hundred times worse than what he did to me. A thousand times.
Cristiano feels years away. Me in the house on the island, in that cell, and then upstairs. At his table, in his bed. Noah. Cerberus wagging his tail, so happy to see me. It’s like none of that exists now.
“Who are you?” a creaky voice asks in the darkness.
I blink, look around to locate the woman speaking. I find her on the opposite end of the mattress nearest me. There are three others sleeping between us.
“Why can’t they touch you?” she asks, and I hear resentment in her words.
“I…” how do I answer?
“He called you a cartel whore. I heard him. Are you with them? The Cartel?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why didn’t he touch you? You don’t have the mark.”
“What mark?”
She lifts the wrist of one of the sleeping girls. A younger one. She shows me the mark made by what looks to be a black sharpie. Just an X.
“What is it?”
She drops the girl’s wrist. “Virgin. They get more for the virgins. Crew can’t fuck the virgins but the rest of us are fair game.”
“They’ll sell them?”
“What did you think they’d do?”
That was a stupid question now that I think about it.
“And they’ll sell us. All of us. Well, maybe not you.”
I try to ignore the hate in her voice. I can’t blame her. “When? How?”
“You tell me, Cartel girl.”
“I don’t know. I’m not with them.” I feel like Peter denying that he knows Jesus. “Didn’t you see what he did to me?”
“Show me your wrists.”
“I can’t.” I turn a little so she can see my arms are bound even though she already knows.
She turns her face and spits. “I know there’s no mark. You’re one of them. You did something to the Italian but what they do to us is still worse.”
I know it is. I don’t say anything but lower my gaze.
“Who are you?” she asks again.
“I’m no one.”
There’s a sound then, an engine. Both of our gazes flick to the window where a light shines in, waking some of the others before it’s gone again.
Someone hoots and the sound of men’s boots on the deck grows louder. I hear muffled words. This man is loud, though. He speaks first in Spanish then English. I can tell he’s talking to Marcus, because Marcus doesn’t speak Spanish. He didn’t pick up a single word in all the years he worked with my brothers. Refused to because he’s an arrogant fuck.
“Just fucking found it. I’m going to kill that old man,” he says, and he sounds pissed.
“Get the girls,” another man says as our door opens.
The women who were somehow still sleeping are startled awake now. There’s an audible gasp as men enter the room.