Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
He nodded.
“What kind?” she asked.
“The kind you never want to meet in a dark alley.”
“People like your family?”
“Yes.”
“Will you pay him a Giavanni?” she asked.
He stared at her. He’d thought about it many times and of course Timothy had even offered. His father’s death needed to be a long one. One where the bastard didn’t see it coming.
He stroked Elenore’s cheek. “Don’t worry about my father.”
“Is he looking for me?”
“No.” At least not that he was aware of and he didn’t need to tell her that. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“You’re right. It has been a really long night and I could use the sleep.” She offered him a smile, turning away and walking in the direction of her bedroom. He watched her go, still admiring the curve of her ass.
He made a note to purchase some clothes for her, something in her size. At this time, he couldn’t take her out. Already tonight he’d fucked up by possibly taking her out too soon. His father could have men watching him.
Always with the tests. This one, he’d fail.
“Raphael,” she said, stopping at the door to look back at him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me freedom.”
“This isn’t real freedom yet. You don’t know what it’s like to be able to walk the street safely.”
“I know, but for now, it feels safe. I like being with you. You’re a good man.” She left him and he shook his head.
There was nothing good about him. She needed to understand that the only reason he saved her was that he wanted her. He’d never dream of ruining his plans of annihilating his father for just anyone.
He knew about all the women his father paid for to be trafficked like a piece of meat. He’d even stood by while men hurt them to keep them in line. He was far from a good man and he had an idea if Elenore really knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t give him any smiles. She wouldn’t trust him. Not really.
Moving toward his bottle of whiskey, he noted he was going to need to buy some more. In the short time she’d been with him, he’d already gone through two bottles of the stuff. He poured the last dregs from the bottom of the bottle, lifted the glass, and tossed it back, letting the burn take over as it slid down his throat.
Everything could come together soon, he just had to hold on.
****
The following morning, Elenore woke up late. The numbers on the clock were a lot later. She wasn’t sure what it read. Picking the clock up, she lay back and stared at it for a couple of minutes. The numbers changed as she did.
After putting the clock down, she threw the covers off her body and walked into the en-suite. Her thigh hurt a great deal and so did her shoulder. It wasn’t the brightest thing, throwing herself off a swing. She couldn’t imagine using her legs to stop her. It seemed so silly. Shaking her head, she used the toilet before going to the sink, washing her hands, and splashing some cold water onto her face.
Looking up at her reflection, she stared back at herself.
Was she a real person?
Reaching out, she pressed the tips of her fingers to her reflection and watched herself. There was no reaction.
“You’re nothing more than a plaything. Your sole existence is for the pleasure of others. If you please me, you’ll walk out of here and you’ll get food. Don’t, I’ll beat you and starve you. You’ll wish you did as you were told.”
All her life, she’d done as she was told. One of her first rare memories was the slap across the face as she accidentally broke a plate. The cook had been so afraid. Her first owner had come into the kitchen. The cook had gotten a beating over her hands and had been forced to put one hand into a pot of boiling water. Elenore recalled being dragged out of the kitchen where her owner had thrown stuff at her, kicked her, beaten her, and threw her downstairs for days without food.
She’d never broken another plate again. The cook had changed by the time she was finally freed from her prison. Giavanni was her second owner.
She was won in a card game, she believed. She’d been standing there in her uniform, and unlike some of her other slaves, she’d been granted food. Her owner had liked how hard-working she was and made sure to reward her. The other slaves had all hated her. She never tried to run away. She never sought freedom. Seeing the gate terrified her.
If her owners could do what they did to her, what would the outside world do? She was told repeatedly she was nothing and no one. The world didn’t care about people like her.