Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Feisty little toy,” he utters. “Your father is currently being held in one of my warehouses.” He turns his back to me, and I can’t help my gaze from trailing over his large frame. He’s easily double my weight and more than a foot taller.
The thought of fighting him doesn’t seem like a possibility. My heart sinks when I think about my father being in a cold, empty warehouse with Victor’s thugs hurting him.
“Is he even alive?” I bite out angrily, causing him to chuckle darkly. The sound is low, a vibration of happiness at my sadness. He’s a fucking monster.
“Of course, he is, juguete,” he confirms, turning to face me. “I keep my promises. And you’ve been so kind as to offer yourself as payment. Tonight, will be your first event.”
“Event?”
“Si, Sofía.” He holds out his hand to me, offering me a way out of the cell, and as much as I hate him and he scares me, I know I’ll have to submit to him. He won’t give up until he’s seen me bow down to him and that thought has my chest tightening. I focus on my breathing, trying to calm my thoughts along with my heartbeat.
I slip my hand in his, and he tugs me up without effort. His strength is unmistakable. The man could kill me with one hand wrapped around my slender throat. The thought causes me to shiver. Victor’s eyes hold mine hostage for a moment, as if he is trying to read my mind, then he turns and leads me up the stairs he appeared from last night.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t respond. When we reach the top of the steps, he tugs me through the doorway, and I’m met with bright light, which hurts my eyes, causing me to wince in agony. Victor waits, his eyes on me at all times, while I allow my vision to get used to the sunshine streaming through the kitchen window.
“This is the castle.” I speak without thinking, knowing it’s stupid to be in awe of it, but it’s one of the homes I’ve always wondered about. Knowing my father would come here daily, I always begged him to bring me to work, but he always refused.
“It is indeed the Cordero Compound,” my captor tells me, with a proud grin on his handsome face. “Come, little one, you need to get clean,” he tells me, as if I’m a burden on him because I’m sweaty and smelly.
He leads me through the home toward a staircase that’s beautifully carpeted with deep reds and auburns. The railing looks as if it’s gilded, and as we make our way to the second floor, I can’t help admiring how exquisite the house is.
The paintings that hang on the walls are opulent, in frames made of the finest gilded wood, and the tapestries look like they’ve been hand woven by a million angels. Everything in this house screams of the wealth that Victor has because of the crimes he commits.
I’m led into a bedroom that has a large four-poster bed, with dark bedding the color of red wine. The curtains are open, offering a view of the gardens. There’s a small armchair positioned toward the window, a small vanity with a mirror and stool, and a door off to the right opposite the bed.
“The bathroom is over there,” Victor points to the door I’ve been staring at. “Everything you need will be there. If there’s anything missing, tell me and I’ll have the maid head out and buy it for you.”
“I want to see my father.”
“Once you’ve showered and changed into clean clothes, you’ll be able to see him.” He seems serious, rigid almost, and I wonder what’s running through his mind as he watches me. Is this something he does all the time? Kidnaps girls and locks them in a bedroom for later use. The thought makes me shiver once more, a cold, fearful chill trickling through me and I have to shake it off if I’m going to survive this. I need to stay strong, show him I’m not easily broken.
“Don’t go back on your word.” I don’t look at him when I say this; instead, I keep my gaze on the gardens of the compound. Even though my back is to him, I’m not fearful of him hurting me in here. I’m not sure why. I can’t explain it, but I stay standing, hoping he’ll walk out soon.
“Sofía,” he calls my name slowly, sensually, as if he’s tasting it on his tongue. Allowing him my eyes, I cast a glance over my shoulder, with my arms folded across my chest, my attempt at closing myself off to his lies. “I’m not the monster in your fairy tale.”
“This is no fairy tale, Mr. Cordero. My life has been nothing but a sad saga of a girl who believed too hard and lost everything.”