Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
London? Beau and I look at each other in shock. Not many are taken from countries like England or the States, but then again . . . me.
“My name’s Pearl,” she goes on, looking around the group of women. But as I too look again, I think girls is more apt. So young. “Melitza and Jana are from Serbia. Zala is Slovenian. Maria and Inessa are from Russia. I don’t know the other’s names. Their English is non-existent.” She points to the unconscious girl. “And Anya is from Romania.”
I nod and go to Anya, feeling her pulse, if only because . . . isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? It’s strong. Her chest is moving up and down.
Goldie knocks and pokes her head around the door. “Water.” She enters with a tray resting on one hand and places it on the coffee table in the middle of the sofas before silently leaving. I start pouring, and Beau starts giving out glasses to accepting but wary hands.
“How old are you, Pearl?” I ask, perching on the coffee table before her.
She sips, looking over her glass at me with suspicion that I just can’t stand. I need her to know she’s safe now—I need everyone here to know they’re safe.
“I’m Rose,” I say quickly before motioning to Beau behind me. “This is Beau. She used to be a police officer.”
“Rose,” Beau breathes in disbelief, and I look back at her, as if to ask her what the hell she thinks I should tell them. That our respective others are criminals? My husband, The Brit, a renowned mafia crime lord and her fiancé, The Enigma, the silent, deadly assassin extraordinaire? I show the ceiling my palms, and Beau shakes her head, joining me on the table, nudging into me so I scoot along.
Pearl looks between us, like we’re a pair of crazy people. Worryingly, she might be right. “I did used to be a police officer, but now I’m not.”
“Why?” she asks, lowering her glass.
“I chose love over duty.” Beau smiles mildly, and I’m compelled to reach for her hand and squeeze, because when she says love, she means her mother. But I have no doubt she’d choose James over duty if it came to it. In fact, she already has. Although Pearl doesn’t know this so, of course, her next question makes sense.
“You’re married?” she asks, looking at Beau’s finger, prompting Beau to reach for her ring and spin it.
“Engaged to be.”
“I’m married,” I blurt. “This is my husband’s house. My house. Our house.” And was once my prison. Good lord.
Pearl gazes around. “What does he do?”
Fuck. “Umm, he . . . yes . . . umm.” This is harder than I thought it would be.
Pearl’s shoulders drop a little, displaying exasperation. “Forgive me,” she says, tucking her short hair behind her ear again. “I don’t know which one was your husband, but they were all carrying guns.” She makes a point of having a good look around the plush, substantial TV room that has a screen big enough to play ping-pong on. “They stormed the place we were being kept. It was all a bit of a blur, but they looked like they knew what they were doing when they fired those guns.”
Beau and I both shrink.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she goes on. “In fact, I don’t want to know. But . . .” Looking between us, she chews her lip, and I notice a little hole in the right corner. An old piercing? “Are you good people or are we”—she motions to the other girls—“about to leave one level of hell and drop to another?”
“God, no,” I say, desperate to reassure her. “We’re good people.” I can feel Beau’s skeptical eyes on me. I ignore her. I know to many we’re not, but to these girls we’re definitely good, and I’m taking comfort in that. “My husband saved me from a life of sex slavery.”
“He did?”
Beau squeezes my hand. “He did.”
“Who is he?”
Fuck it all. “His name’s Danny.”
She nods, looking at Beau in question, and I discreetly exhale my relief that she hasn’t pressed for more. She wants to know Beau’s situation. “Mine’s called James,” is all Beau says.
Pearl nods, accepting, and then smiles. “Danny Black and James Kelly.”
Beau and I jerk like we’ve been hit by a bullet. “What?” Beau says, dropping my hand, moving forward. “You know them?”
“I heard some of the men saying their names.” She frowns. “It was the only English I heard, along with The Brit and The Enigma.” Pearl looks at me. “Your husband is The Brit.” She looks at Beau. “Yours is The Enigma.”
“I’m not married,” Beau breathes quietly, moving back, looking at me. I don’t know why. I have nothing to say.
“How old are you?” Beau asks.
“I’m twenty-one,” Pearl replies quietly. Then she frowns. “I think.”