Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“You’re asking me to believe that all this—this . . . that everything I’ve seen—the women’s clothing in the basement, Sandra as fourteen-year-old bait, and the rumors about the Badlands—it’s all . . . it’s . . .” Overwhelmed by confusion, I put my face in my hands, shaking my head. “That’s not what this world is. If you steal from another cartel, you die.”
“We’ve been hitting Belmonte-Ruiz for months, and I’m still standing,” he said. “And they aren’t the first cartel we’ve brought down.”
“But all those people in the Badlands,” I said. “The gates—”
“Are to keep those who’d hurt us out. That’s all.”
“When we drove in, I saw people in the back of a semi.”
He shifted in his seat, frowning. “It was headed south. We were taking people home—Guatemala, Brazil, Chile, wherever. It’s not like we can just send them on their merry way once we excavate them from bad situations. They need help to get home and get acclimated. And we have to be stealthy about it because of the circumstances.” He ran a hand over his mouth and rubbed his jaw before glancing over at me. “The Badlands are full of slaves and whores, Natalia. And laborers, misfits, and ruthless people.”
I looked back at him, meeting his eyes a second before he turned them back out the windshield. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
“I never denied it. You were just looking at it from the wrong angle. It’s not a prison. It’s a sanctuary. They’re not abused. They’re rehabilitated.”
Holy shit. A coat of goose bumps sprang over my skin. Why had it been so hard for me to see it? Why was it hard now to admit that it made sense?
Because Cristiano was still my captor. My bad guy. He’d done the opposite of all this to me—so how could I be expected to see him as anything else?
“What about me?” I asked. “You can’t get angry that I assumed everything I’d heard was true. You took me.”
His nostrils flared as he swerved into the next lane and took a turn too fast. I braced myself against the door. The Audi’s smooth hum filled the silence until Cristiano smacked his palm against the steering wheel. After a few moments, he spoke calmly. “It would seem you’re the one exception.”
Of course I was. How convenient. Cristiano got to be a hero to everyone else while keeping me locked up in his house. I crossed my arms and leaned into the corner. “I see. And Sandra? Is she also an exception?”
“No.” He stopped for a red light, and I registered my surroundings. We were almost at La Madrina. “She’s had two years of therapy and rehab, including one of intense physical training—twice as hard as what you’ve been doing. She wanted to see those men suffer.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “She understood that the best way to help was to draw them out. There were about a dozen pairs of eyes on her, ready to spring into action if she needed help.” He snickered. “Well, eleven and a half if you count Max.”
I didn’t laugh. “Where are Max and Eduardo taking the other girls?”
“To the Badlands. There’s a team there to receive them. Clean them up, feed them, set them up in a safe house with whatever they need while they adjust. That’s the purpose of the toiletry kits you saw.” He blew out a sigh. “Then we learn who they are and where they came from.”
I fingered the unfamiliar, obtrusive diamond on my hand as I eyed him. “And then?” I asked softly.
When the light changed, Cristiano hit the gas and turned in the direction of the club. He blew out a breath. “We try to get them home. If they don’t have a home or don’t want to return—like Sandra—then we have good, fair work and modest housing for them in the Badlands.”
My heart sank as the truth of the situation overwhelmed me. These women had been in the worst situations imaginable. Cristiano and his team had saved them. I had not only doubted him, but accused him of unspeakable things. Considering the lengths he went to in order to help, my character assassination must’ve been shitty to receive.
My throat thickened. “They stay willingly?” I asked, feeling smaller than ever.
“Yes. They have jobs and pay rent like anyone else. Because after what they’ve been through, many of them want to be anyone else.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You . . . charge them rent?”
“You don’t miss anything, do you?” A half-smile slid across his face. “Working gives them a sense of purpose, Natalia. The Badlands are a safe place for them to do it. I don’t need the rent money—I put it back into the community. But none of them came here for a handout. Most like to feel like they’re contributing.”