Hunting Adeline Copyright © 2022 by H. D. Carlton All rights reserved. Printed in the United

States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without

written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and

incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: TRCDesigns

First Edition: January 2022

To my anxiety,

Because you really tried me on this one and I kicked your ass anyway.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Epilogue

MORE BOOKS BY H. D. CARLTON

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

IMPORTANT NOTE:

As some of you may know, the first book in this duet, Haunting Adeline,

was banned due to the warnings. But it is so necessary to have one. These

are also available on my website.

This book contains very dark triggering situations, particularly a four

letter one that starts with R and ends with E, though NOT between the main characters. Is that creative enough, ‘Zon? These scenes can be detailed, so please proceed with caution. There is also graphic violence, sexual assault,

explicit sexual situations, human trafficking, PTSD, and very particular

kinks such as blood play, knife play, degradation, and somnophilia.

This book is significantly darker than the first. Please take these

warnings seriously.

Your mental health matters.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

If you are expecting a quick reunion, then this book isn’t for you.

Don’t worry, there’s not any less spice.

PLAYLIST

Story of the Year- Miracle Sophie Simmons- Black Mirror Klergy- No

Rest for the Wicked gavn!- Crazy

Bad Omens- The Death of Peace of Mind A.A. Bondy- Skull & Bones

Echos- Saints Jacqui Siu- Danger

MJ Cole & Freya Ridings- Waking Up Skillet- Monster

Zero 9:36- Tragedy

Skylar Grey (feat. Eminem)- Kill for You Aaron Camper- Hypnotizing

Gavin Haley- Sad Season

Glimmer of Blooms- Can’t Get You Out of My Head Ghostly Kisses-

Spellbound Echos- Guest Room

Red- Let It Burn

Pinterest Board

PART I

Chapter 1

The Diamond

Smell. The first of my senses to trickle in. I wish it were anything else

because I'm instantly overwhelmed by the scent of body odor, spiced cologne, and what can only be described as the stench of evil incarnate.

And then my sixth sense seeps in, whispering notes of warning and

urgency.

I’m in danger.

Those notes turn into a song full of screeching and loud noises, filling

my body with heart-wrenching panic. Adrenaline spikes, and just barely do I have enough sense to remain as quiet as possible.

Slowly cracking open my crusted eyes, I’m greeted by complete

darkness. It takes a second to process that there’s a blindfold strapped around my head.

Then, the blissful numbness I awoke in crumbles, and I lose my breath

when all-consuming pain filters in, engulfing my body in absolute agony.

God, is this what being alive feels like? It can’t be death. I’d be at peace

if it were. And I may have fallen for a stalker, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t land a spot within heaven’s gates.

I fucking earned that shit.

Racking my brain, I try to think past the pain and remember what the

fuck happened to me. Vaguely, I recall text messages from Daya asking me to come over. The urgency I felt when she wasn’t answering my calls.

Getting in my car, headlights, and panicking, being jerked forward, and then nothing.

And now I’m here… wherever that is. But not somewhere safe.

Christ, was that even Daya texting me? Did something happen to her

too?

That possibility sends another wave of panic crashing through me.

Scenarios curtail and evolve until I’m a mass of anxiety and desperation.

She could be hurt or in serious trouble.

Fuck—I’m hurt and in serious trouble, and I’ve no idea how the fuck I’m

going to get out of it.

My breathing is escalating further, and my heart is beating so heavily, it

physically hurts as it slams against my chest. It takes what little strength I have left to keep silent.

Where the fuck am I?

Where's Zade?

Quiet, dull voices are next, muffled by the noise in my ears but steadily

growing louder. I strain my ears, trying to hear over the beat of my heart and the pain swelling in my body like a water balloon.

Somehow the agony has a voice too, and it’s fucking loud. “Z will be looking for her,” one man says quietly. “But we’ll be fine

once we get to Garrison’s and chuck the van. We’ll get her there quickly.”

A particular memory knocks me over the head, flashes of being dragged

out of my car and the residual pain of glass and metal biting through my skin. It explains why my back is on fire.

I’ve been fucking kidnapped—obviously. This had to have been the

Society’s doing. Zade had said they targeted me, and I know he had guards stationed outside of Parsons Manor. They must have used Daya to draw me out, which means there’s a high chance she’s been taken, too.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

I didn’t even stop to consider it could be a trap when Daya wasn’t

answering the phone. I was so intent on getting to her in case she was hurt or in trouble that it wasn’t even a consideration to call Zade. Not only could it have saved me, but it also could have saved Daya, too.

I squeeze my eyes shut as a sob crawls up my throat. A tear slips through

my lashes, and my chest shakes with exertion, trying not to break down.

This was my own damn fault.

Zade warned me countless times they were after me, and the first trap

they set, I walked right into.

You’re such an idiot, Addie. Such a fucking idiot. “You actually think we'll be able to hide her from him? It’s fucking Z,

man,” another man responds, this one with a slight Hispanic accent.

“We’re just giving the Society what they asked for. Which one are you

more afraid of? Them or Z?”

Fuck, it was the goddamn Society. I knew it, but hearing it confirmed

only sends a fresh dose of adrenaline into my system.

I don’t know why I got tossed into this shit, but they need to take me out

of this fucked-up salad of depravity; I don’t belong here. I belong in a salad full of fruits and vegetables. Healthy things that don’t run me off the road and enslave me.

The second man mutters, “I’d prefer not to fucking choose.” It sounds like a hand slapping someone’s shoulder or back as if to

reassure him. “Too bad you don’t have a choice, Rio. Doesn’t matter. This girl right here is worth millions. I mean, we got a fucking diamond here.

Just imagine it, dude—Z's girl, the one and only, up on an auction stage.

You know how many enemies he has? People will be frothing at the mouth to make his girl their little toy. I’ll get my cut from Max, and the Society will compensate you, I’m sure. We’ll be living fucking lavishly.” He lets out a burst of hyena-like laughter. “I can buy my own goddamn private island after the money goes through!”

A shot of anger pumps into me at the man’s callous words, speaking of

me like I’m a house up for sale.

“Your idea of comfort must be different from mine. We'll have to go into

hiding alongside her. At least while Z is still alive,” the second man—Rio— responds. His name sounds familiar, and I think I faintly remember someone yelling his name after they ran me off the road.

“Don’t worry, man. We’ll get a head start with the ritual happening

tonight, and I’m sure the Society will take out Z, one way or another.

They’ll protect us.”

A derisive snort is the only response the first man gets.

Jesus Christ, I really am in deep trouble. Tears brim the corners of my

eyes, and try as I might, no amount of trash talking keeps them from overflowing like rivers past the blindfold.

I barely manage to wrangle down the sob that’s still threatening to spill,

clawing its way up to the inside of my teeth.

Deep breaths, Addie. What did Zade teach you?

It takes several moments to collect my thoughts, but eventually, his voice

filters in.

Leave evidence.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I slowly grip stands of my hair and

tug until they break free. The sharp pinpricks are inconsequential compared to the rest of my body.

I keep my movements minimal and slow. With the blindfold on, I’ve no

idea if they can see me well. One movement out of the corner of their eye can alert them.

I wiggle my fingers until the strands loosen and fall away.

Just as I’m reaching for more hair, they hit a particular brutal bump in

the road, and I can’t keep the yelp from slipping free.

The pair hadn’t been talking at that moment, but it felt like a crowded

room just went deathly silent in a matter of seconds.

“Welcome to the land of the living, sweetheart,” one of the men croons.

It’s the first guy who had referred to me as a diamond.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, my voice raspy and hoarse. “To your new home—well, temporary home,” he corrects. “Whoever

pays the most will provide you with your forever home.” He chuckles as if I’m a dog about to be adopted into a loving family.

“Great,” I croak. “Sounds like I’ve hit the jackpot.” One of them laughs humorlessly, but it sounds like Rio this time. “Hold

on tight to that humor, baby girl. You’re going to need it for where you’re going.”

Before I can open my mouth to respond, I feel a prick in my arm,

followed by a burning sensation spreading throughout my veins.

I suck in a sharp breath. And it happens to be the last breath I take before

darkness descends.

“Her vitals are unstable, and her blood pressure is dropping. We need to

get her an IV.”

I stir; the unfamiliar voice distorted beneath the ringing in my ears.

Agony blazes in every inch of my body, but it feels like I’m underwater,

fighting to get to the surface yet kicking away from it because I just know the pain will only intensify. I’m encased in a shroud of fire, flames licking

at my nerve endings, and the closer I get to consciousness, the brighter the flare.

There’s a tiny prick in my arm, followed by muffled voices coming from

different directions.

“Dislocated shoulder, head trauma, lacerations throughout her body.”

The man’s voice fades out before cutting back in, a harsh shout that travels up my spine.

“Goddammit, Rio, this isn’t a fucking hospital where I have the

equipment I need. She could have internal bleeding right now, for all I know.”

“Come on, man, she was fine just a bit ago,” another answers, a note of

concern in his tone. Rio’s companion, I think.

“Fine? I have no way of knowing what kind of damage she took. It’s

evident she hit her head. She could be hemorrhaging and potentially die in seconds. You gonna find me a CT scanner?” When he’s met with silence, a muttered, “Thought so,” follows.

Darkness licks at the edge of my consciousness, threatening to drag me

back under. I moan, and probing fingers pry my eyes open. A bright light flashes in them, but I hardly notice.

“Miss, can you tell me what hurts?” An older man replaces the light, his face crowding over me. His image is

blurry, but I can make out tufts of gray hair, a bushy mustache, and pale blue eyes.

I part my lips, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

Jesus, what did they inject me with? Whatever it was, it’s making me

disoriented and dizzy.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but I need you to tell me what

hurts.”

Everything. Everything fucking hurts. “My… shoulder,” I croak out finally. “My head.” “Anywhere else? Your chest or stomach?” “Back,” I gasp, remembering once more being dragged out of my car.

My back feels as if it’s been shredded with a cheese grater.

“That all?” he presses.

I nod my head, the incessant questions exhausting. A million other places

hurt, too, but my energy is depleted, and I’m so very tired.

“I’m going to put you under anesthesia and get you fixed up, okay?” Clarity surfaces over my surroundings, and the man’s facial features

sharpen. Along with another man standing behind him, who’s shifting on his feet and watching us.

Time to go to sleep, princess.

Dark bottomless eyes and a wicked grin—Rio. He’s the one who had

dragged me out of the car. Flashes of that conversation elude me, but I know there was more to it. I can’t think past the relentless pounding in my skull.

Just as my eyes were beginning to focus, my vision blurs once more, and

my eyelids grow heavy. I can’t fight the deep pull to just close my eyes.

I don’t want to fight it. Not when it’ll take me away from the pain.

Addie, baby, I need you to fight for me, okay? I need you to survive until

I get to you.

“How badly is she damaged?” The question stirs me out of the endless pit I’ve been drifting in, where

only an illusion of Zade’s voice lives. It’s not real—his voice isn’t actually there. But it feels so real. So soothing, that I fight to stay where I can hear him.

“How badly do you think? You ran her off the road.” Alongside the angry response is a swell of dull pain pulsing throughout

my body. I hear a sigh, and then the older man continues.

“She’ll have a few scars along her back from the glass. You’re lucky

they were fairly clean, so the scarring won’t be too terrible.”

“That’ll decrease her value,” a voice mutters, too low to discern who

said it.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re getting paid regardless. The fuck you care

for?”

“Uh, maybe because your dumbass mistake is risking my life? Jesus,

Rio, I knew she was banged up but not this bad.”

Whatever Rio was going to say, it’s cut off by the unfamiliar voice—the

one who must be the doctor.

“She has thirty stitches between the two larger lacerations because she

was dragged across sharp metal and glass. You couldn’t have expected that not to cause permanent damage,” he says, clearly taking Rio’s companion’s side.

“Goddammit, Rio. You do realize that might be coming out of my

fucking pocket, right? I asked for your help, not for you to fuck it all up for me.”

“How the fuck did you expect me to get her out, huh? Lift the car like

I’m fucking Superman and roll it off so I can carry her out like some hero?” Rio spits.

My chest seizes. The roughness of his tone feels like scratching nails on

a chalkboard. I’ve awoken to that damn voice too many times now. And each time is a stark reminder that I’ve been pulled down into a nightmare and haven’t found my way out yet.

“If you hadn’t hit the car so fucking hard, none of this would be

happening, you piece of shit.”

“If you hadn’t been so fucking doped up and screaming in my ear, then

you could’ve been the fucking driver like you were supposed to be.”

“Gentlemen, let’s take a breather. She’s awake. Her blood pressure is

rising.”

My breath stills, but I don’t bother pretending. Slowly, I open my eyes to

see three men surrounding me, staring at me as if I’m a lab rat in an experiment.

A very fucking horrible experiment.

My eyes clash with a dark pair first. Nearly black and lifeless from the

lack of warmth. Tattoos cover his light brown skin, the laurel leaves on either side of his throat snagging my attention first. He’s wearing a zipped-up leather jacket, but black ink swirls on his hands and up to each of his fingers, indicating he’s most likely covered in them. He has sharp angular features, arched thick brows, along with a scar cutting through the side of his closely cropped black hair, completing his near-feral appearance. He’d be attractive if he didn’t look like he’d rather see me dead.

My gaze moves to the man next to him; he’s grungy-looking with scabs

on his face from apparent drug use. A mop of greasy hair covered by a

backward ball cap, a dirty wife-beater, and pants too big. I recognize him as the other man who kidnapped me.

Finally, I look over to the third man—who I assume to be a doctor. Gray

hair, blue eyes, a bushy mustache, and wrinkles disturbing the otherwise smooth expression on his face. His stare is softer, matching the tenor in which he speaks. But something is off about him. A deep, penetrating vibe that I can’t quite place.

I look away, a cold tremor settling deep in the marrow of my bones. The

dull, throbbing pain is growing sharper but still not nearly as potent compared to when I awoke in that van. Whatever painkillers they pumped into my system must be fading, and I’m not above begging for more.

All of my muscles ache so profoundly that I feel as if a hard shell has

molded around my bones. I’m incredibly stiff, and every movement twinges.

Breathing through the aches, I glance around. I’m in a darkened, white

room. It’s… sterile in here. Not clean like a hospital, which is where I expected to be, but we’re not in a dungeon, either.

I’m not sure why I even expected that.

Dirty white walls, concrete flooring, and silver cabinets line nearly every

wall in the room. Next to the hospital bed is a large metal table with a bowl and various instruments laid out on a bloody cloth.

Different sorts of machines are placed throughout the room. While I

don’t recognize most of them, the beeping device next to me monitoring my vitals is familiar, along with the IV that leads directly into my arm.

The doctor grabs a Styrofoam cup from the table next to my bed and

hands it to me.

“Drink slowly,” he instructs.

Shakily, I grab the cup and sip on it. The cold water feels like dumping

ice on a burn. Painfully relieving.

Scratchy, white blankets cover me up to my waist, and when I look

down, I notice I’m in nothing but a light blue gown.

Somehow, that’s the worst part. They can see the evidence of just how

cold it is in here.

Noticing where my eyes are trained, the doctor speaks up. “I do

apologize for your clothing. I had to cut them off of you so I could properly treat you and assess the damage you’ve suffered.”

“You can thank Rio for that,” the grungy man mutters under his breath.

Plenty loud enough for me to pick up on through the near-constant fear steadily swirling in my bloodstream.

“Shut the fuck up, Rick,” Rio snaps back, his accent deepening with

fury. "Or I will kill you myself, and unlike your precious diamond, no one will miss you."

This… this is a terror unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s nothing

like the fear Zade invoked in me, and definitely not a cheap thrill I get from haunted houses and scary movies. This is what it feels like when you’re well and truly fucked.

The monitor betrays my body, the beeping increasing until the doctor

glances at it with concern.

I scarcely remember the events after they sent my car rolling. However, I

do vaguely recall Rio’s face hovering over me after he dragged me out of the car, his mouth moving but his words evading me. All except six.

Time to go to sleep, princess. “Where am I?” I whisper and then cough, clearing some of the phlegm

from my throat.

“At the fucking Ritz-Carlton, princess. Where do you think?” Rio snaps,

his features still tight with anger.

Rick looks at him with an accusatory expression on his pock-marked

face, but otherwise, he keeps his mouth shut, clearly taking Rio’s threat seriously.

It’s obvious Rio fucked up, and there’s a part of me that hopes they kill

him for it.

“My name is Dr. Garrison,” the gray-haired man introduces, deliberately

stepping in front of Rio. Swallowing, I stay silent. If the creep expects me to give him my name as if we're in a fucking interview, then he can shove the IV pole up his ass.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking a step closer. I bristle, and before

I can tell him precisely what I’m feeling, he powers on, seeming to sense my incoming smart-ass response. “I imagine a headache. Any nausea?”

I tighten my lips. Probably for the best that he diverted the questioning.

My mouth is only going to get me killed if I let it run wild.

I’m not going to get away with that like I did with Zade—though I’d still

consider ‘getting away with it’ subjective. Even when he first made himself

known and terrified the absolute shit out of me, there was always an odd sense of security in pushing his buttons, as if deep down, I knew Zade would never truly hurt me. Something that only makes sense now that he’s managed to worm his way into my life.

The man is incredibly dangerous… to everyone else but me. Even when

he had a loaded gun pointed in my direction and used it for more than just a weapon.

But these men? Not only would they hurt me, but they would kill me,

too.

“Nausea,” I clip, my voice still hoarse. Dr. Garrison begins fiddling with

the IV, replacing the empty fluid bag with a new one. I hope it's morphine.

I drain the rest of the water in my cup, yet it does little to acquiesce the

perpetual dryness in my throat. No matter how many times I lick my chapped lips, there’s never enough moisture.

“You have a pretty nasty concussion. Which means we’ll have to

monitor you closely. I want to ensure you receive no further damage.” He shoots the pair a nasty look, and I get the feeling this is something they already argued over.

My mouth moves on autopilot, opening and readying to tell him not to

waste his time—the two other men will ensure that my body endures plenty of more damage.

Sensing my intent, Rio snips, “I dare you.” His voice is stern and

threatening, drawing my attention to him. “Your pussy will still work regardless, even if you’ve got brain damage.”

My mouth snaps closed, and I avert my gaze back to Dr. Garrison. His

lips flatten into a white line, seemingly not impressed with Rio’s crude words.

Keep your mouth shut, Addie. We just went over this, dumbass. “You’ve experienced extensive trauma, and despite what anyone says—”

he gives Rio a nasty look— “we need you in tip-top shape.”

They need me in shape so that I will be worth something. But I don’t

argue, not when it benefits me. Healing means gaining the energy to flee.

Licking my lips, I ask, “What day is it?” “You really think that’s important?” Rick barks. “You don’t get to ask

questions.”

I struggle not to mouth back. My lips tremble with the urge to impart

nasty, hateful words to spew past them. But I manage to refrain.

“It’s Thursday,” Dr. Garrison answers anyway, ignoring the filthy look

from the grungy man.

Thursday… It’s been five days already since the car accident.

Zade would be looking for me by now. Most likely out of his mind and

on a rampage… Jesus, he’s probably going to kill a lot of people. No, he definitely is. And when a grin begins to form, I know that man has well and truly corrupted me.

“Something funny?” Rick asks. I squash the grin and shake my head, but

all I can think is that even though I may die, so will all of them. And their end is going to be so much worse than mine.

As the fantasies take root in all the ways Zade will wreak havoc, my

eyelids begin to grow heavy, and fatigue weighs down the little burst of adrenaline I was running on.

The three men watch me closely, and even in my concussed, broken

state, I don’t need a scientist to tell me that whatever he drugged me with, it's not morphine.

My eyes land on Rio, and my lids involuntarily close before I force them

open. His lips quirk up at the sides, dry amusement swirling in those dark pits.

“Time to go to sleep, princess.”

Chapter 2

The Hunter

It’s not very often that people surprise me.

I expect the worst from everyone, even myself. Especially myself.

But when that voice registers through the fog of agony clouding my

head, all I can feel is astonishment and the cold press of metal in the back of my skull.

“Glad you could figure that out, Jason Scott. Now let’s see those hands,

otherwise, this single bullet will find its way in both of your fucking heads.”

The exact feeling is reflected on Jay’s face as his features slacken and

eyes widen, his voice saturated with utter bewilderment as he mouths, “You?”

“Yes. Me.” Mother… fucker.

My mind races, circulating through each encounter with her and trying to

figure out how the fuck I missed this—missed her being a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She played her part pretty fucking well. “This really hurts my feelings, you know,” I say through clenched teeth,

the muscle in my jaw pulsating.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ll get over it?” A man’s tortured scream rings out from someplace to my left, the heavy

smoke concealing him.

A bomb went off somewhere, blasting me back into the stone altar they

used for their sacrificial rituals. I’ve no idea what the fuck kind of damage I took, but if the increasing pain in my entire body is anything to go by, I need to get to a hospital.

And I don’t need a fucking fortune teller to inform me that getting help

is not in my near future.

The man-made underground cave we’re in is still swarmed with chaos,

wails of agony and terror bouncing off the stone walls, worsening the pounding in my skull.

This hellhole is where the Society sacrifices children. Some type of

initiation in order to be welcomed into a club that provides them with an ample number of innocents to rape and murder.

Leaked videos surfaced on the dark web, the first one being nine months

ago. Since then, I have worked day and night to get into this ritual.

And I finally did.

But evidently, the Society saw me coming and planned for my arrival.

Dan—the man who got me in—had mentioned they caught the culprit

who was leaking the videos.

I was too distracted to realize the trap when another video popped up on

the web afterward. A video that was intentionally uploaded, knowing that I’d see it and find my way into the club. They were drawing me in so they could take me out.

“You cost me a little girl, Z,” the bitch says from behind me. “Sounds like you knew that was a risk,” I counter, a tad breathless. It

hurts to even fucking breathe, and the pain is growing by the second.

The little girl who was offered up to me and three other men on the altar

had been taken out of here, hopefully before the explosion. I entrusted her safety with one of my men, Michael, and I haven’t heard from him yet.

“Both of you—up. You’re coming with me.” “I may be a tad fucked up at the moment, but don’t expect me not to kill

you the first chance I get,” I warn, nearly groaning when my back spasms.

Fuck me, more than anything, I wish this shit were like in the movies where getting blasted by a bomb and proceeding to save the world directly after was possible.

“You’re not going to do that, Z. You want to know why?” I freeze, a sinking feeling already forming in the pit of my stomach. It’s

like the mouth of Jaws just opened up, and my heart is the unsuspecting swimmer about to get swallowed whole. She better not say what the fuck I think she’s going to say, or I’m going to lose my shit.

My voice is deadly calm as I say, “I swear to everything that is holy, I

will destroy you if you touched my girl.”

Her answering silence speaks volumes, and everything goes black. My

vision snuffs out, and a tsunami of rage crashes through me. I clench my fists, fighting to regain control of myself.

“Zade.”

Urgency gnashes at my patience, screaming at me to get up and find my

little mouse. I need to get to her now before they take her too far.

“Zade.” Who knows how far they’ve taken her already? How badly they’ve hurt

her.

My body locks tight from the thought, images flashing through my head

of what they could be doing to her. If they touch her…

“Fuck, ZADE! Look at me, man.” Jay’s voice finally registers, but I can’t see him. I can’t see anything.

The gun is pressed harder into my head as a warning. I don’t remember

moving, but I’m on my knees now, my spine straight as I stare ahead.

Seeing nothing but a vision of ripping this bitch’s body apart, limb by limb, with my fucking teeth.

“Stay down,” she hisses from behind me. “Let me… fuck, he’s going to do something stupid,” Jay rushes out,

voice pitched in panic. Pain explodes on the side of my head from a fist flying into my temple. My sight comes rushing back in, my right-hand man’s face appearing, his hazel eyes inches away.

“Get it fucking together,” he barks through gritted teeth. The vein on his

temple pulsates, sweat pouring down his red face.

My hand is wrapped around the barrel that’s firmly digging into my

head, seconds away from pulling it from her grip.

“Let it go,” Jay orders sharply. “You’re lucky you don’t have a goddamn

bullet in your head right now. You can’t kill her yet.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she spits, nudging the gun. Setting my jaw, I

release it and rest my hands on my knees. My muscles are vibrating so hard —so fast; my body appears to be still. But I can feel every tremor as she continues, “You may think you’re powerful, but whatever scraps of power you have are insignificant to mine. I can make you disappear, and no one will ever have known you existed at all.”

I snarl, on the precipice of demonstrating just how wrong she is, but

keep my teeth glued together for the time being. Jay’s right. She’s holding a gun to the back of my head and can end my life in a matter of seconds. A bullet is faster than me, and I have no doubt she would make good on her threat and kill Jay next.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply and bring myself to a scary place I’ve

rarely had to go in my lifetime. Numbness spreads, and tranquility replaces the white-hot rage. My mind goes silent, and when I reopen my eyes, Jay’s spine snaps straight.

Whatever he sees unnerves him.

I need to get out of this situation in order to find Addie. Only then, will I

be more than happy to show this cunt exactly what I’m capable of. This world will fucking smolder, and I will hold her face in the fire and watch her melt in my wrath.

“Did you take her?” I ask. I know she did, but I need to hear the

confirmation from her mouth anyway.

I feel her hot breath fan across my ear, followed by her soft, mocking

voice. “I did. I took her, and I’m going to sell her only to the ones with the sickest desires. And you can’t do a thing about it.”

One thing I’ve grown to loathe since forming Z—I have an incredibly

vivid imagination. In this field of work, it’s a curse. Every time I see a new video posted on the dark web or get intel on a new ring—the first thoughts that come to mind are all the depraved, sick things being done to these women and children.

My own mind tortures me with those images. And later, I’ll be plagued

by them, except it’ll be my girl they’re hurting.

But now? I’m fucking glad for it.

Because at this very moment, I am enjoying all of the ways I’m

envisioning how I will kill Claire Seinburg.

“So,” I start, grunting when a particularly painful twinge flares in my

back. “Mark was never your abuser, was he?”

She titters. “Oh, he was. He just didn’t know what it meant for him every

time he laid his hands on me. Idiot never did figure out I was the one pulling all the strings. He was too stupid.”

She circles Jay and me, the gun still pointed at my head while her red

lips pull into a snarl. The color staining her mouth rivals her hair. Such a bright red that curls around her face and robed shoulders. During the ritual, she was the mystery person in the hood, offering me a knife that she knew damn well I would never use on that little girl. Instead, it went into another’s throat.

“That’s the best thing about the male species. You all are so far up your

own asses, you never thought it could be a woman in charge. Never suspected the meek, abused wife because you all assumed I was weak.”

I huff out a dry laugh. “Wrong. I didn’t suspect the abused wife only

because I couldn’t imagine one victim actively victimizing other innocent women and children.”

She smiles wickedly and bends at the waist, leveling her green eyes with

mine.

“And I can’t imagine a man that puts his life on the line to save these

victims forcing an innocent woman into a relationship.”

She assesses me closely while I stare at her, searching for any emotion. I

only give her one—I tip my head back and laugh.

“Have you been stalking me, Claire?” I ask with mirth, meeting her glare

once more.

Her lips tip up further. “We’re all hypocrites, Z,” she says, ignoring my

taunt and straightening. “The only difference between you and me is that I chose to profit off of the pathetic men in this world. They’re never going to stop abusing those they deem weaker. And they’ll never stop raping and killing them. So, I decided that if that’s the world we're going to live in, then I’ll be damned if I don’t gain something from it.”

I smooth out my face, only clenching my teeth when the twinge in my

back worsens.

Fuck. I really need a hospital.

But I need Addie more. “You could do so much good in your position,” Jay fumes, disgust

twisting his features. “You have immense power. And you choose to feed into the patriarchy rather than changing it.”

She snarls, whipping the gun to him and pressing it into his temple. Jay

stiffens, but he doesn’t cower. My muscles lock, the throbbing pain fading as I watch her finger dance over the trigger.

If she pulls that trigger… I will crush her throat beneath my boot before

that bullet finishes passing through Jay's brain.

“You’re wrong.” She looks at me. “Let’s say you did destroy all the

rings, Z. Let’s say you accomplished what you’ve set out to do. Do you honestly believe, for one second, it’ll stay that way? Ha! The second the

dust settles, evil will already be rebuilding their empire, this time stronger and better than before.” She stares at Jay and me as if we’re delusional.

“You'll never get rid of evil. Never.” She’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put a massive dent in the

cesspool of rotten souls and create a power vacuum. I’m not under any delusions that I’ll be able to erase human trafficking in my lifetime completely. But that was never the fucking point. Saving these girls—these children—and giving as many of them a second chance at life as I can is the goddamn point.

My plan has always been to dismantle the government's shady control of

the people and their hand in the skin trade. That alone will make a significant difference in the world.

It will be an ongoing battle long after I’m gone. The sun will explode,

and the earth will deteriorate before a perfect world ever exists. Humans will kill themselves off before that can happen.

But Z? Z isn’t going anywhere, even when I’m buried six feet under. I

will raise a generation to take over, and they will do the same.

Claire looks over her shoulder then, and I notice a man approaching with

a deep hood over his head. I can only tell his gender because he’s built like an upside-down Eiffel Tower. Massive, broad shoulders stretching the robe, the seams nearly bursting, and then dramatically tapering down into chicken legs.

Dickhead skipped leg day so often that he can’t even see them anymore

because they’re so skinny.

“Car is ready,” he announces, his voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.

Claire faces me, lowering her gun as the man’s raises, and flicks her

pointer finger up and down.

“Up,” she snaps, her tone sharp. “Now.” Blowing out a steady breath, I force myself to move, gritting my teeth

from the aches in my body.

Grunting, I stand fully and train my glare on the red-headed snake before

me. She’s brave enough to meet my gaze head-on without an iota of fear.

I’m sure she’s used to men looking down on her, intimidating in nature. But Claire has never dealt with a man like me.

“What do you think you’re going to do with me?” I challenge, staring at

her with condescension like you would a small child who believes they can

win an arm-wrestling match against you. “I’m a lot to handle, Claire.”

Her lips tip up in a secretive smile, unconcerned as she draws near, a

display to show me how unafraid she is.

“Patrick here will be taking you to our interrogation room. We're going

to ask you some questions.” She pats my cheek, returning the condescension. “You’ll be useful and give us all the information we need.

How your organization operates and the illegal technology you use, along with all the intel you’ve collected in your years as a terrorist. And then, I will make you watch your little girlfriend with her new master before I kill you myself.”

I stretch my lips into a feral smile, baring my teeth as I lean in and show

her exactly why she should be very fucking afraid.

“Better make sure those ropes are extra tight,” I growl. Her eyes round at

the corners, a hint of fear flashing as quick as lightning. Bitch may be ice fucking cold, but that doesn’t make her immune to my fire.

“Lead the way,” I encourage, gesturing before me. Claire looks me up

and down, a scowl forming on her face at my superior tone. She’s gotten used to people sniveling at her feet and bowing to her commands like metal beneath a torch.

She has yet to learn that I’ve never been just a man.

With a sniff, she turns and walks away, making a point to keep her back

turned as if to prove a point. I’ve never needed to acquire fear in order to kill, but I don’t mind teaching lessons. Addie can attest to that.

Jay’s stare is searing into the side of my face, a panicked look radiating

from his hazel eyes. He doesn’t need to say the words; his expression says it all.

We’re going to die.

Not if I have anything to fucking do with it. I have too much to lose

that’s worth far more than my own life.

Her chicken-legged companion, Patrick, allows us to pass before he falls

into step behind us.

“Try not to stare at my ass,” I drawl.

He growls and nudges me forward with a meaty hand, his gun poised in

his other hand threateningly. Slowly, I twist my head to stare at him over my shoulder, eyes wild and a grin I can’t feel on my face.

“Shut up and walk,” he snaps, but his voice betrays him, wobbling at the

last word. How hard it must be to feign bravery beneath the stare of a heinous monster with a malicious smile.

The smoke is beginning to thin. Bodies are strewn across the cave, an

ocean of blood soaking into the rock. Following Claire, my foot knocks against a severed arm, the limb rolling directly into a decapitated head, the man’s face frozen in terror.

The howls of pain are slowly fading as the mortalities grow, and I can’t

help but marvel at the fact that the Society sacrificed their own people’s lives just to ensure that I would be caught. That speaks volumes.

Not only am I a threat, I am catastrophic.

Claire leads us to the door that she disappeared out of after handing me

the knife. From the quick sweep of the room, I hadn’t seen any of my own men, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not mixed in and possibly dead.

My chest tightens, hoping that’s not the case. They understand the risks,

but their deaths would be another responsibility to shoulder.

We follow her down a dimly lit hallway, an exact replica of the one I

entered the cave through. Strips of LED lights line either side, giving off an ominous glow against the black walls and tiles.

This hallway steeply inclines upward now that we’re coming from

underground. It feels like climbing a mountain with the way my body aches.

Jay walks stiffly beside me, periodically glancing at me with fear and

anxiety. It’s clear that he’s never been in a dangerous situation like this before. He’s always behind the computer, never on the front lines. I don’t know how to assure him. I’ve never been one to lie, and while I’m confident I’ll get us out alive, I can’t guarantee it.

In a matter of minutes, Claire is pushing open the door and leading us

out into a dark alleyway, scarcely lit by the moonlight and a streetlamp at the end. The sweat gliding down the sides of my face is instantly cooled by the brittle, Seattle air.

Claire wastes no time leading us toward a nondescript black van waiting

at the mouth of the lane, its tinted windows so dark that you couldn’t see through it even if your face was smashed against the glass. Incredibly fucking illegal, but those license plates will prevent them from getting pulled over. They would only need to see Claire’s name to look the other way.

The closer we get to the vehicle, the more Jay stiffens.

I lean closer to his ear. “Just think of Claire as your fairy godmother, and

this is the pumpkin carriage that’s going to whisk you away off to your princess.”

“Or prince,” Jay corrects through gritted teeth. He’s sweating profusely

and his eyes are dilated. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

I shrug. “As long as you still make me Uncle Z.” He scoffs, peering over at me as if I’m cracked. “You seriously think I’m

going to have kids after seeing this shit every day?”

I shrug a shoulder again, pursing my lips. “Why not? Uncle Z will keep

them safe. I can be their personal bodyguard. They may not like it, but I’ll fucking do it.”

He shakes his head, the tiniest of smiles tipping up his lips,

understanding precisely what I’m doing.

I’m giving him a future. Painting a picture of him surviving and finding

happiness, whether he decides to breed mini gremlins or not.

As we step off the curb and approach the black van, the back double

doors open wide. Claire turns and nods her head towards the dark interior, indicating for us to get in.

Shooting her a wink, I make my way into the depths of the van with Jay

close behind, her irritated huff following us in.

If this were anyone else, I’d tell them not to antagonize their kidnapper.

In fact, knowing that Addie is in the same exact situation right now, I’d spank her ass if I knew she was being reckless. The smartest thing to do is keep your fucking mouth shut and listen to orders until you find a way out.

But putting Z in the back of a van will never be the same as putting an

innocent civilian in it. For now, I can rely on the fact that they won’t kill Addie. She’s worth too much. And seeing my situation laid out in front of me, I am even more confident Claire isn’t going to win this round.

She may be smart, but she wasn’t smart enough to knock my ass out.

That could’ve given her a solid chance.

I sit down on the cold metal bench, gritting my teeth against the pain,

and train my feral gaze on Claire again. She stands right outside the doors, staring at me with a slight grin. Her tight red curls are glaring beneath the streetlamp, and for a moment, she appears innocent. She looks like a

woman who has endured years of abuse in all forms and just wants to live a life in peace.

But the mirage shatters and all I see is a woman who became everything

she hates.

She shoots a loaded look of warning my way, then slams the doors shut,

triggering LED lights rimming either side of the floor to flicker on.

Jay settles on the bench across from me, immediately putting on the

seatbelt attached to the van wall, while Patrick sits next to me. So close that he is practically sitting in my lap.

My eyes drift to him, a blank expression on my face. “You don’t want to

get in a swordfight with me, Patrick. I promise I’ll win,” I deadpan, glancing down between his legs.

Jay hisses at me to shut up, but I don’t tear my gaze away from where I

feel his eyes hiding within the deep hood.

"You don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?" “What’d I say?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I thought that was your

intent with the way you’re sitting in my lap."

“It’s going to be hard to get in a swordfight if you have no sword to

speak of,” he retorts, his tone dipped in malice.

I arch a brow, unimpressed with his threat. “Even with a chainsaw, it

takes time to cut through a tree trunk. You’ll be dead before you get that far.”

“Keep talking,” he snaps, daring me.

I smirk, but keep my mouth shut. If Jay weren’t here, I would continue

to antagonize him. It would be my goal for him to attack me and hopefully pull a weapon on me. Thus, presenting me with the perfect opportunity to disarm and kill him instead.

But it’s possible he’d turn the gun on Jay, and I won’t risk his life in

place of my own, so I'll bide my time for now. Patrick is going to die. And very soon.

The engine rumbles to life, the metal vibrating beneath my ass. The

vehicle surges forward, causing the three of us to sway heavily to the side, forcing Patrick further against me.

We look at each other, and slowly, he slides a few inches away.

That’s what I fucking thought.

Now that the mouth breather has removed itself from my neck, I can

actually think.

But it only takes seconds for my thoughts to nosedive, the deadened

space I forced my mind into fading away, and that black rage resurfacing.

They took my little mouse.

I squeeze my eyes shut and bow my head, fighting to regain control over

my temper. The fragile layer of resolve containing my anxiety and murderous rage is cracking. My panicked thoughts are too heavy, and just like a person standing on thin ice, it’s eventually going to break beneath the pressure.

But I can’t let it. Not yet.

I need to focus on getting us out, and it’s hard enough with my body

screaming at me.

There’s the option of attacking and killing Patrick, but that won’t stop

the vehicle, especially if they hear me attempting to escape. The only alternative would be shooting the gun off until I hit the driver, which could send us careening into traffic and killing us all. Or Jay and I could attempt to drop and roll out of the back, except my body is too battered to withstand that.

Exhaling through my nose, I lift my head to find Jay already staring at

me, brows knitted with concern. His black hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and he’s shaking like a leaf. He’s definitely not fit for a mercenary life.

Fuck, that’s it.

Jay’s panic and my agony have made us both forget a very valuable tool.

There are Bluetooth chips still in our ears. They’re tiny and transparent, an illegal device that isn’t noticeable unless you’re really looking for it. So unnoticeable, that Claire hadn’t even thought to check.

The device in our ears is activated by a tiny button or a voice command.

But that means Jay or I have to use the word call.

I train my gaze on Patrick. “So, am I going to get my one call when we

get there?”

He grunts. “Funny.” Silence.

Fuck, it probably got damaged by the explosion. Explains why my men

haven’t attempted to get a hold of me themselves. I cast a look to Jay, and

he nods, a drop of sweat flinging off the tip of his nose.

“Come on, man, my grandma is sick. She’s probably wondering where I

am.” I face Jay again. “Didn’t you promise your brother that you'd take him to Chuck E. Cheese tonight?”

Jay works to keep his face neutral, but that’s another reason he stays

behind the screen. Kid can’t act worth shit.

“Yeah, uh… I should probably uh, call Baron and tell him I can’t make

it.”

Make it a little more obvious, Jay, dear lord.

Baron isn't actually Jay's brother, but another of my men that could help

us.

A little satisfied smirk tilts Jay’s lips, but he smothers it. The call

must’ve been successful, which means Baron will be listening in and hopefully track us once he realizes something is wrong.

Jay continues after a few moments, “It’s probably important he knows

that we’re being held hostage, right?”

Oh my God. “I’d prefer he never know what happened to you and live the rest of his

life wondering,” Patrick retorts, oblivious to Jay’s terrible acting.

Then, he turns to me. “You can keep playing your games, but you won’t

be laughing soon.”

“How soon?” I counter.

I can’t see his face, but I can feel the confusion radiating from the black

hole in his hood.

“My grandma is waiting.” His fist clenching is my only warning before he sends it soaring into my

cheek.

My head snaps to the side, and pain blooms across my entire skull. The

punch would be tolerable on a typical day, but considering that I just suffered through an explosion, it feels like another bomb has been let off inside my head.

My instincts flare, and my fists clench with the need to hit him back. The

beast inside my chest is thrashing and raging, and that precarious control slips a little more.

Addie. It’s for Addie.

Just barely, I manage to refrain. I need to give our men time to get to us,

though I know it won’t take long.

“Jesus, a man can’t call his fucking grandma? Asshole.” He shakes out his shoulders and turns away, and I scoot further down the

bench. He can think it’s because I’m scared, but in reality, I’m two seconds away from ending his life prematurely.

While we wait, I work to decompress, keeping the boiling anger in

check. That lasts a whopping ten minutes before I’m getting thrown for the second time today.

Something heavy crashes into the van from behind, sending Patrick and

me flying off the bench and into the wall that separates the front from the back.

Jay is jerked to the side, but the seatbelt keeps the lucky son of a bitch

anchored.

I groan, pain flaring in several different parts of my body as I roll onto

my back and try to breathe. I can’t even tell which parts hurt anymore— fucking everything hurts.

Claire yells from the front seat, spitting demands at the driver to get the

vehicle under control. The van continues to swerve side-to-side, the driver unable to regain control.

Another hit and the van lurches to the side and crashes into something

solid. Patrick collides into me, colorful words spilling from my mouth as we slide towards Jay. My back slams into the wall as we come to a halt, the behemoth smashed up against me. My ears ring from the impact, and it takes several seconds to get my eyes to focus. Patrick may be disproportionate as hell, but he’s still really fucking heavy.

“Jay, tell me it’s who I think it is,” I grit out, taking advantage of the

chaos and wrapping my arm around Patrick’s neck in a steel-tight grip. His hands fly to my arm, clawing at me as I gradually crush his windpipe. He struggles, and I clench my jaw as I fight to keep him still.

I’m weak, in an insurmountable amount of pain, and my muscles are

loosening.

“Sure is,” he pants, sweat pouring down his pale face. “Good,” I mutter before gripping Patrick’s head and snapping it to the

side, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. “That’s for my grandma, dick.”

“Bro, none of your grandparents are still alive.”

Chapter 3

The Hunter

Claire is screaming from upfront to keep driving, but the engine stalls.

I kick Patrick’s dead body off of me and stand, perspiration coating my

skin. I’m point-two seconds away from passing the fuck out. My body is beginning to shut down from the physical trauma, but I can’t allow it to just yet.

Jay quickly unbuckles and stands. “Come on, they’re waiting for us,” he

urges, noting the state of duress I’m in.

“I need to take care of Claire,” I say, but that notion dies the second we

bust open the van doors. Other cars have already stopped on the side of the road, getting out of their vehicles to check on us.

Fuck.

I can’t kill a woman in front of civilians, no matter how tempted I am.

Just as Jay and I crawl out, Claire emerges from the passenger side, a

wild look on her face.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses through her teeth. Red lipstick stains them,

giving her a feral look.

“Or what?” When she has no answer, I shoot her a wink just to get her asshole

clenching from anger, and head towards the huge military-grade van waiting for me.

“Hey, man, you good?” a passerby asks. “Yep, all good. Thanks for stopping,” I say over my shoulder. The bright

headlights from his car highlight the incredulous look on his face as he watches me climb into the open doors.

Michael’s face greets me, and I nearly sigh in relief. If he’s alive, that

means the little girl we saved from the ritual is, too.

He leans forward and helps me in, assumingly noticing the agony

painted on my face. I can feel my scars tightening, now incapable of concealing the misery. My poker face has cracked.

I’m ready to let Jesus take the wheel. The second I collapse on the

bench, Michael pounds once on the wall, and we take off.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Jay says, glancing at me with

concern. “A bomb went off, and Zade was within range of the blast.”

“Why the fuck did they set off a bomb?” Michael asks. “My guess is it was one of the self-destruct bombs, implanted

specifically to destroy all evidence and anyone inside. They’re commonly in places with top-secret information in case they’re infiltrated or compromised.”

I grunt. “We’ll have to check in with who was impacted by the explosion

and make sure none of ours were killed.”

Jay nods, and I turn my attention to Michael. “You get the girl out

safely?”

“Yep,” he confirms. “With Ruby, and on her way to get treatment.” I nod, some of the pressure easing off my shoulders, but not nearly

enough. It’s like the Empire State Building is resting on them, and only a penny fell off.

They still have Addie, and the rage is steadily churning beneath the

surface. I’m going to burn the entire fucking world down until I find her, and I don’t care who gets burnt.

“Do we know anything about who was involved in her kidnapping?” I

ask, voice tight with fury, clicking off the video on my laptop. I just finished watching the surveillance footage of Addie’s car crash, caught by several streetlight cams. Watching her being dragged from her car, knocked out, then carried into the van has me shaking with rage.

Jay is already working on tracking it through street and security cams,

but it doesn't feel like enough.

I've only been admitted in the hospital for a few hours, and I'm seconds

away from leaving again.

Thankfully, I didn’t suffer any serious damage. My entire back is black

and blue from when I was propelled into the altar, but there wasn’t any

internal bleeding like I had feared.

I got lucky I didn’t break my goddamn back, but I damn near came close

to it.

“Her picture was posted to a forum on the dark web a day before she was

taken. The poster was anonymous, of course, but the ad reads that if anyone brings Addie in alive, then they’d receive a fucking massive reward.”

“How much?” But I don’t even need him to answer. I’ve already located the original ad,

which has since been deleted, but nothing is ever truly erased from the internet. I click the ad, and Addie’s face pops up. Beautiful unusually light brown eyes, cinnamon hair, and a light dusting of freckles peppering her nose and cheeks.

My heart clenches at her smiling face—the same picture used as her

author photo outside the bookstore, and the very one that instantly drew me into her. It still has the same effect on me as it did then.

The price tag is listed right beneath it in bold, red letters.

Twelve million dollars.

Pocket change to those handing it out, but an incredible amount to the

smaller fish in the pond. An amount that someone would have to work hard to spend in their lifetime.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. A

massive migraine is blooming, and restlessness invades my senses. I want to claw out of my own skin, if only it means Addie will be waiting for me on the other side.

Jay’s lips are tense. “I know who answered the ad, and who was

responsible for her kidnapping.”

I drop my hand and pin a look to my right-hand man, waiting for him to

drop the proverbial bomb. Dread washes over me, and I have a feeling this one might actually succeed in killing me.

“Max,” he says quietly.

My eyes close, and my control finally shatters, slipping through my

fingers like sand in an hourglass. It was only a matter of time, and the last grain has now fallen.

Inky-black darkness corrodes every cell in my body until there is no light

left within me.

Red consumes my vision, and I snap into motion. My laptop is launched

across the hospital room, the loud crash from it slamming through equipment and into the wall swallowed by the roar ripping from my throat.

I convulse violently from the force of the piercing wail falling past my

lips, so long and sorrowful that it tapers off into a silent scream. Heaving in a breath again, another thunderous cry explodes out of me as I grab the bedside table and launch that next.

Without sight, the IV pole follows, whipping it towards a window and

nearly shattering it from the force, the pinch from the needle being torn from my skin imperceptible.

My hearing goes after that as if I’m underwater and all sound is diluted.

The tide batters into me, drawing me into its clutches and sending me spiraling down into the black pit of despair at the bottom.

My hands grab at more equipment, all of it crashing to the tile as anguish

tears through my chest.

This is my fault.

All my fucking fault.

Just as I stand, muffled shouting arises, and I feel several sets of hands

grab my body at once and shove me back down. I fight against their hold, continuing to roar, but my blindness works against me.

Straps circle around my wrists and chest, imprisoning me to the hospital

bed.

But I’m too far gone.

Despite the frantic hands attempting to hold me down beneath the binds,

my legs swing over the bed and I stand, straining against the weight threatening to take me back down.

“Jesus, Zade!” My chest heaves and my vision becomes spotty, allowing me only

snippets of my blurred surroundings. Four frightened nurses and Jay crowding me, eyes wide and faces pale as I stand before them with a nearly two-hundred-pound bed strapped to my back.

I am… I am no longer a man—only a beast succumbing to primal instinct. I am

annihilation.

“Sir, please calm down!” one of the nurses pleads shrilly, her green eyes

nearly black with fear. I pant, my chest tight from lack of oxygen and the

strap straining against my chest.

I can’t, I can’t. She’s gone because of me.

How am I supposed to fucking live with that?

I shake my head, my energy depleting steadily. Words evade me and I

stumble, struggling to right myself.

“Unstrap him,” Jay demands sharply, already aiming for the one secured

around my chest. He waits until one of the nurses unclips them from my hands before he releases the buckle. The bed falls to the ground with a deafening boom.

Security guards come barreling into the room, skidding across the

cluttered tile when they see the absolute carnage.

Jay gets in my face and shouts, "Quit acting like a fucking lunatic and

get it together! Trashing a hospital isn't going to save her."

My vision clears, and the wreckage becomes apparent.

Shit.

That potent fury is still present, spewing from my pores, but I manage to

keep it in check. Enough that it just steams.

“What the hell…” a security guard says, his young face painted with

utter disbelief.

“He’s okay,” a nurse huffs out. She’s an older woman with short blonde

hair and large wire-rimmed glasses that take up half her face.

She approaches me like one would a crocodile with its mouth wide open,

her hand steady as she grabs my arm and lifts it.

A tiny trail of blood leaks down my arm from where the IV was ripped

out, stemming from a tear in my skin no longer than half an inch.

“That… that is a nasty wound, sir. You better sit down so I can fix you

up before you keel over and die where you stand,” she orders, her voice stern as she points me towards the skewed bed.

It’s just a scratch, and we both know that, but I sit anyway. I watch her as

she grabs a bandage from a cupboard and begins to blot the blood.

A few of the guards question Jay and one of the nurses while the other

two rush from the room, red and shaking. I can’t manage to feel an ounce of guilt.

Not when there’s a black hole in my chest where Addie once took up

residence.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks quietly, dabbing up the blood with a

piece of gauze.

“No,” I mutter. “Well,” she titters, sticking a small Band-Aid on my arm next. It has

dinosaurs on it, and all I can do is stare. If I didn’t feel so empty, I’d laugh at how pathetic it looks.

“You can either tell me or tell the police. And I know you’re a big, burly

man—you’ve gone out of your way to prove that part—and police officers probably don’t scare you, but I’d rather you spend the rest of your time in this hospital not handcuffed to a bed.”

I pause. “I’ll just stand up again and walk out with it.” She looks up at me, and then a chuckle slips past her pink lips. “That’s

fair. You have your heart broken?”

I raise a brow, and though she has to work to swallow, she doesn’t relent.

I soften my face and sigh. Right now, I appreciate her candor.

“You could say that.” I sniff, rolling my arm to look at the Band-Aid

again. They’re green T-Rexes, mouths open in a roar. I imagine I didn’t look much different not two minutes ago.

“She was taken. Kidnapped.” The nurse gasps, quiet and soft, but it feels like a shout when I’m so

hollow.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t…” I trail off, deciding it’s best not to tell her that I

didn’t kill a man who I should’ve, a long time ago. “I need to get her back.”

She blows out a shaky breath and straightens. “I’ll make sure no charges

are pressed so you can save her.” She points to the Band-Aid. “Maybe no more life-threatening injuries, yeah?”

I grace her with a strained smile, and assure, "I'll pay for the damages." "That would be appreciated," she says.

I nod and turn my attention to the ground. The white tile blurs as I feel

her presence leave, replaced with Jay's.

“I know where he is,” he murmurs.

I look up at him, murder in my eyes. He tightens his lips, knowing I’m

not going to settle down.

“Let your body heal, man. You’ll be useless otherwise. We’ll get him,

and find where they took her the second you’re not broken anymore. You may be able to move now, but the next few days are going to hit hard,

especially now that you walked around with a big-ass bed on your back.

Your very injured back, might I add.”

“The longer I wait, the more likely she is to disappear. To suffer and

have unimaginable things happen to her,” I argue through clenched teeth.

The muscle in my jaw is nearly ripping through my flesh from how hard I’m grinding them.

He bends down and puts his hands on my shoulders, dipping his chin

until he catches my eyes. I glare at him, wanting to go back to not being able to hear or see anything.

Jay is stupidly brave and doesn’t back down. “I promise you, man, I will have the team looking for her. I will do

everything in my power to get us closer to her.” The intensity in his words and stare is easing my anxiety as much as it’s capable, which is microscopic.

I’ll never be able to relax, to not feel my insides twisting into knots and

the panic gnawing at my heart until there’s nothing left.

I know my body is going to give out on me, but nothing—and I mean,

nothing—is going to keep me from finding her.

Clenching my fists, I nod. I have no plans to stay in this hospital. To stay

still. But arguing right now isn’t going to change anything at the moment.

I need rest. Lots of it. Because the second I open my eyes, I won’t close

them again until Max’s head is in my hands.

“You can’t just bust down the door all willy-nilly, Zade.” “The fuck I can’t,” I bark, glowering at Jay as he meticulously paints his

nails eggplant purple from the seat next to my hospital bed.

It's the fifth day, and I’m green in the face with anxiety and frustration. I

made five escape attempts within the first two days, but they kept knocking my ass out with drugs to the point where I completely lost time. I stopped escaping because I’d rather be semi-useful behind a computer than be dead to the world and not be doing anything at all.

The only other reason I gave in was that I was physically incapable of

even squeezing my ass cheeks without my vision going black with pain.

I may not have suffered any life-threatening injuries, but my body is sure

acting like it did.

Jay curses softly under his breath when he gets a dot of nail polish on his

skin, poking his tongue out as he carefully wipes the paint off.

My new computer is on my lap, the camera feed showing Max and the

twins, Landon and Luke, lounging in his office, drinking expensive scotch and probably laughing over the big deposit that just came through to his bank account.

Twelve million dollars. The price for kidnapping Addie. “You know he didn’t do it himself,” Jay reminds me, and then holds up

his hands to marvel over his work.

I sigh, the veins in my hands popping as I clench them tight. “I know,” I seethe.

Max and the twins were at a club when Addie was kidnapped. Which

means he knew where to find her and hired grunt men to do the work. And that means whoever he hired will most likely be receiving a cut from his reward. A job like that wouldn't come without a high price, and though Max has money, he doesn't have that much. Not until today, at least.

Now, we're waiting for him to transfer whatever sum of cash to the

lackeys he promised it to. Then, we’ll be able to trace the money trail and confirm their identities based on the account information.

If we're lucky, Max is as dumb as he looks and doesn’t hide his tracks

well enough.

Jay will handle that part while I take care of Max.

I could send in another mercenary to torture the information out of him,

but this method will be much faster, and I refuse to let anyone else touch him except me.

Only I will show Max what pain truly feels like. Even then, he will only

feel a fraction of what I feel without Addie.

I roll my neck, groaning as it cracks. When I look back down, an alert

comes through.

Three million dollars has just been transferred to an offshore account. It

takes me two seconds to find the name attached to it.

Rick Boreman.

Through the camera feed, Max is now setting down his phone and then

cheers, clinking his whiskey glass with the twins.

I look up at Jay, rolling my eyes as he blows softly on his wet

fingernails. He’s going to chip the paint in two seconds with the amount of typing he does, which is why the colors change every couple of days. He’s a nail biter, and the polish helps keep that habit at bay, though it’s been virtually useless these past five days.

As much as he’s trying to play it cool, Addie being gone has him

crippled with anxiety. He’s only seen her through a computer screen, but he doesn’t need to know her in order to know that she doesn’t deserve this, and if she were to die… the world would die with her.

For now, I will begin with Max.

Chapter 4

The Diamond

“I can save you.” Something shakes me, sending fresh waves of pain spearing through my

consciousness.

“Wake up, I can save you.” The voice penetrates the deep fog swirling in my brain. Blackness

surrounds me, and it feels I’m like floating in a starless galaxy, but an icy chill is snaking throughout my body. Warning me of something dangerous.

A hand is on my arm, and it roughly jostles me again. “There's not much

time left. I need you to wake up. I will help you.”

A fissure of light cracks through the never-ending darkness. I focus on

the light, and as someone continues to jolt my body, the crack widens until blinding light pierces my eyes.

I groan, clarity beginning to surface. The firm grip on my arm tightens,

and the voice rousing me from sleep amplifies.

I’m shaken once more, and the harsh movement finally jerks me awake.

My eyes snap open, and for reasons I’m not sure of yet, my heart is

beating out of my chest, pounding against my rib cage as violently as the person who had been shaking me.

An old, wrinkled face and dull blue eyes come into focus, only a few

inches away from mine. I rear back, blinking at him with panic and confusion.

“What’s going on?” I choke out.

Within seconds, reality comes crashing down, and I’m reminded why

I’m here. Who I’m with.

I was in a car accident. Ran off the road. And then was kidnapped and

brought to a doctor who clearly practices illegally.

Dr. Garrison.

The man who is currently in my face, staring at me with urgency. “I’m going to help you. Please, get up.”

The bone-chilling cold that penetrated the fog worsens as his hand grabs

onto mine and pulls me forward.

I yelp in response, the aches in my body have increasingly gotten worse.

It feels like a hot poker is being stabbed into every one of my nerve endings.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart, but we have to hurry before Rio comes

back.”

He gently tugs on me again, and it’s then that I notice the IV has been

removed from my arm.

I resist, and in an effort to stall, I ask, “H-how long have I been out?” “Only for a night, sweetheart. Now get up, please.” Leaving me with no other choice, he helps me up, rushing me forward

while attempting to handle me carefully.

“Where are we going?” I’m nearly frantic, and confusion is muddling my thoughts.

Mainly, I can’t figure out why the hell he’s helping me. Isn’t he in on

this, too?

It’s then he looks at me, a crazed smile on his face. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe. No one will ever find you, I

promise.”

A rock forms in my throat, and I work to swallow as my situation

becomes more apparent.

No one will ever find you.

He may be saving me from Rio and Rick, but that doesn’t mean I won’t

need saving from him, too.

“Why are you doing this?” I breathe, my eyes bouncing across the room,

searching for a solution to get me out of this very big problem. There’s only one exit that I can see, and he’s leading me straight toward it.

For all I know, he’s going to lock me in a box and feed me through a

glory hole. The image disturbs me so profoundly that I think I’d rather take my chances with Rio and Rick.

“I became a doctor because I like taking care of people. But the hospitals

never let me take care of my patients the way I wanted.”

My heart drops, and he peers at me demurely like a little boy admitting

his crush to the prettiest girl in grade school.

His smooth, cold hand slips into mine, holding it like he’s about to drop

to one knee and ask me to marry him. “I want to take care of you, sweetie.

I-I’ll treat you better than these people ever will. I promise I’ll be good to you.”

My mouth opens, but no sound escapes.

The fuck does he expect me to say to that?

Yes, please, whisk me away to your creepy lair. Nothing would make me

happier.

I want him to let me go home. Not into the arms of another creep that

will trap me for the rest of my life.

Taking a step back, I carefully pry my hand from his grip. His face

drops, and hurt flashes in his pale blue eyes as he watches my fingers slip from his. He acts if he did get down on one knee, and I've just rejected his proposal.

“I… I’m not sure that’s a good idea. They’ll know it was you,” I say,

attempting to reason with him.

I don’t want to reject him flat out. His mental state seems unhinged at

best, and I have no idea what this man is truly capable of.

He shakes his head, swoops my hand rather angrily, and tugs on me. I

bite back another cry as he explains with impatience, “Not if we hurry. I have a plan; I just need you to come with me.”

When he continues to drag me after him, my fight or flight instincts kick

in. Pain be damned, I yank my hand out of his hold and scramble back.

“No, I don’t want to go with you,” I snap.

His face morphs into a snarling demon, and that coldness radiating from

him crystalizes. This man is dead on the inside. He’s no more than an icy, decaying tomb.

I feel the burst of pain lancing across my cheek before I register him

moving. My head whips to the side, and fire erupts on the side of my face.

I gasp, my mouth popping open while I clutch my smarting cheek,

feeling something wet coat my fingers. Pulling my hand away, I find several drops of blood staining my skin. He backhanded me with a fucking ring on. A wedding ring.

A cocktail of disgust and fury curdles in the pit of my stomach, but I

keep my mouth shut. This is a very precarious situation, and I no longer have the luxury of doing or saying whatever the hell I want without severe

consequences. And as much as I’m tempted to throw down with the old fart, I can hardly move.

Shit, Addie. Think.

He’s breathing heavily, fury evident on his ruddy face. It’s like staring

into the eyes of a corpse, animated only by the evil inside him.

“I would treat you like a queen. You would want for nothing,” he spits

vehemently, slashing a hand through the air angrily with his last word.

I nod my head. “Okay,” I placate gently. “But you’re scaring me just as

much as they do.”

His spine straightens, and I watch the rage bleed from his stare like it

just now dawned on him that he’s acting like a goddamn lunatic. So quickly, his face transitions from hysteria to sheepish understanding.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step forward. “I’m just… if

I’m going to get you out safely, we need to hurry, and you’re not cooperating.”

I tense but refrain from retreating as he grabs my hands in an apologetic

manner.

“I’m sorry I slapped you, sweetheart. I’m just trying to help you. Please,

come with me. I promise you’ll be happy with me.”

The panic and adrenaline heighten to dangerous levels, causing my heart

to thump painfully against my chest. It’s hard to fucking think when he’s staring at me so eagerly, and my entire body feels like it’s been pushed through a fucking meat grinder.

But this could be the perfect opportunity to escape if I play my cards

right. I need to get out with as minimal noise as possible, so I don’t alert the terror twins, which leaves me with two options. Hit this clown over the head and run or let him take me away and find a different way out.

Regardless, I’m not staying here.

“Okay,” I whisper, wheezing in a breath through my tight lungs.

When he sees me visibly relax, he quickly follows suit, victory sparking

in his icy pools. Grabbing my hand again, he urges me toward the door with a flickering red exit sign above.

I glance around, shivering from the cold, dankness of the room.

Everything in here is gray and diluted, and the light fixtures whirring above are corroded with dust and bug carcasses. There isn’t anything here that gives this place… life.

Jesus, how does he operate in here? It looks like we’re in a morgue

rather than a hospital room. I’d hate to die here, though it seems like many have.

It reeks of sterile death.

We pass by the table littered with instruments, several of them sharp. If I

stab him in the jugular, he won’t be able to scream and will be dead within minutes. Then, I can make a run for it. I’ve no idea what the fuck I’m going to do once I get out of here, but there will hopefully be somewhere I can find help.

With one quick glance, I note that his focus is straight ahead, intent on

his mission to take me for his own. I snatch the scalpel from the metal table, but he hears me coming and turns right as I go to plunge the knife into his neck, slicing his nape instead.

Blood spurts onto my face, and I turn away in an attempt to avoid getting

any in my eyes.

He screams loudly, turning and backhanding me once more, sending me

crashing into the unforgiving ground.

I land awkwardly on my tailbone, and I yelp from the impact. Agony

shoots up my spine, taking my breath away, and he’s on me before I can think of what to do next, let alone breathe.

“You bitch!” he shouts, his hands circling around my neck and roughly

banging my head into the concrete.

Stars explode in my eyes, preventing me from seeing anything for

several seconds. It feels as if the back of my head has been cracked open, but the hands constricting my windpipe bring me out of the pit of agony.

Panic takes over, so intense it feels like poison in my veins. I claw at his

hands, leaving bloody scratches in their wake, but they don’t deter him. Dr.

Garrison’s face is contorted into pure rage, his pupils dilated until they’re nearly black, and his teeth bared, every single yellow, crooked tooth on display.

I thrash and fight, but his hold doesn’t lessen. And it’s then that my life

flashes before my eyes like an old movie reel.

My mother, gracing me with one of her rare smiles when I say

something ridiculous. My father, lounging on his chair and yelling at football players on the TV—the most excitement he’s ever shown in his entire life.

Daya, with her head tipped back and laughing loudly at something I said

or did, displaying the tiny gap between her front teeth. Something she’s always hated, and I’ve always loved.

And then Zade. The fucking wrecking ball of a man who has brought out

such a burning fire within me that I crumble like ash beneath him. Yet, he made me feel so strong. So brave.

He made me feel so damn loved and treasured.

Just like a diamond.

Although, Zade would never call me something as trivial and common as

a diamond. He’d call me the rarest jewel on earth.

I should’ve told him that I… Just as darkness overwhelms my vision, only a pinpoint of light remains,

his hands loosen and something wet and warm floods over my face.

Instinctively, I open my mouth, gasping desperately for oxygen as my lungs expand.

The taste of copper invades my tongue, and I suck in so deeply that my

eyes bug from my head. It takes a few moments to process that only half of Dr. Garrison’s head is suspended over me, a mere second before his body topples onto mine.

A mixture of coughing and a gurgled scream fights for dominance over

my throat. My eyes widen impossibly further as the mangled mess of the doctor’s head rests on my shoulder, the pool of crimson seeping into my gown. I nearly convulse from the coughing fit still seizing my throat, and the swirl of emotions of being trapped under a corpse with blood dripping in my mouth.

More of his brain matter is on me, than in his head. Or what’s left of it. “Stop freaking out, you’re fine.” Rio appears above me, staring down at

me with annoyance and a tinge of anger.

“Get used to the sight of dead bodies, princess. You’re going to see a lot

of them where you’re going.”

Grabbing the scruff of Dr. Garrison’s collar, he lifts him up and suspends

him over my face again. Immediately, I’m drenched in even more bodily fluids and brain matter. Barely closing my eyes in just enough time, I cover my face as Rio laughs and wrenches the body off of me, dragging him to the corner of the room.

Finally, the pressure eases, and I am able to breathe without coughing,

but then a low whimper leaks past my lips.

My body curls in until I’m a tight ball, trying not to think about how

blood is in my mouth yet thinking of nothing else.

I gag, my stomach revolting from the thought.

Something hard nudges my shoulder harshly, halting my retching. I lift

my head enough to see Rio's boot, and then proceed to spit on it, pure red splashing on the black leather.

Two birds with one stone—a fuck you and an attempt to rid my mouth of

Dr. Garrison's blood.

Rio doesn't appear bothered by it, though. “You’re going to be fine. The dude was trying to kidnap you.” “Just as you did. So, you’re saying you deserve the same fate, right?” I

hiss, my body beginning to go into shock. I’m trembling violently, and there’s a numbness crawling up my arms and legs.

Stay calm, Addie.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Rio laughs while I close my eyes and work not to freak the fuck out.

His presence closes in on me. I know that he’s crouched down, and

hovering above me. Warm breath fans across my ear as he continues to chuckle.

“You have a smart mouth on you, but in this world, it’s not so smart. My

advice? Dumb it down until the only words you’re capable of speaking is yes, sir. You’ll last much longer that way.”

A tear drips from my eye and I feel the beginnings of a sob forming at

the base of my throat.

“Isn’t that what I’d want? To not last long? Better than suffering forever,

right?”

He sighs wistfully. “You’re right. You’re going to die here anyway. I

guess it’s not a matter of how long you last, but rather, how bad it hurts when it’s over.”

My lip quivers. He sighs again, and the frustration has seeped back into

his tone.

“Come on, get up. We need to get moving.” He stands and walks a few

feet away, looking back down at me. Waiting for me to follow.

Dazed, I manage to sit up. The pain is starting to settle back in my bones,

making itself known once again.

“Can I at least shower first?” Rio’s eyes sweep my crimson-stained body, and he grins at me. “Sure,

princess. You can shower. But you can’t get those stitches wet on your back, so it looks like you’ll need my help.”

Shit.

Eyes boring into my ass were more tolerable than being covered in the

entrails of a dead man. I kept my back to him while rivulets of blood washed from my skin. I nearly puked when I saw chunks and fragments of bone swirling toward the drain, too.

I mainly stayed out of the water and used a fresh rag and bar soap to

clean up. Rio directed me on areas to avoid on my back, but didn’t touch me, and for that, I thanked the She-Devil above.

The hardest part was washing and rinsing my hair without bending too

far over and giving him a view of what he called the “money maker.”

Fucking asshole.

The shower was in a quaint little apartment on a higher level in the

building, much nicer than the makeshift hospital room below, but still no better than a cheap apartment in New York City.

I assume it’s where Dr. Garrison slept when he wasn’t operating on

people brought in from human traffickers. He wore a wedding ring, though I saw no evidence indicating that a woman lived there with him.

Dear God, I hope she's not chained up somewhere.

Now, I’m in the backseat of a van again with a dark sack over my head,

sopping wet, and shivering in my bonds like an old engine. The bastard failed to mention that there were no clean towels and got a kick out of watching me use a hospital gown to dry off. Even more so when I attempted to wrap one around my hair.

He wouldn't let me wear it, stating my hair is too pretty to bundle up in

an ugly blue gown, but really, I think he just enjoys being a dick.

The clicking from my chattering teeth is swallowed by the hard rock

music pouring from the speakers. My thick hair is still soaked, and the heat is on low—not nearly enough to keep me warm. If it weren’t for the lack of body contortion and levitation, it'd look like I’m in the middle of an exorcism from how hard I’m shivering.

It feels like I am. Everything hurts so goddamn bad, and with every

tremble, the pain intensifies.

I’ve never been more miserable in my fucking life. “Don’t worry, diamond. We’re almost to your new home,” Rick croons,

the sound grinding against my already frayed nerves. “Francesca is going to love you.”

The ominous tone in his voice tenses my body further. Something about

the way he said it makes me feel like I have more to fear from her than any man who comes my way.

“W-who is she?” He’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not Rick who answers. “The one person

you want to impress the most,” Rio says, his voice grave.

“Why?” “Because she will determine just how miserable your life will be until

you’re sold.”

My head drops and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s only been six days, and I

feel defeated already. I’ve been gone for such an insignificant amount of time, and my spirit is already fissuring.

I take a deep breath and blow it out, slow and steady.

I’m not going to give up. I know with every fiber of my being that Zade

is going to do everything in his power to find me. But I’m not going to sit around and wait either. I’ll meet him halfway if I can.

So, if winning over Francesca is what I need to do, then I'll do it.

I’ve always been stupidly brave—to the point where I’ve been more

stupid than brave. I’m not going to stop now.

Chapter 5

The Diamond

At one point in our lives, we’re all afraid to die. For some, it happens the

first moment we fully understand what death means—before depression, anxiety, and other mental health issues arise.

For others, it’s before they’ve found something to believe in—whether

it’s God or something else that’s spiritual.

And there are those who flounder through life, terrified of the day they

take their last breath. I think for some, they aren’t so much scared of death itself, but rather, how they’re going to die.

So, how am I going to die?

Will it be painful? Will I suffer? Will I be terrified?

Gigi felt all those things when she was murdered by a man she trusted,

and likely cared deeply for.

When she started having an affair with her stalker, Ronaldo, it not only

destroyed her marriage, but it took her life. Only not by her stalker or husband like one would expect, but by her husband’s best friend, Frank Seinburg.

For so long, I was convinced I’d have a similar demise at the hands of

my own stalker. Instead, I gave in to his dark perusals, and found myself loving him instead.

I tried so hard to run from him, and now all I want to do is run to him.

During the rest of the car ride, I stayed silent. At least, verbally—my

teeth chattered the entire way and eventually, one of the men got annoyed and turned up the heat.

An imperceptible amount of time passes before we come to a stop, dread

settling deeply in my gut. I steel my spine and wait as both men exit the van, the doors slamming in tandem.

Then, the door to my left slides open, inviting an icy breeze in. A rough,

calloused hand wraps around my arm and tugs. It feels like the Grim Reaper is holding on to me, escorting me to my death.

“Ow,” I cry out, on the verge of screaming from how bad it hurts to

move. He ignores me and barks, “Let’s go.”

That’s Rick’s voice.

His grip on my arm is unnecessarily tight as he drags me out of the

vehicle. As if a woman who was just in a bad car accident and riddled with injuries is going to overpower him and get away.

I don’t even know where the fuck we are.

A gust of freezing wind blows, sending another wave of goosebumps

across my body. My teeth start chattering again, the cold becoming nearly unbearable.

The black sack is ripped off my head, and I flinch from the harsh light.

It’s dreary outside, but since I haven’t seen daylight in quite a while it has made my eyes sensitive.

Squinting, my gaze immediately jumps to the monstrosity towering

before me.

Rick splays his arm out towards the two-story colonial home, presenting

the house to me as if I’m at a five-star restaurant, and he’s pulling the lid off my tray to reveal the best meal I’ll ever have. I’ve never been anywhere so fancy, but from the videos I’ve seen on the internet, it looks like a bunch of baby portions of foam and sticks wrapped in meat.

So—not appealing.

The house isn’t as run-down as I would have thought, but still not in the

best shape. Vines of moss are running up the cracked white paneling, reminding me a little of Parsons Manor. Just not as… pretty. It’s discolored with boarded windows, a sagging porch and—is that duct tape?

“Looks… inviting,” I murmur.

Glancing around, I note that we’re out in the middle of nowhere,

surrounded by dense woods. It looks like they just plopped a random house in the middle of a forest. A dirt driveway trails off through a thicket of trees, and I suspect that’s the only way in or out. Unless I want to take my chances out in the wild.

“Let’s go, it’s fucking freezing,” Rick orders, dragging me after him. Rio

walks ahead of us, shooting an indecipherable look over his shoulder before he leads me into the house straight out of Courage the Cowardly Dog. Only double the size.

But I imagine the shit that happens in this house is full of horrors much

worse than that purple dog ever experienced.

Adrenaline and fear swirl in my stomach, and although there is a heavy

weight low in my gut, it's not the warm heady feeling I'm used to. This is dread.

It spikes higher when Rick hauls me through the entryway and pushes

me forward. While the air is stale and musty, it doesn’t resemble a meth lab as I had expected.

This home looks like it comes straight from the 1800s, with an

abundance of woodwork, outdated wallpaper, and odd nooks and crannies that make zero sense. I’m standing in a massive living room with brown, cracked leather couches, threadbare floral rugs, and crooked paintings on the walls. The TV is shoved into a corner, Tom & Jerry playing on low and a drooping cobweb hanging above it.

Grime is caked into the cracks, and every surface is coated in dust. The

deep brown hardwood floor is wonky and uneven and creaks from the slightest shift of weight. I imagine if this place was haunted like Parsons Manor, no ghost could walk by undetected.

To the left is a dining area, paraphernalia everywhere. Crushed beer

cans, needles, and crack pipes litter the table, along with a circular mirror, a small mound of cocaine on it.

Hesitantly, I walk farther into the house, the pit of dread growing wider

and wider, like a shark’s mouth right before it ravages its prey.

It’s hard to breathe in here. It smells faintly of mildew and the entire

house is wrapped in bad juju like a scratchy wool coat. It’s thick, uncomfortable, and suffocating.

“Welcome to your new home,” Rio declares mockingly. He’s been

watching me take in the house, and even though it’s only been seconds, I’ve long since grown uneasy beneath the weight of his stare.

Before I can open my mouth, three men walk in from a doorway straight

ahead. It seems to lead to the kitchen, based on the glimpse of a refrigerator from my standpoint. The raucous men were mid-laughter, but the second they noticed me, they quieted. Their movements are slow as they approach the kitchen table, more intent on picking me apart than watching where they’re going.

“This the diamond?” one of the men calls out, his teeth so black, it looks

like bugs have infested his mouth.

Rick saunters towards the table and takes a dramatic seat, pride radiating

from his face.

Smiling wide, he says, “You fucking know it is! Max already deposited

the check so we can do whatever the fuck we want, boys.”

Their cheers arise, and the look on Rio’s face is near murderous. “Fucking idiots,” he mutters under his breath. Then louder, he reminds

him, “No, you can’t do whatever you want, stúpido, because you have a big fucking target on your head in the shape of a Z.”

Rick waves a hand, unconcerned. “Don’t worry, Rio. We’ll hide out until

the fucker is dead, and then, we can do whatever we want. This payday is fucking massive, and not only that—we’ll get a taste of her, too.”

I shrink beneath their lewd gazes. Instinctively, my arms wrap tighter

around myself, but that only elicits a few grunts of amusement.

“Aw, don’t be shy, baby girl. I promise I’ll make you feel good,” one of

them croons, his black hair sticking up in several directions from the copious amount of grease in it. I swallow, a lump forming in my throat as my gaze fixates on a dark red puddle on the table I hadn’t noticed before.

I can’t even begin to imagine what that could possibly be from. “What, princess, we ain’t good enough for you?” Rio asks. I glance at

him and note the smirk on his face. But he’s tense, his grin strained.

I don’t even acknowledge him; my eyes trained back on the pool of

blood. Tracking my line of sight, Rio turns to see what I’m staring at. He barks out a laugh when he sees it.

“Want to place a bet on what it’s from?” My face contorts in revulsion as

I shoot a glare at him.

“My bet is that some bitch lost her virginity right there,” Rick chimes in,

lighting a cigarette with a grin.

I bristle, and anger rises in my chest. “You’re sick,” I spit, my voice

watery and full of so much hate. Rick only laughs and goes back to the conversation between his friends. I’m watching one of them inject himself with a needle when I feel someone charging in the house behind me. I startle and turn to find another man, and nearly lose my shit.

There’s a girl slung over his shoulder.

My mouth pops open, and his brown eyes settle on me.

“You got a problem?” he barks.

I flinch, panic rising as the girl’s lifeless limbs sway behind him. I’ve no

idea if she’s dead or alive. I’d hope this man wouldn’t be carrying a fucking dead girl inside the house, but then again, these assholes would be the type to do something like that.

I shake my head, speechless as he walks toward me. He reeks of body

odor, but that’s to be expected when he looks like he bathes in motor oil.

I’ve never been good at controlling my mouth, but in a house full of

rabid men, the last thing I want to do is test my luck. So, I keep silent even as he leers at me.

“You keep your mouth open like that, don’t be surprised when someone

sticks their cock in it.”

My eyes round and my teeth snap shut. The man chuckles from the

audible click.

My heart picks up speed, and I take a few steps back. The fear pumps

through my veins, settling low in my stomach and eating at my insides like acid.

“Jerry, her room is ready. Extra fucking chains this time,” one of the men

calls from the table, pointing towards the girl.

My eyes widen impossibly further. Did she escape or something? I have

so many questions but know better than to ask any of them. I’m relieved to hear that she’s not dead, at least. Otherwise, chaining up a corpse would be… I shudder from the thought.

The man—or Jerry—shifts the girl on his shoulder and walks off without

another word, aiming one last scathing look my way.

Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I bite hard as I watch him

head towards the kitchen. He’s lucky I don’t bark at him like a dog as I’m tempted to. Anything to make the dickhead think twice about looking at me like that. But that would be stupid, and I cannot be stupid in this place.

The last thing I see right before he disappears is the girl’s head lifting.

Dark brown eyes meet mine through tangled tresses of blonde hair, filled with both fire and ice. The look on her face stops my heart cold, but the creepy smile on her face is what sends it sinking down to the pits of my stomach.

Christ, the look on her face is straight out of a nightmare.

My mouth parts again, but they’re gone before I can register what just

happened. I’m equal parts scared for and of her.

“Don’t worry. If you’re a good little girl and do as you’re told, we’ll

keep you conscious from here on out,” Rio says, pulling my attention back to him.

I’m not sure I want to be conscious.

Furthermore, I’m two seconds away from telling him that the girl needs

to be admitted to the nuthouse.

But I don’t say that out loud, considering we are in a fucking nuthouse.

He nods his head towards the direction Jerry and the girl disappeared off

into.

“Let’s go. Francesca and Rocco should be back in a few hours, and she’ll

come to meet you. But until then, I’ve been ordered to show you to your new room.”

I glance behind me, staring out the still wide-open door and at the shiny

black van. My brows furrow, expecting it to be damaged from when they ran me off the road. Instead, this one is brand new, not a scratch in sight.

They must’ve switched it out at Dr. Garrison's, and that makes my stomach roil.

I know enough about tracking that they would’ve made it incredibly easy

for Zade to find them in a vehicle with a crushed fender.

But then a smile forms on my face with the reminder that Zade is

coming, and he is more than capable of finding me, whether they’re transporting me in a fucking Ferrari or a Volkswagen from the 1980s that farts pollution every time they hit the gas. He’ll find me.

It’s right then, a memory sidelines me, and my smile falls to a dramatic

death as horror takes over.

Just get her in the van, Rio. Max is already going to be pissed we fucked

up his van…

My eyes blow wide, and when I whip back around, Rio is staring at me

with dark eyes, tense and ready to charge at me. My gaze flickers down, noting the gun in his hand.

He probably assumed I was about to make a run for it.

And I can’t say I didn’t briefly consider it, but I’m not dense enough to

think I’d make it more than five feet without one of them catching up to me.

Or one of their bullets.

I’m injured and can barely stand upright, and I’ve no idea where the keys

are. Running right now wouldn’t be wise. And if Zade were here, he’d tell me to bide my time until the right moment.

Don’t act irrationally.

I can’t let my panic and desperation rule my decisions. Not if I want to

get out of this alive.

Licking my lips, I take a step forward, indicating that I won’t be running.

“Max sent you?”

“You heard that?” He relaxes, unconcerned with my questioning, and

jerks his head towards the kitchen, signaling for me to follow. That kind of makes me want to cry.

Clearing my throat, I force out, “Sure did.” I fall in step behind him, the urge to cry deepening as I make my way

farther into the belly of the beast. It feels like a bungee cord is strapped around my waist, pulling me back towards the exit, and the longer I walk, the stronger it becomes.

He shoots a look over his shoulder. “Baby girl, I don’t know what you

did to piss that man off, but he has a vendetta against you. You’re plastered all over the dark web with a fat price on your head. Max hired Rick to bring you in, and since the guy is a complete idioto, he asked me to help. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew where you lived, we wouldn’t have gotten a head start and might’ve had to fight some competition to get to you.”

Any moisture in my mouth dries. There’s a price on my head? What the

fuck for?

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because… well, why the fuck else would

I be here?

The new information distracts me enough to take in my surroundings

through blurred eyeglasses. I cling onto all the insignificant details, like the sagging cabinetry, purring yellow refrigerator, and the endless ocean of brown wood and ugly wallpaper. Now, he’s leading me toward steep wooden steps that creak beneath our weight.

"Does Rick work for the Society?" Rio glances over his shoulder at me, his brow cocked, seemingly

surprised that I know of them.

"No, he's Rocco's friend, who is Francesca's brother. She works for the

Society, and Rocco and his friends reap the benefits."

"Do you work for them?" "I do, though I answer to Francesca right now." I lick my dry lips, then ask, “So who put the price on my head?” “It doesn’t matter who. Only why. Now hurry up, I have to take a leak,

and if you don’t move faster, I’ll unzip and paint a picture on that pretty face of yours.”

The disgusting threat does the trick and snaps me out of my daze.

Shooting him a nasty look, I quicken my pace, despite the way my muscles groan in response.

Ending the conversation is best anyway. I need to concentrate on every

detail in this house. Starting with how quiet it is.

As he leads me down a long hallway, several doors on either side, I

realize it’s not the type of silence deriving from vacancy, but the kind when someone is holding their breath, praying for the footsteps to keep on walking by.

Swallowing nervously, my eyes bounce around, trying to pinpoint any

glaring details, but the heart-pounding dread is making everything fuzzy.

How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm and play it smart so I can get

out of here when a million alarms are going off in my head, warning me that there is no way out?

There’s always a way out, little mouse. You just have to find it.

Chapter 6

The Hunter

Rage.

It’s not appreciated enough. Not studied enough.

The capabilities of the human body are no longer limited to the laws of

physics. The absolute destruction that resides in my fingertips could burn down entire cities—reduce them to ashes and embers. A simple stroke of a match, or a flick of my wrist, and as far as my eyes can see would be consumed in the same black fire that rages inside me.

For now, I turn the destruction on myself. My reflection seethes,

overcome with a violence only seen through telescopes. Our universe was forged in brutality, and now the cosmos resides in not one, but two black eyes glaring back at me.

Your fucking fault.

My fist flies into the mirror, nearly shattering it entirely with one hit.

Tiny shards explode from the impact, raining down in the sink and across the floor. It imitates exactly what my soul feels like. Fucking shattered.

I’ve only just gotten home from the hospital, and already I’m adding to

the list of injuries. But I’m too lost to care.

Snarling, I pull back and drive my fist into the mirror again. Over and

over until only a few crooked pieces remain.

Fuming, I spin, searching for the biggest shard I can find, and snatch it

from the floor, ignoring the jagged edges slicing into my skin. And then I grab a smaller one with a sharp point before straightening again.

Holding out the large chunk before me, I position it until it’s angled just

right, serving as my new mirror. Using the smaller piece, I dig the tip into my skin and start carving.

I go slow, my movements shaky from the tremors racking my body. The

glass slips in my hold from both the blood pouring out of my knuckles and from where the edges are biting into my skin, and I continuously have to readjust, creating more cuts.

But the pain barely registers when it’s so fucking loud inside my head.

It’s clouded with fury, and every goddamn organ in my body feels as if they’re in a blender.

My little mouse is gone.

She’s been stolen from me.

And the man behind it is the same man that I knew had a vendetta

against her.

And I left him alive.

I fucking let him go on living, stewing in the anger that I caused.

Chest pumping, I dig harder, bright red bubbling from where the glass

slices into my skin.

When I’m done, I drop the shard, my entire body vibrating.

I failed Addie.

And I’ll never let myself forget it.

Not with the rose now carved over my heart.

Blood coats the bottom of my boots, leaving a scarlet foot trail behind

me as I approach Max’s house.

He finally hired guards.

Little good they did when now, all six of their bodies litter the ground.

With bullet holes between their eyes that are staring sightlessly up at the stars, they were snuffed out because they protected the wrong person.

I don’t care how loved they were. I don’t give a shit if they had families

and if they had wives and little kids at home, eagerly awaiting their arrival.

Daddy’s gone, kids.

I kick open the front door, and loud chatter cuts into different versions of

what the fuck.

Max's house is nearly all open concept, washed in black and gold with

medieval décor. He’s a rich man but no amount of money could protect him from me.

On either side, two large staircases lead up to a balcony that circles the

house in a half-moon. The man of the hour appears over the balcony, a wild

look in his eyes as two more guards rush up behind him.

His white-blond hair is mussed, the strands standing on end, and when

he spots me, that look turns feral, his eyes rounding with hysteria.

I cock a brow. “Did you rub a balloon on your head?” He blinks, and before any of them can process my presence, I lift my gun

and shoot off two bullets—one for each guard.

Too easy.

Apparently, his money couldn’t even buy guards that are good enough to

entertain me. If they were anything like me, I would’ve been shot dead before a syllable could even leave my mouth.

Max’s eyes pop open wide as his men fall to the ground, blood quickly

draining past the rails and onto the pristine tile on the ground floor. He turns to run, but my voice stops him cold.

“Come here, Max.” Slowly, he looks back at me, terror radiating from his eyes. There’s a

particular stink to men who are faced with the consequences of their

actions.

They’re fucking petrified, but only because they know they’re going to

die. And no matter what they believe in, they know damn well there isn’t any chance they’ll be led to those pearly gates.

“Whatever you think I—” “Don’t insult me further by questioning my knowledge,” I cut in, my

voice deadly calm. “You know better than that, Maximilian.”

His lips tighten into a white line, but he has enough sense to turn and

make his way down the steps, straightening out his rumpled blazer to reestablish his fragile façade of confidence. He’s struggling to maintain a calm expression, with his fists clenched and shaking, and sweat lining his hairline.

He pauses at the last step, standing before me with his nose in the air. He

wants to die with his head held high.

How naïve.

He will bow at my feet, begging for forgiveness and lips pressed so far

into my boots that his teeth leave imprints behind.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice cold and devoid of emotion.

He stares at me, his throat bobbing as he works to swallow. “I wasn’t

told the location.”

“But you’re in contact with the men who have her,” I counter. He blinks,

licking his lips to stall while he finds the proper response.

“It’s been fulfilled. I transferred Rick's percentage, and we cut ties.” Max transferred money to one account, so I figure only Rick Boreman

got a cut, though I'm not entirely sure why yet. On the surveillance cam of Addie's car crash, there were two men, and Rick was not the one to drag her out of her overturned vehicle.

I purse my lips, the scars on my face crinkling, nod my head, and walk

toward him slowly, like a cheetah stalking its prey. A trickle of satisfaction drips into my bloodstream when he tenses, solidifying beneath my eyes.

“And you’re telling me that you have no way to contact either of them?” He swallows and shakes his head. “Rick disconnected his phone after the

transfer went through. Probably to hide from you.”

I hum, dragging my eyes up and down his form, noting the awkward

stance and the way his feet are angled inward. He’s seconds away from pissing himself.

There’s no self-assurance of being in a public place, knowing the worst

of your sins were intimidating a couple of women in a restaurant.

He’s been a very bad boy this time. “So, why’d you do it, Max?” “You killed my father, so the deal was off,” he spits, fury flashing in his

irises. Stilling, I can only stare at him as I process his words.

After I killed Archie Talaverra, I cut off his hands and set them on

Addie’s doorstep as a reminder that she’s mine, and no one else is ever to touch her. Max found out and started placing blame on her for Archie’s death, so I made him a deal. I wouldn’t kill his father, and he wouldn’t touch Addie. It took kidnapping and recording a video to drive home the point, but he kept to his word. Until recently.

Funny thing is, I never killed his father. “Excuse me?” He blinks, his face gradually turning red. “You kill—” “I heard what you fucking said,” I bark. “What made you think it was

me?”

His face contorts. “Because you fucking said it was,” he bellows, taking

a threatening step towards me. I do better and lunge in his face, causing him

to recoil and lose his footing.

I catch him by the collar of his shirt and jerk him close. “Explain, Max,”

I snarl. “Because I didn’t fucking kill your father. If I had, I would've killed both of you. We made a fucking deal, and I kept my word.”

He shakes his head, breathing fire. “You sent me the video of you

decapitating my father on Friday. On the video, you said, ‘This is for Adeline Reilly.’”

Fire fills my veins, every single one in my body protruding. “Was it my voice?” “Wha—I don’t know, man! I don’t have a goddamn recording of your

voice to compare it to. It was deep like yours, that’s all I know.”

I nod my head, letting him see in my eyes just how much he fucked up.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who actually killed his father.

“Did you bother confirming if it was me?” “Oh, my bad, bro, I’ll call you up next time,” he retorts.

I grin savagely. “Are you telling me you’re not resourceful, Maximilian?

Because I am, and I have many resources to make you suffer. If you're going to get revenge for a murder, then you better be sure about who

actually fucking did it.”

He flounders, his mouth flopping as he realizes that he acted without

thought. He saw his father die a brutal death, decided who it was based on a single sentence, and sent Addie to the slaughterhouse.

Red is seeping into my vision, and it takes all of my control to keep it at

bay. To see clearly—because I want to witness every fucking second of Max’s death.

“You want to know who killed your father, jackass? The very people you

sold Addie off to. The Society killed him so you would betray me, and then target Addie. You fell right into their fucking trap and did all the dirty work for them.”

He shakes his head. “How would they know about our deal and what you

did to my father?”

“I don’t know, Max, did your father open his fat fucking mouth and flap

it to anyone who would listen? Did you? Whining about how I kidnapped him and threatened him if you so much as touched Addie and Daya. You tellin’ me neither of you didn’t go around bitching about it to anyone that possesses ears?”

His teeth click, confirming my presumption. “It’s not hard to find out

about our rivalry when you don’t shut the fuck up about it,” I hiss.

He grunts as I haul him towards the front door, his feet dragging on the

tile and nails clawing at my hand in panic. I plan on taking this very slow with him. Getting as much information as I can before I send him down below.

“Wait, wait, it was a mistake. Let’s work something out,” he sputters as I

drag him down the porch stairs and towards my car. “I’ll get her back!”

I flash him a ferocious smile. “Don’t worry, Max, I plan on working out

a lot of things with you. Or rather, working them out of you.”

The bloody scalpel clatters against the metal tray, and Max’s groans fill

the air. He didn’t find it humorous when I started playing “Bodies” by Drowning Pool to drown out his incessant screaming.

I laughed the entire song, even though I can’t feel anything right now but

burning flames in my hollow chest.

Wires are attached to Max’s chest, leading to a machine designed

specifically to restart a heart the second it stops. I built it when I first started in this business, though it’s rarely used anymore. In the beginning, my rage towards sex traffickers went unchecked. But over the years, I found the faster they die, the more I can kill.

I’ve killed Max via asphyxiation twice now. The second his heart stops

beating, my machine brings him back to life via electricity, where I proceed to torture him slowly, and then kill him again. Rinse, repeat.

I hadn't even started asking questions yet, too angry to speak.

He’s gone mad now. So close to death just to awake to my smiling face,

over and over. Yet, I still feel nothing.

“Rick Boreman is who you transferred the money to. Who was his

partner?”

“R-Rio,” he answers. “Dunno his last name.” His speech is choppy from the toll his body has endured. “How do you know them?”

“I don’t re… real-ly. C-Connor and Rick were friends. I knew Rick had

connections, so I got his number from Connor’s old phone.”

“And how did you know what Rick’s involved in?” “Connor talked about the Tala-la-verras pos-ssibly sticking their hands in

the trade, and he men-mentioned he had connections to do so through Rick.

They never ended up getting in-involved, so nothing more was ever said about Rick than… than that.”

I cock a brow. The Talaverras getting involved in human trafficking

would’ve been a fucking disaster. Especially with Archie involved and his playboy status—he would’ve condemned a lot of girls to that fate. Suppose I did more good than I initially thought by killing them all.

“Who do Rio and Rick work for?” Max shakes his head, his mouth curling into a smile. “Rick doesn’t work

for nobody. H-he’s just friends with the right people. I knew where y-your girlfriend lived, and he knew how to get her in the right hands. It was mutually ben-beneficial.”

He looks like he’s fading, so I roughly slap his cheeks a few times. He

grunts at me but keeps his eyes open.

“And Rio?” Another grin. “Who else? The Soc—" “Don’t be obtuse, Max,” I cut in, picking up a pair of scissors and

dragging the tip against the web of skin between his two fingers. When he doesn’t come up with a new answer, I spread the scissors and snip the delicate flesh. He screams, but the sound isn’t quite anguished enough.

Not yet. “I want the names. The people they directly report to, and who they took

her to.”

He works to swallow; his face pinched in pain as he struggles to answer. “I-I don’t know, Z. I told you, I ha-hardly knew them! Only what C-

Connor told us about Rick, which wasn’t anything at all other than he was friends with a trafficker. When I saw the ad, I-I asked for his help, and that was the end of it!”

“How did they know how to take her?” He licks his lips, his eyes drifting again from exhaustion. “I knew her place was sur-surrounded, so we drew her out. Luke knows

where Daya lives, so… so he paid her a visit. Broke in and tied her up and

used her phone to lu-lure Addie out. Rick and-and Rio waited outside of her driveway and followed her.”

I still, going nearly blind with fury at the knowledge that Daya might’ve

been taken, too. No one fucks with my girl, and that includes her friends and family.

Addie’s been gone for seven days now, and in that time, all I’ve thought

about was getting to Max. It didn’t even cross my mind that Daya hadn’t reached out yet, looking for her best friend.

If I’m being honest, I can hardly think straight with every organ in my

body seized by the constant agony with her being gone.

“Where is Daya?” Max laughs, the sound wet and humorless. “Last I heard, bro, Luke still

has her. Reliving his-his favorite memory with her probably.”

Fuck. Looks like Max is going to have to wait to die for good. I need to

go murder his friend first and get Daya the fuck out of there.

“Hm.” I clip the skin between his pinky and ring finger. He clenches his

teeth, but it doesn’t prevent the scream from slipping through the cracks of his teeth.

“God fucking dammit!” he bursts, panting through the pain.

I’ll keep him alive long enough to get Daya. Then, I’ll come back and

finish off the job—permanently. I don't have any more time to waste on him.

“Who was the person you spoke to when you answered the ad?” I push. “They were anon-ymous. You-you think they introduce themselves when

they answer the phone?” he snaps. “I told them I knew where she was and who was helping me. They told me they’d transfer the money when Addie was in their possession. Th-that’s it!”

I grab his other hand and clip the skin between his pointer and middle

finger, purely because I don’t appreciate his attitude.

“Do you know how many men laid in this very chair before you?” I ask

casually, glancing at his shredded face.

“N-no,” he cries, dragging the note out in a sorrowful wail. “Me neither,” I shrug. “Lost count. But what I do remember is that I

broke every single one of them.”

Max squeezes his eyes shut when I lean forward, not brave enough to

face his tormentor. “But you’re the first one to have broken me first, Max. I

can admit that. You broke me into tiny little pieces when you took Addie from me. Because of you, I’m no longer a man.”

I straighten my spine. “Do you know what that means for you? It means

I have no humanity left in me. No empathy. No guilt. Nothing. I could do this all fucking day, and even when your body gives out, I’d just bring it back again.”

Tears spill from the corners of his eyes, but they have no effect on me. “I’m s-sorry, man. It was an honest mistake,” he groans. “I only did it

‘cause of my f-father.”

“You only got a girl kidnapped and sold into the skin trade, you mean?

You only condemned an innocent woman to torture, trauma, and rape because your daddy died?” My voice begins to crack by the end, and I clench my jaw, struggling to hold on to what little sanity I have left. I’m falling apart at the seams, tears building in my vision.

He shakes his head and blubbers, “I don’t know what you want me to

say.”

Breathing in and out, slowly I regain control. I nod, accepting that

response for what it is. We both know there is absolutely nothing he can say to atone for what he’s done.

“All it would’ve taken was a little research, my guy. Even if you were

hotheaded enough to threaten me directly—that actually would’ve saved your life.”

And my soul.

He snivels, having nothing to say. So, I pick up the mini saw and flip it

on. His nearly black eyes blow wide, dilated with terror.

I’ve sliced up his face pretty good, but I find there’s a much better use

for it.

“Do you know what’s possibly being done to Addie as we speak?” I

question, the buckle of his belt clanging beneath the soft whirring of the blade.

He squeezes his eyes shut again as I unfasten his pants and yank them

down. I wrinkle my nose. He pissed himself.

“P-please, man,” he cries, sobs racking his throat. Snot leaks from his

nose and into his mouth, and all I see is a man who’s only sorry he got caught. A man who was too arrogant and too stupid to think he wouldn’t suffer the consequences for his actions. “Don’t do this.”

The cavern in my chest widens, devouring what was left of my

conscience.

My soul has no place inside a monster.

So, I got rid of it. “She’s being raped,” I tell him, my voice deepening with unbridled fury.

Those images haunt me. “Can you imagine by how many men?”

He shakes his head, his legs trembling as I yank down his boxers, glad

that I’m wearing thick nylon gloves.

“It’s all I can think about,” I choke out on a whisper. “I’m plagued by the

torture she must be suffering through. The pain and how she probably wants to die.”

And how I want to die.

I grab him between the legs, seeing nothing but a slideshow of Addie’s

torment on repeat. I could saw off my own fingers, and I’d hardly notice.

They’re hurting her. Scaring her. Making her cry.

The blade cuts through skin and muscle, eliciting a scream that horror

movies can’t imitate. That sound can only be born from the type of horror very few humans actually experience.

It sounds like music.

Is it the same sound Addie is making?

Blood spurts, painting Max and me in crimson. He sucks in a deep

breath, preparing to let loose another scream no one else will ever hear, but then he passes out.

Pussy.

Quite literally now.

I switch the blade off, curl my fingers in his bottom teeth and yank it

down, and drop the now detached piece of skin down his throat. Then I work to cauterize the wound, preventing him from bleeding out while I’m gone.

I’m not quite done with him yet.

It wasn’t hard to track down where Luke lives. The imbecile posts his

entire life on social media anyway. Except for the fact that he’s keeping a girl hostage in his house. They always seem to forget those details.

Indiscernible screaming can be heard through the doors of his home. A

loud crash follows, and I smile, already knowing I’m going to walk in on Daya giving this guy hell.

I slide my pin into the keyhole and jam it, breaking the lock. And then I

walk into his house as if I’m walking into my favorite burger joint.

“Why do you always have to move?” Luke shouts from down the

hallway. I slide out my gun and start spinning the silencer on as I make my way towards the ruckus. “I’m trying to take care of you!”

When I round the corner, I stop short.

Daya is tied to a chair, tipped over on the side, with her arms trapped

uncomfortably beneath her weight. She’s screaming through the tape stuck to her mouth, death radiating in her glare. When she spots me, her eyes widen, and then she starts wriggling fiercely as if she’s trying to make her presence known.

Can’t really see her any clearer when she’s right in my face.

Noticing Daya’s reaction, Luke turns his head, and his own eyes pop

open before he scrambles for his gun. I shoot the back of his knee before he makes it a step, feeling nothing even as he falls to the ground with an agonized shout.

“Simmer down, Daya,” I say, walking over to her. “I can see you.

Wiggling like a worm on a hook is only going to rub your skin even rawer.”

She huffs, impatiently waiting as I lift both her and the chair up as one,

untie her from the ropes, and help her up. She takes one look at me, noting the dark circles under my eyes and the hollowness in my gaze, and wraps herself around me.

I blink, freezing for a moment before I sling an arm around her.

Immediately, she breaks out into a fit of tears, her sobs vibrating my chest. I place a hand on the back of her neck and squeeze reassuringly. It’s the only thing I can think to do to let her know that I’m here and that she’s safe.

My throat is too tight to speak because as relieved as I am that Daya is

okay, I’m incapable of actually feeling it.

“Please tell me you know where she is,” she begs, clenching my hoodie

in her grip.

I sigh, grab her by the arms, and gently pull her away. She looks no

better than I do. Her sage green eyes are bloodshot from crying, black, straight hair disheveled, and bruises mar her deep brown skin.

“Not yet,” I whisper, unable to speak the disappointing words any

louder. Her eyes close in defeat, but she nods her head.

“We’ll find her. We will.” “What did he do to you?” I ask, bringing the conversation back to the

parasite dragging himself on the floor towards his gun. It’s resting on a coffee table ten feet away from him. I turn and shoot the gun, sending it skidding across the floor and under his white couch.

I bet not a single ass has ever sat on that thing. “Nothing that I haven’t let him do before,” she mumbles.

I cock my head. “We both know this time around wasn’t consensual.” She looks away, appearing embarrassed. “You know you didn’t ask for any of this, right?” I remind her, shaking

her just enough to emphasize my point. She nods her head, though she doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Max is at my place. Let’s take care of Luke here. You can even release

some pent-up anger if you want.”

I go to turn, but she stops me, her hand wrapped tightly around my wrist. “Don’t lose your humanity yet, Zade. Addie is strong, and she will

survive this.”

I stare at her, and I wonder if she can see something inside me that I

can’t.

“It’s already gone.”

I pound harder. Fuck, I need to do it harder.

The answering moans send a shot of pleasure down my spine.

And every time I hear it, all I can think about is Addie. I can never stop

thinking about her, even as the begging follows the screams. Harder.

“Please.” The plea is breathless. But it’s not good enough.

“Please, what?” I demand through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down my

temple from exerting myself.

It’s still not enough.

It never will be. Not until I have Addie again. “Zade,” Daya calls. “Please.” I look over to her, my mallet suspended over the massive nail lodged

into Luke’s leg. She looks a little nauseous, but I can’t find it in myself to care right now.

I’ve been pounding the nail into his forearm for the past few minutes,

and I’ve gotten it down far enough that it’s all the way through and embedding into the wooden table, but it’s a huge nail, and there’s still some length to go.

Luke’s moans are full of agony, and his desperate pleas make me feel as

good as I’m capable of feeling.

Not fucking enough.

I want him to scream so loud until his cries give out and his voice box

shatters completely.

Daya’s hand is resting on my arm, her own plea cutting through the noise

in my head.

“He hurt you,” I say flatly.

She nods. “He did. And I’m ready to take over now.” I release the mallet, the heavy rubber dropping painfully onto his arm

before clattering to the table. His answering scream vibrates through his house.

Not. Enough.

I swipe at my nose and turn away, my hands shaking with the need to

keep pounding down the nail until the head connects with his flesh.

It’s been over an hour since I dragged Luke onto his dining room table

and started conducting my torture. I found some tools in his garage and decided to make good use of them since he’ll never get the chance.

Daya clears her throat. “Luke? Stay awake, buddy boy.” I hear skin

slapping and glance back to see her roughly smacking his cheek. His head lolls, more groans releasing from his throat.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. It needs to be depleted. Even

then, I won’t be satisfied.

“You know, I've been saying the same thing to you for a week,” Daya

says, her voice breaking. Her eyes fill with tears, and it only stokes the flames in my chest.

She and Addie love each other fiercely. And because Addie is my family,

that makes Daya my family, too.

It’s best I make an example of him so others will know to never fuck

with them again.

Doesn’t help that he played a massive role in getting my girl kidnapped.

And that… that is just unforgivable. Un-survivable.

Luke swallows, yet words fail him for several moments. “It wasn’t

personal,” he croaks. “I was only doing what Max told me to.”

“Max told you to stick your dick inside me?” Daya counters, her tiny fist

curling in a tight ball.

I hope she fucking uses them. I would only stop her so I could deliver a

few of my own punches before I let her end his miserable life.

“No, Daya, I just… I’ve missed you so much.” Daya closes her eyes, a tear leaking past her eyelashes. I’ve no idea if

these two had much of a relationship past one night together, nor is it my business. But it doesn’t matter because whatever Luke stole from Daya, she plans on taking it back.

“I didn’t miss you, Luke, you know that, right?” she retorts, her pale

eyes blazing. His mouth opens, but she keeps going. “Anytime I thought of you, it was out of disgust. I should’ve known you’d find a way to surprise me and turn out to be so much worse than I thought.”

“L-look, I’m sorry for the role I played, but you have to understand that

Max is crazy.” When I step closer, not a shroud of understanding reflected back at him, he becomes more desperate. “Seriously, man! If I didn’t do what he said, he’d have me killed!”

“Did he tell you to abuse Daya? Rape her?” He flounders, his mouth opening and closing as he searches for the right

answer. Or rather, the right lie.

Daya’s eyes cling to him as she holds her hand out to me expectantly. I

don’t look away from Luke as I grab a knife from the table next to me and hand it to her, knowing what she’s asking for.

She doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t hesitate for a second. She just grips the

black handle in a tight fist, the metal glinting off the dining room lights as

she rises it above him and plunges it down into his throat. Sharp metal cuts through flesh and bone, silencing his pleas.

Luke’s eyes widen into round discs, staring at his reaper with disbelief.

It’s always disbelief. As if they didn’t see it coming. Or maybe, they just can’t accept the fact that they’re actually dying.

Men like this, who have lived their lives so selfishly and with no regard

for others’ lives, are always the most desperate to live forever.

But they never understood that’s what makes them so goddamn weak.

It’s the people who have no regard for their own life—people like me. We are the ones that are the deadliest.

What’s stopping me from taking people down with me when I die?

Nothing.

Not a goddamn thing.

Chapter 7

The Diamond

“You bring product into my house looking like this?” a woman hisses

sharply, drawing my eyes up. I’m standing with my back turned to a dirty full-length mirror, head cocked over my shoulder, and my shirt raised up as I observe the stitches on my back. Massive bruises mottle my skin, turning it into an ugly color.

Clearing my throat, I let my oversized, dingy shirt drop and turn to meet

her gaze head-on.

In front of me is a beautiful woman, her face caked in make-up and skin

doused in citrus perfume. A tight dress clings to her curves, and a pair of strappy heels give her Amazonian height.

Her outfit is not fit for this weather, but she looks as if she could walk

through a blizzard barefoot and not bat an eye. She only appears to be in her mid-thirties, and while she’s beautiful, she looks tired—weathered. Walking alongside the devil will do that to you.

This must be Francesca.

And right now, she’s glaring at me, shooting daggers from her golden-

brown eyes.

Shit. Here we go.

Rio shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t respond to her outraged question.

And that small action tells me a lot. If you don’t have a valid reason for your mistake, keep your mouth shut. Maybe even if you do, still keep it shut.

Her eyes narrow and trail down my body as she walks towards me,

checking me out. Determining how much money I could make her, most likely.

I’m grateful Rio found some clothes from another girl’s room, and that

I’m not wearing the hospital gown anymore. I imagine her reaction would be far worse than it is now.

She stands before me, her strong perfume tickling my nose. I keep silent,

watching her pinch the dirty, white shirt and lift it up. Her stare sharpens as

she spots the ugly bruises coloring my torso. They’re everywhere, and I have a sickening feeling she’s going to make it her mission to find every single one.

She then circles me, a sharp gasp piercing the still air when she spots the

two large gashes on my back.

“What did you do to her?” she snarls.

Rio keeps his eyes down on his black boots, specks of dried blood still

on them.

“Car accident,” he answers shortly. “Stupid. This is going to take weeks to heal. When can the stitches come

out?”

He finally looks up, his dark brown eyes swirling with hate yet an

apologetic expression on his face. It’s manufactured just for Francesca. He’s not fucking sorry at all.

“Dr. Garrison said four to six weeks.” She hisses and lets the shirt drop, circling back around to face me. “Is she on birth control?” My brows furrow and I frown, wondering why she’s asking him and how

the hell Rio would even know that.

“Garrison said she has the IUD.” Tears begin to build, and it takes effort to keep them at bay. It makes me

want to vomit that I was violated like that. I had no idea he checked, which means he did it while I was unconscious.

She hums, pleased by that, and finally address me directly. “Do you

know who I am?”

It takes a few seconds to rein my emotions in, but I manage to swallow

them down enough to answer her.

“Francesca,” I say confidently, inserting as much volume in my voice as

possible. She doesn’t present herself as the type of person who’d appreciate mumbling.

That’s the good thing about being a writer, I suppose. I’ve built and

crafted so many imaginary personalities that it doesn’t take much to figure out the ones in real life.

Francesca, here, has no patience and doesn’t tolerate insolence, laziness,

or weakness. She exudes strength, and that’s what she expects in return. Not to be confused with defiance, of course.

She pops a manicured eyebrow up her forehead. “Yes,” she says. “That’s

my name. But that’s not what I asked you.”

Frowning, my brows knit, unsure how to respond. Before I can figure it

out, her long acrylic nails pinch my cheeks. I inhale sharply, the talons digging into my skin as she pulls my face into hers, a calm but menacing expression on her face.

“I am your madam. You will not speak, act or even think without my

permission first, you understand me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, though the sound comes out garbled between my

pinched lips. She pushes my face away harshly, causing me to lose my footing and land on my ass. A puff of air escapes me from the impact, followed by a whimper, and I screw my eyes shut as pain rackets up my spine.

These assholes don’t want the product bruised and bloody yet can’t keep

their goddamn hands off me. Makes a whole lot of fucking sense.

I don’t need to be an expert in the skin trade to know that no one wants

to eat a bruised apple. They want nice, shiny apples to sink their teeth into and rip apart themselves, piece by piece.

Francesca sniffs, peering down at me with disdain. Blowing out a slow

breath, I meet her stare, working hard to keep even a hint of anger out of my eyes.

“Obedience is the number one thing I ask of you. I personally don’t like

to administer drugs to keep the girls compliant. I like my girls lucid and in control as it makes for a better experience for our buyers. No one wants a drug-addicted whore who can barely keep her eyes straight and fist a cock properly. That means if you disobey me or fail to do as I instruct, you will be punished. Understood?”

I drop my eyes before she can see the emotion spit from them like grease

in a hot skillet. Swallowing down the rock in my throat, I choke out, “Yes, ma’am.”

She makes a sound of aversion. “Never call me that. Reminds me of my

mother,” she snaps, muttering the last part.

“How would you like me to address you?” I ask, finding the courage to

look up and meet her eyes once more.

I know what I’d like to fucking call the evil bitch.

Rio chortles from the doorway but sobers when Francesca shoots a

pointed look over her shoulder.

She trains her narrowed gaze on me, seeming to contemplate something. “Just call me Francesca,” she responds. “Rio here is going to implant a

tracking device and tattoo your Slave ID. Everyone gets one, and they will only be covered once you have your master.”

My heart shrivels and dies the moment she mentions a tracking device.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised, but it sends a fresh dose of panic into my bloodstream, twisting my gut painfully. Tears begin to burn the backs of my eyes, the hopelessness deepening.

“Yes, Francesca,” I force out, my back hunching from the emotions

circulating throughout my body, so potent that they nearly disintegrate my spine and send me crumbling to the floor at her feet.

As temporary as it is, she appears pleased and heads for the door,

pausing to look Rio in the eyes and order, “Keep her sedated. We’ll let her heal for a week before she’s required to acclimate in the house and begin her lessons. You broke her, you fix her, so she will be your responsibility until further notice.”

His lips tighten, but he nods. Despite the fact that I was just told I’m

going to be tagged like cattle, there’s a pinch of relief circulating throughout my body. The second she disappears, firmly shutting the door behind her, I get up as quickly as my broken body can handle and shuffle towards the bed, flopping down on it.

An angel and a devil rest on my shoulders; the soft one coaxing me to

curl in a ball so I can shatter into tiny pieces, while the other yells at me to keep fighting—to not break down like all hope is lost.

Keep it together, little mouse. You’ll survive this. You will.

Steeling my spine, I force the tears back. I have at least a week before

I’m thrust into the thick of what it truly means to be human trafficked. A week to be ignorant of the horrid things they do to girls here.

Rio grabs a black bag from atop the dresser next to me. I had noticed it

when I first entered the room, and since then, I’ve treated it like a bag full of snakes. Seems I wasn’t far off in thinking so. The bite of a python would feel no different than being permanently branded.

Holding my breath, I eye him closely as he approaches me, his weight

compressing the edge of the lumpy mattress. Slowly, he unzips it, the sound

tearing through my nerves as it does the bag. Next, he pulls out a small tattoo gun, ink, and what looks similar to a piercing gun but… not.

“Tracker first,” he announces, holding up the torture device. He grabs a

tiny microchip from the bag, inserts it into the gun, and then twirls his finger, signaling for me to turn.

Apprehensively, I face away from him, shivering when I feel his fingers

brush across the nape of my neck as he gathers my hair to the side.

“It’ll hurt,” he warns a second before a sharp stabbing pain pierces my

neck. I yelp, wincing, two seconds away from whirling around and slapping the shit out of him. My vision blurs with tears, but I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or because I have a tracking device inside my body.

I turn back around, shooting him a nasty look to cover up the fact that

I’m on the verge of crying. He ignores it, opening a new needle and preparing for the tattoo.

“Where’s this one going?” “On the wrist.” I rear back when he lifts his hands towards my arm, attempting to stall.

“Do you do this often?”

“Yes. Now how about you make this as painless as possible for both of

us and let me see that pretty little hand.”

Tightening my lips, I don’t resist when he grasps my wrist in a

surprisingly gentle hold, coaxing me to lie my arm on his jean-clad thigh.

Tears settle in along the ridge of my lids as the buzz of the tattoo gun vibrates against my flesh, followed by the bite of the needle.

“Did you do your own tattoos?” I ask, though I don’t really care. I’m

searching for anything to distract me from what he’s doing.

“No,” he answers shortly. “How many do you have?” He glances at me. “A lot.” “This is my first one,” I whisper. “Do any of yours mean anything?” Another glance, this one saturated with a little more irritation. “Some do,” he concedes.

I stay quiet for a beat. “But none of them are brands, are they?” This time when he looks at me, the emotion in his gaze is

indecipherable. He doesn’t respond, and I take that for an answer in itself.

The tattoo only takes a few minutes, though I’m sure his lines are uneven

from my trembling.

When he finishes, the first tear falls, and I quickly swat it away. If he

notices, he doesn't make it known.

Packing up his tools, he straightens and stares down at me. I can’t read

the emotion in his eyes, but I don’t think I care to, anyway.

“How are you going to sedate me?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on

the army green blanket. My neck and wrist burn, and all I want to do is fade away.

Is that weak? Would Zade be disappointed if he knew I was eager to fall

into a pit of unconsciousness instead of clawing my way out of here?

You need to be at full strength, I soothe myself. I’m sure there is plenty I

should be doing regardless of my physical state. Learning patterns, listening for anything that could help me, but I'm too fucking tired, and my body is steadily shutting down anyway.

He shrugs, a strange glimmer sparkling in his dark eyes. “Pills. But that’s

not what you should be concerned about.”

Rio steps toward me again, his boots echoing on the floor until his knees

brush the white sheet. He bends at the waist, his lips scarcely brushing across my cheek while hot breath fans against the shell of my ear.

“Better hope the men here don’t come in for an easy meal,” he whispers,

eliciting a cold chill.

My throat dries and clogs with a pool of emotions. Mainly disgust and

anger, but also terror. The thought of men taking advantage of my body while I’m out cold is sickening. My stomach twists in response, and it takes all of my self-control to hold back the hot tears in my eyes.

“Francesca would let that happen?” I force out, my voice hoarse and

strained. He retreats an inch, watching my expression closely. I stare straight ahead, refusing to meet his soulless gaze.

“She wouldn’t know.” He pauses, a vicious grin tipping up the corners of

his lips. “And neither would you.”

I hold tightly onto my composure, body shaking as my control threatens

to slip. Another tear slips loose as his thumb brushes my bottom lip, prying it open and placing a white pill on my tongue.

“Swallow,” he orders quietly. I do, only if it means I won’t remember

any of this.

“Good girl,” he praises. Fuck you.

Then, he brushes a finger down my spine lightly, leaving chills in his

wake.

“Don’t worry, princess, maybe I’ll be taking good care of these stitches

when they come sniffing,” he murmurs, offering a shred of hope I refuse to cling to.

I snarl, and glare at him through blurred vision. “And you’d be any better?” I hiss, challenging his morals. They’re as

obscure as frosted glass.

Slowly, he straightens his spine and shoots me a cryptic grin. “I guess

you’ll never really know, will you?”

Turning, he walks out of the room. The second the door clicks shut,

several more tears escape. And once those are set loose, a flood follows. I curl into a ball and slap a hand over my mouth right as a sob breaks free.

For an indiscernible amount of time, I crumble, weeping until my eyes

swell and I have nothing left to give. And then slowly, I suck in deep breaths until I’ve pieced myself back together again. It’s messy, and some parts of me have been rearranged, but I’m no longer in ruins, and that’s the best I can do for now.

Wiping my eyes, I blow out a shaky breath and take inventory of my

new room. The pill is beginning to set in, and coupled with my pity party, it’s hard to stay awake, but I haven’t gotten a second to take it in without someone breathing down my neck.

They assigned me a room at the back of the house, though a decent size.

It’s sparse, the cramped space occupied by a mirror, a lumpy bed with a deflated pillow and scratchy blanket, a nightstand, and a dresser.

Just like the rest of the house, the wood creaks with every step, and I

have a feeling I’m going to learn the exact spots that don’t make any noise.

On the bright side, there’s a nailed-shut window that provides a perfect

view of the driveway, allowing me to see who comes in and out, and I don’t have to share a room with anyone.

Before Francesca showed up, Rio had informed me that five other girls

are being groomed for auction. Francesca's job is to mold us into proper sex slaves. Teach us how to act, how to look, and what not to do.

But what she really does is teach us how to survive.

I don’t see the fucking point in any of it.

The more compliant, obedient, and pleasant we are, the less likely we are

to be needlessly abused, Rio claims. But there’s no doubt that the buyers will have a brutal, sadistic side, nor is there any doubt we'll be on the receiving end of it, regardless of what perfect little pocket pussies we are.

They want us to feel as if there is no escape, so we might as well act

right and take the good days with the bad. But that’s not surviving; that’s conforming.

It’s accepting that we will die here one day. Never to see our family or

loved ones again. Never to experience freedom, laughter, and independence for the rest of our miserable lives. To never truly love and be loved.

But I won’t fucking accept it.

I’m going home—to Parsons Manor.

And to Zade.

A creak from beside my bed rouses me from a deep slumber I’ve been

wading in for what feels like years. I startle awake in a cold sweat, disoriented, and confused when there's nothing but blackness, and the soft white glow of the moonlight peeking through the window, the strands weak beneath the shadows.

Only a whisper of my escalated breath can be heard over the pounding in

my chest.

It takes several seconds to remember where I am. And the moment it

registers, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Someone’s watching me.

Slowly, I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the darkness that’s pressing in

around me. I turn my head to look out of the window, light rain pattering against it.

Lightning washes the old room in a flash of bright light, and I take the

brief moment to get a good look around.

No one is in here—at least not that I can see.

But I feel the weight of eyes on me, searing the side of my face like a hot

iron left on a silk dress.

“Who’s there?” I whisper. The words barely make it out, my throat

underused and dry.

When no one answers, I look toward the nightstand and search for the

markings on the side of the table. There are six tally marks, but with it being so dark outside, it has to be after midnight. I’m on day seven now.

Before I let the pill take ahold of me on my first day here, I scratched a

line into the cheap, soft wood to mark the days, vowing to keep track any moment I awoke from my drugged slumber.

Rio’s always there when I wake up, ready to escort me to the restroom

and shove soup and water down my throat before I’m knocked out again.

He’s been putting the drugs in my food, and I know that I could refuse, but what's the point? I'm not getting out of here if I'm starving and dehydrated.

And I've found I don't mind drinking the poison.

Too drugged to care, he watched me scratch a line in the wood on the

second night, and for some unfathomable reason, he started tallying them for me when I told him the days are blurring.

He doesn’t say much, nor has he mentioned any men attempting to take

advantage of me. If they tried, they certainly didn’t succeed considering I’d feel the evidence of it. I doubt any of them would bother with a bottle of lube.

So, whether it’s because he doesn’t care to inform me of his good deed

or because no one has attempted it—I don’t know.

There's another soft creak from my left. My eyes snap in the direction of

the disturbance, right in the corner of my room.

"Who are you?" I ask, though the words don’t come out any better than

the first time.

I hold my breath, waiting for a response. Several stilted seconds pass,

and then just barely, I hear another low creak, as if someone shifted their weight from one foot to the other.

Something I noticed sometime after my arrival was that part of the

plaster had been chipped away, revealing wooden bones beneath. Two planks are exposed, with a large enough gap between them to allow all kinds of bugs to creep in.

It made my skin crawl the moment I noticed it, but it was quickly

forgotten when Rio came in with steaming soup in his hand.

“What do you want?” I call out.

Another flash of lightning, so quick that I barely have time to process

what my eyes are seeing.

There—between the two wooden planks—is an eyeball. Wide and

staring at me intently. Just as sudden as it came, the light flickers out, and the room is cloaked in shadows once more.

Jolting violently, I fall backward off the bed, landing painfully on my

tailbone. I hardly feel it when panic has taken over. I’m not even capable of screaming for help, too lost in terror to do anything but desperately kick my feet, scrambling back toward the wall and away from the eye.

I plaster myself against it, chest heaving and heart racing. The rain

outside grows stronger, droplets slamming into the window with a ferocity that rivals the beat of my heart.

My nails dig into the wood as another low creak breaks through the

pounding in my ears.

Someone is in there. Can they see me now, tucked into the corner of the

room?

Sucking in a deep breath, I hold it, waiting for something to happen. It

feels as if my head is shoved into a guillotine, trapped in that heart-stopping moment of anticipation for when the blade drops.

I’m expecting a figure to break through the planks, a terrifying demon

straight from a horror film, bent backwards on its hands and feet and crawling toward me at an unnatural speed.

Something I’d enjoy watching from behind a screen—safe and sound.

But I’m anything but safe in this place.

Another flash of lightning, followed by a loud crack of thunder.

I flinch, expecting to see the eye still staring at me from between the

wood, but nothing is there.

A noise slips free from my throat, something between a wheeze and a

laugh.

I’m going insane. I have to be.

Shakily, I climb to my feet, my knees nearly clacking together from my

fried nerves. It’s enough to momentarily distract me from the lingering pain in my body.

I’m an idiot. Someone hiding in the walls is just preposterous. But then

my smile slips with one sobering thought.

That girl from Satan’s Affair used to watch people from within the walls

of the haunted houses before she killed them. But it can’t be her. Last I heard, she was still locked up.

There’s no one in the walls, Addie. You’re being crazy.

Right. I’m being crazy.

Determined to prove it to myself, I decide the only way to know for

certain is to look. Tiptoeing to that spot in the corner, loud creaks emphasize each step. I haven’t learned any of the quiet spots yet—haven’t had a chance to.

It’d be less terrifying if I could flip on the light, but it’s too risky. I’m not

willing to attract their attention and would rather take my chances with the lurker. That’s another sobering thought—realizing that I feel safer with the monster in the wall than I do with the ones that run this household.

But if I’m ever going to sleep again, drugs or not, then I need to be sure

there’s no one hiding in there watching me sleep.

Another flash and I rush forward to investigate the depths behind the

wooden boards.

Nothing is there, at least not that I can see. I’m not brave enough to put

my eye right against the planks, but it’s enough to satisfy me right before I’m plunged back into darkness.

Slapping a hand on my chest, I breathe out another laugh, choppy and

uneven.

As I’m making my way back to the bed, I step on an uneven spot, the

wood shifting beneath me. I freeze and look down. Wiggling my foot, the wood shifts again, groaning in protest.

My curiosity piques, along with a spark of excitement. I crouch down as

quickly as my body will allow me to, which is admittedly very fucking slow. While I’m healing from the car accident, I’m still just as achy from the lack of movement.

Planting my hands on the plank, I slide it as far down as it will go until

there’s a gap.

I pick at the edge of the wood, hissing when my nail bends backward

painfully, nearly tearing from my finger. Blood sprouts, but I ignore it, determined to see if anything is hiding in the floorboard.

Finally, I find purchase and manage to lift it high enough to lodge my

finger beneath it. Carefully, I pop the wood out and stare down into a black

abyss.

Blowing out a breath, I plunge my hand into the hole and feel around,

cringing when my fingers brush across bug carcasses, and lord knows what else, but my disgust morphs into excitement when I bump into something solid.

I snatch it up and almost squeal when I see that it’s a journal.

No fucking way.

I just stare.

Finding Gigi’s journal inside a wall in Parsons Manor was unbelievable.

Something that only happens in movies.

But finding another journal inside the floor?

Impossible. Fucking impossible.

But the evidence is in my hands. A cheap leather notebook, nowhere near

as fancy as Gigi's. The material is cracking and completely missing in some areas, yet it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Eyes wide, I open the journal and almost yip when I find several written

entries inside.

I glance around the room, almost like I’m searching out for someone else

to confirm that I’m staring at what I think I am.

It’s too dark to see anything now, so I stuff it back in and replace the

wood, promising myself to read it later when I can see clearly. Then I stand, too excited to whine over the pain, and slip back into bed.

My heart is racing, partly from the euphoria of finding another journal

and partly from disbelief.

She-Devil? If you did this… thank you.

I lie down, feeling slightly comforted that I now have something to cling

onto while facing whatever is coming for me.

The storm raging outside lulls me back to sleep, and just as I’m slipping

into consciousness, footsteps creak from within the wall, slowly retreating.

Chapter 8

The Diamond

“You have such pretty hair,” a soft, whimsical voice says from behind

me.

Inhaling sharply, I whip around, startled from the unexpected intrusion.

It’s her.

The girl Jerry was carrying in over his shoulder when I first arrived. The

girl with fire and ice in her gaze, and the same creepy smile tipping up her lips that she’s currently wearing.

Long blonde hair curls around her waist, and deep brown eyes stare at

me from the doorway. She’s slightly hunched and terribly skinny.

I’m standing at the full-length mirror, attempting to French braid my

hair. Rio rudely awoke me this morning by storming in, throwing a soft pair of joggers and a t-shirt at me, and demanding I get ready before slamming the door behind him on his way out. For what, I’m afraid to ask.

My seven days of purgatory are over, and just the thought of being

awake makes me nauseous.

I’ve been waiting around for further directions, so to give myself

something to do, I’m trying to fix my hair away from my face.

“Uh, hi,” I say, trying to regain my bearings.

I’m instantly on edge, tense beneath her probing gaze. There’s something

entirely unnerving about her presence.

She straightens and walks farther into the room, standing several inches

above me.

“Do you want my help?” My instinct is to say no. I very much want to kick her out so that I can

breathe again. But it would be wise to make friends with the creepy girl rather than enemies.

So, I nod my head, keeping a close eye on her as she approaches me.

She’s wearing a long white gown that is nearly see-through—the curves of her body and her dark nipples apparent. I keep my eyes averted, trying to

give her some semblance of respect that I’m sure she’s missing from the men in this house.

Hesitantly, I turn my back to her and watch her closely through the

mirror. She smiles wider, displaying crooked teeth as she reaches for my hair. She presses her entire front into my back, and a sick feeling curdles in my stomach when I feel her nipples brushing against me.

Furrowing my brows, I step away, feeling all kinds of weird. She

snickers but doesn’t come any closer.

Instead of gathering my hair together, she pets me. Brushing her

fingertips against my cinnamon strands, almost seeming to relish in the feel.

My discomfort worsens, even when she finally gathers all my hair

together. She’s gentle with me, though, her eyes glued to her task.

“What’s your name?” she asks, running her hand through my hair to

clear out the knots.

“Addie,” I say. “Yours?” “How did you get your hair so soft?” she asks in place of an answer. I

thin my eyes, not liking her avoidance.

“I don’t really do much with it. No heat and no dye.” She hums, and I arch a brow. “Your name,” I insist. She pauses and holds

out a pale hand, and it takes a second to realize she’s asking for the ponytail holder. Blowing out a breath through my nose, I slip the band off my wrist and drop it in her palm.

A few more moments of silence pass, and I don’t soften my gaze, boring

holes into her face through the mirror, still waiting for an answer.

“Sydney,” she responds finally, her voice pleasant as she begins to braid.

Part of me gets the feeling she made me wait on purpose, like a power

move. Nothing she’s doing is outwardly vindictive or cruel—in fact, she’s being incredibly gentle as she twists my hair—but that feeling triggers my sixth sense anyway.

Like when someone laughs at something you said, but you just know

they’re laughing at you, and not with you.

“Francesca wants us to meet her in the pretty room.” I’ve no fucking idea what the pretty room is. So, when Sydney finishes

with my hair and motions for me to follow her, I do so without question.

She leads me down the hallway, a line of girls walking opposite us and

towards a room a few doors down from mine.

We file into what looks like a beauty room, Sydney’s nickname for it

making sense now. She’s not calling the room pretty, but rather where we go to get pretty.

A long clothing rack lines one wall, with an array of colorful lingerie

hanging from it. Three vanities are set up on the opposite side, covered in makeup and brushes. There are a couple of full-length mirrors leaning against another wall and several shoe racks with an assortment of heels lined on each row.

Swallowing thickly, I follow the girls’ lead and stand with them in a

straight line facing the door. I assume we’re waiting for Francesca.

“What are—” I start. “Shh.” A girl cuts off my question, the command short and harsh.

Sydney giggles from the other side of me, and I snap my mouth shut, glancing at the one who either is just being a bitch, or has just saved me from getting hurt. Either way, I’ll take my chances and listen.

She has long, brown hair, the tips reaching her butt, and hazel eyes. Her

face is stony as she stares straight ahead, but I don’t study her long enough to decipher the emotion swirling in her irises.

She’s tense, that much I can tell. And I’m not sure if it’s for what will

happen when Francesca arrives, or because of something else.

Or maybe it’s because she’s been abducted and sold into human

trafficking, and no matter what’s happening, it’s all fucking bad.

Moments later, heels echo loudly on the wood as Francesca makes her

way up the stairs and down the hallway toward us. I guess that’s one comfort in this house—I’ll always know where Francesca is and if she’s coming. She’s definitely no Casper the fucking ghost with those monstrosities on her feet.

How many blisters did she have to suffer through before her feet were

calloused enough to wear those all day, every day?

Twenty? Thirty? Maybe a weird number like forty-two.

When she walks in, her gaze immediately finds mine. I look away

instantly, unsure if she’d consider it a challenge if I met her stare.

She walks past me, her fruity perfume lingering as she eyes each of us. “You all look like shit,” she comments snidely, and I can feel the weight

of her glare spearing into the side of my head particularly.

Yeah, ‘cause it was my fucking fault I had been ran off the road and

dragged out of a wrecked car. Bitch.

She pauses in front of a girl with fiery hair, lifts a burnt orange lock, and

looks at the split ends in disgust.

“I told you to trim these, don’t make me ask again or Jerry gets another

night with you,” she comments, dropping the strand and moving on. The girl blinks, a flash of pain there and gone, but Francesca has her eagle eyes focused on her next victim.

A girl with dirty blonde hair and beauty marks splattered on her face and

down her neck. Francesca observes them closely.

“We’ve spoken about this, Bethany. Beauty marks are one thing, but

moles are unacceptable.” My brows furrow, wondering how one would have any control over that.

“You were told to upkeep on the hair sprouting from these ugly things

every day. Why do I see hair?”

The girl—Bethany—shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Francesca. When

I had the flu—”

A sharp slap cuts off her words, the sound ringing in my ears. Bethany is

holding her reddened cheek, mouth parted in shock.

“Do you still have the flu?” Francesca snarls.

Bethany shakes her head slowly. “No, ma'am. I broke the fever last

night.”

My eyes nearly bulge, but I work to smooth out my expression. This is

probably the first day she feels somewhat human again.

“Rocco!” Francesca calls out loudly, causing the six of us to startle. We

all seem to straighten our spines at once.

Rio has told me about him, but I haven't had the displeasure of meeting

him yet. If the palpable tension in the air is anything to go by, he’s someone to be feared. They all are, really, but for the first time since meeting these girls, I can taste it.

All except Sydney, apparently. She’s hiding her giggles behind a hand,

staring at the door with glee. I shoot her a nasty look, but she’s not paying a lick of attention to me.

Heavy footsteps ascend the steps, each thud rocketing the tension higher.

By the time he enters, we're all made of stone, and Sydney is vibrating with excitement.

His presence is pure evil, and I just know that when this man dies, he

won’t go to Hell. He’ll stay in the fourth dimension, where he’ll continue to haunt and terrorize the living.

Rocco is a large man with an even larger gut. Sweat coats his skin as he

scans the six of us. He definitely looks like Francesca's brother, both with hooked noses, tanned skin, and golden-brown eyes.

Though they look related, Francesca is beautiful, whereas Rocco is…

not.

The only beauty that has ever touched this man has been at the hands of

a woman. Touches that were stolen and came with a steep price that only she paid for.

Francesca nods at Bethany, “She hasn’t been up-keeping the ugly

growths on her face.”

Rocco's eyes snap to the trembling girl, and though he’s not looking at

me, the power behind his stare sends a shot of terror through my system.

Bethany attempts to keep her face blank, but her entire body is rattling so hard, I can hear her bones knocking together.

Silence descends on the room, so when he opens a switchblade, the sharp

metallic ring sounds like a strike of lightning.

Bethany jumps, and I’m not the only other girl that shifts uncomfortably. “P-please, Roc—” “Don’t speak,” he snaps, his rusty voice sending shivers down my spine.

I’ve no idea what he’s going to do, but I am sure of one thing; that voice is going to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my days.

“You’re worthless to us if you’re ugly,” he scolds, walking over to her

and clutching her face in his meaty palm. She whimpers as he squeezes her cheeks roughly and jerks her head to the side so he can get a better view of her moles.

She bristles, but somehow forces herself not to fight his hold like a rabid

dog. He points the tip of the blade to her skin and slowly starts cutting.

I gasp and go to step forward, but next to me, the brown-haired girl’s

hand snaps out and grabs ahold of mine, clenching so hard it’s painful.

And from my other side, Sydney ohhhs like an older sibling who’s

watching the younger child get in trouble. I whip my head towards her, fury radiating from every pore in my body.

“What is wrong with you?” I hiss, keeping my voice low.

Sydney’s dark eyes meet mine, and I realize they’re not much different

from Rocco’s. Dead and cold.

“A lot,” she answers blandly.

Bethany screams as Rocco continues carving into her face, and I

physically cannot hold myself back.

“Aren’t you making her uglier?” I snap. Bethany is by no means ugly,

but their logic is backwards. If a mole with a few hairs is such a big deal, how is cutting up her face solving the problem?

They’re scarring her face, for fuck’s sake.

Rocco freezes, and Francesca’s head turns towards me, rage evident

through her caked makeup. But something in her expression is what causes instant regret. Not because she’s angry with me for speaking out, no.

Because she won’t be able to save me.

Sydney snickers loudly from beside me and takes a giant step away.

Clearly not wanting to be associated with my bad behavior, though the way she’s been acting is repulsive.

I bite my lip, my eyes dropping along with my heart. It begins to thud

violently as fear fills my veins and adrenaline circulates deeply throughout my body, making me feel nauseous.

I close my eyes in resignation, hating myself for my lack of self-control.

This isn’t like confronting a psychotic stalker. He’s not enigmatic, nor will he toe the line between pain and pleasure. There’s no sick thrill when a disgusting man is staring me down, probably imagining all the worst ways he could defile or murder me.

He isn’t Zade.

Rocco releases Bethany, blood dripping down her face and staining his

fingertips. She’s trembling, her face contorted with pain, whimpers leaking past her lips as she reels from having her face cut open.

“What did you say, diamond?” Rocco drawls, his voice dipped in venom.

I tighten my lips, hating that Rick's nickname is beginning to stick.

Thousands of thoughts race through my head in a matter of seconds.

Different scenarios on how I can get out of this unscathed. What I could say or do to calm the violent tornado coming my way, if only it prevents my world from completely crashing down around me. But in the end, I come up blank.

I glance at the brown-haired girl beside me, and she’s staring at me like

I’m an idiot. I am an idiot. But fuck, I couldn’t watch a girl get mutilated for having a fucking mole on her face and stand by in silence.

Watch your own back, little mouse. No one else will.

My mouth has dried, and I fear my tongue will shrivel up and crumble

from lack of moisture. It’s all been rerouted to my eyes, yet I don’t dare let the tears fall. I lick my lips, wetting them enough so I can push out words, useless as they’ll be.

“Nothing, I’m sorry,” I choke out, keeping my voice small and pleasant.

Attitude will undoubtedly result in even worse repercussions, and while I’m successful in that endeavor, I’m unsuccessful in keeping the tremors out of my tone. The fear.

“Stupid girl,” Francesca hisses, her eyes thin and heated. Rocco walks

towards me, his candor slow and purposeful as he opens and closes the switchblade. Over and over, each metallic ring pumping dread into my system.

He stops mere inches from me, his beer gut brushing against my stomach

and his rank breath burning my nostrils. Jesus, he smells like body odor and week-old cheese that’s been left out in the sun. The little self-control I possess is put towards not cringing from the smell.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

I do, lifting my eyes to meet his cold, deadened stare. A piercing shrill in

my ears develops as we glower at each other. It forms deep in the recess of my mind and builds to a crescendo until I can hardly hear a sound outside of it.

It’s a warning. My own body is sounding an alarm, alerting me of the

serious damage coming my way. Just like a tornado alarm, right before the deadly twister rips lives to shreds.

His thick palm seizes my throat, his lips curling as he lifts me up to his

height, suspending me on the tips of my toes. Instinctively, I claw at his hand, and I assure myself that if I die here and now and Zade finds my body, he’ll know exactly who was responsible based on the skin caked beneath my nails.

Rocco doesn’t flinch, despite how deeply my nails bite into his skin. The

edges of my vision darken as my body depletes of oxygen, steadily emptying from my lungs while stars burst across my eyes.

“Don’t kill her. She’s valuable,” Francesca snaps, though her voice

sounds far away, like I’m trapped in a vortex.

Snarling, he swings me around and tosses me to the floor like a wadded-

up gum wrapper.

I grunt from the impact, landing awkwardly on my right wrist, but before

I can lift myself up, he’s climbing on me, his weight suffocating.

Survival instincts immediately kick in, and my fight or flight activates—

namely my fight. I twist beneath him and swing my elbows towards his head. But I miss, a weak attempt at knocking out a two-hundred-pound-plus man from on top of me.

“Get off me!” I screech, bucking my hips, desperate to dislodge him. So

desperate that I’ve become rabid. I will tear the flesh from my bones with my teeth if it means getting out from beneath him. I will do anything— absolutely anything—to escape.

“Rocco,” Francesca warns, cutting through the sheer panic that has

consumed my mind. “She needs to heal.”

“She needs to learn her place. It doesn’t have to hurt,” he argues,

breathless from wrangling my struggling body into compliance. He’s failing —but so am I. I’m weak and still in pain, and he’s so much stronger.

He’s going to win. “Right, diamond? This could be quick and painless. A little lesson to

teach you to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

He bashes my face into the wooden floor, dirt and dust grinding into my

face as he rips at my joggers. The fabric tears, the loud ripping noise sending another shot of horror into my system as his excited breathing escalates.

“No!” I shout as he tears at my underwear next. He ignores me and

unfastens his jeans, the bite of his zipper coming undone his only response.

Rivulets of tears stream down my cheeks as I feel his flesh against my backside.

I try to twist again, but one punch to the back of my head deters me, my

world exploding. Pain has been a constant companion this last week, but it’s nowhere to be found now. My mind feels as if I could run a mile, yet my body physically cannot stop this man from defiling me.

“Don’t hit her!” Francesca snaps, more worried about him bruising the

apple. But how can that be when I’m going to be fucking rotten by the time

he’s done?

In one thrust, he buries himself inside me, and I scream. Loud and

piercing, the pitch matching the shrill ringing in my head.

"Goddammit, Rocco, you're not wearing a condom," Francesca shouts,

and there's a soft whisper in my head, wondering how she can stand to watch this. Just stand there, angry that her brother isn't wearing a condom as he rapes a girl.

He grunts and then laughs as he repeatedly drives himself inside me. "Feels fucking incredible, too." There’s nothing I can do to stop him, and the defeat that coats my skin

like hot oil fucking burns.

I try to crawl away from him, my nails digging into the wood and

anchoring me as I try to pull myself out from beneath him. They bend and break from the pressure, tearing from my skin as he drags me back down, scratches gouging the floor.

He slams into me once, twice more before pulling out and finishing on

me. Ribbons of his seed spurt across my back, and I can’t help but gag.

He growls, his palm crashing into the side of my face. “Rocco!” A heel stomps into the wood in a fit of rage, the vibrations

traveling to my bleeding hands.

“Fucking bitch,” he mutters, ignoring her. I gag again, the feel of his

essence seeping into my flesh nauseating.

Francesca sighs, rushes over to me, and grabs me roughly by the arm. “Get up,” she spits, hauling me to my feet. I’m so angry, so distraught

from what he just did that I react. As soon as I’m on my feet, I twist at the waist and send my fist flying into his nose. He howls in response, gearing up to charge at me, but Francesca steps between us and blocks him.

“Stay down! You’ve done enough,” she snarls, then drags me out of the

room. I’m still naked from the waist down, with blood smudged between my thighs. My body was unaccepting of what he was doing, making the intrusion raw and extremely painful.

She pushes me into my room and slaps me across the face, causing me to

stumble. The door slams, and then, “Why did you do that, stupid, stupid girl?”

She slaps me again, and my ears ring from the pain. I grab my cheek,

continuing to scramble away from her as she backs me against the wall.

You’re bruising the apple, Francesca.

Her hands grip either side of my face, and her manicured talons dig into

my reddened cheeks.

Putting her face in mine, she snarls lowly, “You keep your mouth shut,

do you hear me? The men in this house will do everything to make your life hell until you’ve been paid for. And you sure as fuck don’t hit them!”

She shakes me, “Tell me you understand,” she whisper-shouts, keeping

her voice quiet.

“I understand,” I cry, my cheeks hot and wet from the constant tears.

Francesca releases me angrily, tearing herself away and shooting a

heated glare over her shoulder as she paces the room. I slide down the wall, no longer capable of holding myself up as sobs rack my body. A streak of blood follows me down, and I realize Rocco ripped open the stitches on my back. Spearing my hands through my hair, I grip the strands tight, willing myself to calm.

Deep breaths, Addie. Deep breaths.

Just breathe.

Breathe, little mouse…

Chapter 9

The Diamond

It seems when my life turns upside down, I always have a diary to offer

me escape.

I’m not sure how she managed to get a hold of a journal, but I find

comfort in Molly’s angry words. A young girl that was stolen from her life just as I was. And groomed by Francesca, no less.

My mouth dropped when I read that Francesca has been doing this for at

least thirteen years now. How many girls has she watched be raped, tortured, and sold off to demented people? How many did she hurt herself?

My stomach rolls, and my throat thickens with disgust as I take in the

words of a broken girl. She was full of life in a world that was determined to take it from her, and through each entry, I fall more in love with her. I feel her in every stroke of the pen, so I brush my trembling fingers across them and mold myself into her harsh lines.

She’s everything I want to be.

When I come to the last page, my heart breaks, and millions of questions

arise. As quickly as I had found some form of comfort, I’m now left desolate and empty once more.

Tears line the edges of my lids as I tear through pages, frantic and in

need of more of her words. But I find nothing but blank pages.

Did she ever make it out? Did she make it back to Layla and take her

away to find a new life? A better life?

I exhaust myself with questions that I’ll never get the answers to. At least

not while I’m stuck in here.

Defeated, I snap the journal shut, and manage to scrounge up enough

energy to roll off the bed and crawl to the open slot. Hot tears spill over as I replace the journal back into its hiding spot. And as I seal the wooden plank back down, everything I tried to not think about rushes back to me.

Nearly falling in my rush back to the bed, I curl up in a ball, clenching

my fists, my broken nails screaming. My entire body quakes from the memories slaughtering any semblance of peace I found with Molly. With

everything I have, I hold on tightly to the sobs shredding my throat in an attempt to escape.

I won’t let them.

It couldn’t have been more than a half-hour since Francesca stormed out

of my room, and went to calm Rocco down, who, from the sound of it, went on a rampage and started destroying the house. I immediately tore off my soiled clothing, and dressed in a fresh pair, but it did nothing to soothe me while chaos ensued below my room. That’s when I remembered the journal in the floorboards and found solace in Molly.

For an indescribable amount of time, I stare at the wall. If my eyes even

stray towards the dusty wooden floor, all I can see is an image of myself lying on the ground with Rocco mounted over me. I watch the desecration of my soul, like an out-of-body experience. Standing over the apparitions, unable to stop it from happening.

Desperately, I attempt to train my thoughts on anything else—Zade or

Daya—but the train derails every time, leading me back towards the beauty room. They’re merely ghosts haunting the hallways of my brain, and anytime I reach out to them, they only fade away.

I squeeze my eyes shut, frustration mounting.

I should’ve listened. Yeah, that’s what I should’ve done. Allow a girl to

be mutilated to save myself.

Shaking my head, I thump the heel of my palm on my forehead. How am

I supposed to live with that? If I ever get out of here, how am I supposed to be okay knowing that I stood by while awful things happened to other girls, purely to save myself?

They stood by while you were raped.

They did. Do I hate them for it?

I don’t know. Kind of. There’s a morsel of inky blackness unfurling

inside of me, and I kind of want to kill them, too.

“No,” I whisper. I can’t expect everyone to be so sacrificial. I can’t

expect a girl who’s being abused just as I am to try and save someone else.

Try to.

Because that’s the fucking problem. There is no saving them. Bethany is

still going to have that mole cut out of her skin. All of those girls in there— they’re still going to be raped and tortured, no matter how many times I step in.

We're all just lambs waiting to be slaughtered, and getting myself killed

isn’t going to stop the wolves from feasting.

So, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Zade’s voice whispers in my mind, and my heart clenches painfully.

Pick your battles. Be smart.

Easier said than fucking done.

I startle when my bedroom door slams open about ten minutes later, the

doorknob knocking into a perfectly round dent in the wall. There’s obviously a long history of this door being kicked in.

Breathing heavily, I watch Rio enter the room, carrying a first aid kit and

appearing calm as ever despite him kicking down the door.

“Already causing trouble, princess?” he asks casually.

I refuse to answer, tightening my lips and glaring at him through swollen

eyes. He raises his brows when he catches sight of my face, causing my cheeks to burn hot from anger. For a moment, he looks furious, though I can't tell who with.

He twirls his finger in the air, indicating that I turn over. “I have to clean up the mess you made,” he tells me, his face smoothing

into an unreadable expression. “You’re getting blood everywhere.”

Huffing, I roll onto my stomach, tensing when I feel his fingers brush

my t-shirt up my back.

“It’s not my fau—” “Everything is your fault here,” he interrupts, his voice deepening with

severity. “Don’t ever forget that.”

He rustles through the supplies, sighing like this is a huge inconvenience

for him.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your day of trafficking women,” I mutter,

stewing in my fury. His response is to place an alcohol-soaked pad on my ripped stitches. The burn is startling, and I hiss through my teeth, curses building on the tip of my tongue.

Fucking asshole.

“Your mouth is going to get you in worse situations than this,” he

informs me. “What’s it going to take for you to learn your lesson? Getting a girl killed?”

Swallowing, I choke out, “I’m sorry.” A loud, booming laugh bursts from his throat. I snap my head to him,

enraged as his shoulders shake with mirth. His dark eyes are twinkling with the first real emotion I’ve seen thus far. It’s almost as terrifying as him being angry.

“You’re laughing at me,” I say with disbelief. “Baby girl, I’m not the one you need to be afraid of. I much prefer that

mouth of yours.”

“You just said—” “You mouth off without thinking it through, and that’s what you need to

learn to control,” he cuts in, his smile dimming, but his eyes still alight with amusement. “As sexy as your fire is, princess, that’s the last thing you want in this place.”

I curl my lip in disgust, thumping my head back on the bed while he

resumes cleaning up my back.

“Don’t call me sexy,” I snap, only because he’s right, and I have nothing

better to say.

“Z gonna kill me for it?” he challenges airily, feigning indifference.

Although, that’s not how he sounded when I awoke in that van and overheard Rick and him discussing if the Society will offer them protection from Zade’s wrath.

I shrug. “He’s going to kill you anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” He’s quiet, and just when I’m convinced that he’s not going to say

anything at all, I hear him whisper under his breath, “I know.”

As Rio is leaving, Francesca comes barreling down the hallway, her

heels resounding on the floor. Her hand wraps around Rio’s arm, stopping him at the door.

“Is her back worse?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, they’re superficial. She’ll be fine,” he

answers, though his last words sound like they have a double meaning.

When she turns away from him, he casts a wink over his shoulder before walking off, leaving me confused.

He’s so fucking hot and cold.

Francesca storms into the room, appearing frazzled with her wild hair

and eyes. Her dress is ripped at the collar, and I wonder just what kind of tantrum Rocco was throwing.

“Get in the beauty room. Now.” Her abrasive footsteps carry her right back out of the room. I scramble

from the bed, rubbing my dry eyes while I hurry after her. Rio clipped my broken nails and cleaned them up for me, but I still feel broken. Every step is a reminder of what happened in that room, and my stomach turns as I draw closer. It takes all my strength to focus on the lineup of girls and not the spot where I lost my mind.

None of them catch my eye. Except for Sydney.

Her bottom lip is fitted snugly beneath her crooked front teeth as she

bites back a grin. She finds this funny, and I decide that Sydney—I do hate.

Ignoring the psycho bitch, I search out Bethany, and a lump forms in my

throat when I spot a bloody open wound where her mole used to be. My chest tightens, the confirmation feeling like sharp knives grazing my nerve endings.

I was raped for nothing.

Fuck, I knew that. But it still feels like getting fucked all over again.

Clearing my throat, I stand straighter, embarrassment and shame burning

my cheeks. I don’t know why. It’s not like being raped is something I should be ashamed of. Maybe because I feel so fucking stupid.

“Today was supposed to be prepping for the Culling, but you had to go

and cause a distraction,” Francesca snipes at me.

My heart sinks like a stone in water, too preoccupied with her words to

feel embarrassed. Molly mentioned the Culling in her entries, but she didn’t go into detail about what it was—only implied that she was being hunted.

Licking my cracked lips, I ask, “What’s the Culling?” Francesca smirks. “It means to hunt animals. The men will hunt, and

you, my dear, are the prey.”

My chest tightens, but deep down, I knew that answer already. I just

didn’t want to believe it. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they

actually fucking hunt women like we’re game that will be shot and mounted above a fireplace.

This is purely for sport. To laugh and get their rocks off while a bunch of

girls run for their lives and what—try to avoid being hit with a fucking bullet or something?

I have to fight to keep down the urge to vomit. I don’t want to be hunted.

And it seems that’s all my life has been for the past several months.

Francesca casts her gaze down the line. “The event will take place later this week, and I have an important client

visiting—Xavier Delano. He is one of the top buyers in the market, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be selected for auction. But you will only be selected if you are deemed worthy after the Culling.”

Her glacial eyes find me, an abhorrent expression twisting her features.

“Except you. You look repulsive.”

I swallow the retort sitting on my tongue and nod my head in acceptance,

like a good little captive. Not like I fucking want to be selected anyway.

Guess I should be glad I’m covered head to toe in bruises.

She clicks her tongue, as if she finds me stupid. “You will still be

expected to participate in the Culling.”

Of fucking course I am. What’s another injury? “Alongside Xavier, we have several other potential buyers coming here

as well. You want to make the best impression on these men. I won’t tolerate any insolence, you understand?” Mid-speech, her eyes drift to the other girls, but by the time she ends her sentence, her gaze has locked back onto me.

I flatten my lips into a hard line and nod once. The other girls also

acknowledge her order with a dip of their chins.

“The less interest they have in you, the less likely you are to leave my

house. And you know what that means? That means that I don’t produce the best girls, and I will get very fucking angry if that ever becomes the case.”

How aren’t her teeth rotten from the vile things she spews all day?

It takes tremendous effort to keep my face blank with the turmoil rolling

through me.

She approaches me slowly. “Let’s run some scenarios. What do you do

when a man asks you to get on your knees for him?”

“Get on my knees,” I answer, my voice hoarse. “And when he tells you to unfasten his pants and take out his cock?” “Do as he says.” She nods, studying me closely. “And then what?” Bite his dick off.

I know what the obvious answer is. Nevertheless, I also know what

controlling men truly get off on.

Power. “Wait for him to give me permission.” Surprise flickers across her irises, and I hate the reaction that look pulls

out of me. The last thing I want to do is make a sex trafficker proud, but in all honesty, it’s precisely what I need to do. I just don’t want to feel it.

During our training lessons, Zade had taught me a lot about human

trafficking and how I could escape it, should the Society ever come for me.

Get them to trust you. Make them see you as a human being, not an

object to be sold.

Would it even matter if they did see me as a person? People like this—

they don’t have any compassion for humanity. Not when they’re hardly human themselves.

She sniffs. “Good.” And then she moves on to the next girl, the one with hazel eyes and who

had kept warning me to keep my mouth shut.

“Jillian, how do you address them?” “Yes, sir,” she replies instantly, her eyes unfocused as Francesca stares

her down. Our captor nods once and moves on to the girl with fiery orange hair.

“Phoebe? When they address you, do you look them in the eye?” “No,” she responds confidently. “Why?” Francesca tests. “Because it’s disrespectful.” Fuckers. They want us meek and cowering. Sad, little girls who should

have no other thoughts, apart from how to please their master.

Fucking disgusting, is what it is.

Bethany is next, but she’s not as composed as the other two girls—Jillian

and Phoebe. She was obviously mutilated after I was dragged out of the room, but who’s to say more wasn’t done to her?

Maybe in the midst of his tantrum, Rocco raped her, too.

I clench my fists but keep my feet glued to the floor and my spine locked

and unbending.

“When the men don’t like something on your body, like say, a hairy

mole, what do you do, Bethany?”

Her lip trembles and I can see the battle in her body language not to

break down. It takes her a moment to compose herself before she answers, “Make sure there’s no hair.”

Francesca nods slowly. “Good.” She glances at the wound where her

mole used to be. “I hope to God you don’t have any more of those in places I can’t see. Because if you do, and I find out they’re unkempt, those will be cut out as well.”

Then she turns her eyes to the last girl in line. She’s meeker than the

others, mousier. Short brown, curly hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and pretty doe eyes.

She keeps her eyes down, even as Francesca addresses her. “And when you go into the Culling, Gloria, what is the one and only

rule?”

She licks her lips, glancing up at Francesca before quickly dropping

them again.

“D-don’t get hit,” she whispers, her voice high-pitched and small.

My brow furrows. “And what happens if you do?” She swallows audibly as she begins to shake violently. “W-we will—”

She stops, gathers her wits, and forces out the rest of her sentence. The words are spoken so quickly, they nearly merge together. "We will be punished."

“Good,” she clips, and then she heads for the door, stepping out to grab

something just outside of the entrance. My heart drops when she walks back in with a crossbow.

“I want you out of my house, Sydney, so you will participate, but if you

try to escape one more time, I will personally kill you myself. You’re no longer worth the hassle.”

Sydney gasps, as if this is the first time that she's hearing this, but I have

a feeling this has been a conversation for however long she's been in this house.

She crows, “I only run because I want to stay with you.” “Well, you can’t,” she snaps back. “This isn’t a fucking Holiday Inn.

Now that I have the diamond in my possession, I can no longer allow you to embarrass me. You will be sold.”

"What does she have to do with me?" Sydney argues. "Because she is my most valued girl, and if it is noticed that I have a

goddamn leech attached to me that is incapable of being sold, they could deem me unworthy and remove her from my household!"

Rage flashes across the unhinged girl’s eyes, and it looks like she’s

rapidly descending into a pit of hysteria. When she catches my stare, she snarls at me, as if it’s my fault Francesca isn’t allowing her to stay.

Francesca gathers herself, her eyes tight with lingering anger. “Tomorrow, we're going to practice,” she orders, pulling my attention

away from the seething girl. Her eyes flicker to me accusingly. “And I don’t care how special you are, I won’t tolerate failure.”

How do volcano eruptions begin? Pressure. And it’s brewing inside of

me. The fiery magma is rising, thickening with hatred, growing denser with bloodlust.

Eventually, I’m going to fucking explode, and I promise I will burn this

entire goddamn house down with me.

Chapter 10

The Hunter

“I’ve got a location on the van,” Jay says, turning in his chair. I’ve only

just stepped into his office, having just got back from Daya’s house.

A week has passed since I got her out of Luke’s clutches, and since then,

she’s been helping out. I put her in charge of researching Rio and Rick while Jay has been focused on tracking down the van. We hit a dead end in Oregon. The vehicle disappeared from cams without a trace, and I've been losing my mind since.

She’s been gone for twelve days now, and I’ve felt every fucking second

of it.

"How'd you find it?" "Finally got a hit on a satellite image taken yesterday." “Walk and talk,” I order, pivoting and walking right back out. “What’s

the address?”

He rattles off the address while he scrambles from his chair, followed by

a muttered curse, a loud thump, and another colorful word or two.

I glance back to see him struggling to put on a second shoe, hopping on

one foot and nearly face-planting into the wall.

Shaking my head, I make my way down the stairs, leaving him to figure

out how to be a functioning human again.

By the time I swing open the door to my Mustang, Jay is locking his

front door behind him and hurrying to the car.

He lives in a modest home with his younger brother, Cameron, though

I’d never know if it wasn’t for the occasional screeches when he yells at whatever game he’s playing. Or whoever he’s playing with.

Jay and Cameron’s parents were drug addicts and skipped out when Jay

was sixteen and Cameron seven. Luckily, Jay is an actual genius and managed to keep it a well-kept secret from the state. He’s worked numerous jobs to keep the bills paid and his brother in good health.

Six years later, Jay has legal guardianship of Cameron, and they’re living

lavishly. Cameron isn’t aware of what his brother does for work, and right now, he’s too young to care. I think he’s more concerned with not dying in Call of Duty to notice, and Jay is happy to keep it that way.

“I need to call Michael to babysit,” he says, dropping into the passenger

seat with a huff. His phone is already out, his thumb flying across the keyboard.

“Dude, he’s thirteen.” Jay pauses to look at me, a dry look on his face. “Exactly, which means

he’s going to be up until six o’clock in the morning with a bag of Doritos in one hand and his dick in the other, running up my credit card with porn.” I tip my head side to side, conceding. “Plus, I don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone,” he finishes quietly.

My gaze flickers to him while I speed out of his driveway. Claire is

determined to hurt me, which puts the lives of my employees and their families at risk, too. I make a lot of enemies, and by association, so do my employees. No one goes into this job without knowing this, which is why most of them choose not to have a wife and kids. Obviously, not everyone can or will isolate themselves from loved ones, so providing protection for anyone directly impacted by the organization is essential.

“I get it. I’ll call in a few extra men, too. Nothing will happen to your

brother.”

Jay nods, his shoulders relaxing an inch. It’s the same thing I said to

Addie, and I failed her.

I slide out a cigarette from my pack and pop it in my mouth.

I won’t fail again.

“This is the location?” I ask, my voice tight. “You’re sure?” We’re in an awfully shitty part of town in Portland, Oregon. The address

Jay directed me to is a three-story brick building that looks like it was built in the 1800s and abandoned before the century turned.

The building is slightly lopsided, the windows are crusty and blackened

with grime, and the interior looks to be completely dark.

“This is it,” Jay says quietly. "The van is around the corner still." “Fuck,” I curse, briefly squeezing the steering wheel until the leather

groans.

“Doesn’t look like they’re still here,” I bite out, swinging open the door

and stepping out. "We'll check out the van after."

I slip out my gun from the back of my jeans and approach the door

quickly and quietly, keeping my eyes on my surroundings at all times.

“Jay, stay behind me,” I order. He listens without argument, his breathing

escalating as I approach the glass door. He doesn’t have any weapons on him, only his laptop. I’m tempted to hand him one, but I’m pretty confident he’d do more damage hitting someone upside the head with his computer rather than firing off a gun he has no idea how to use.

I peer through it, a crease forming between my brows when I see the

upheaval. It appears like it was once an administrative office. Cluttered desks fill the space, with random items scattered across the surfaces; toppled over picture frames, pens, and flyaway papers.

My eyes scan the area as well as I can, watching for any movement and

listening for any sounds.

When I hear and see nothing, I grab the handle and tug on the door,

setting my jaw when I find that it’s open.

Addie isn’t here, but I knew that already. Just as well as I know that

something bad happened here.

Quietly, I creep into the building, Jay sticking close behind me. The

energy here is stale and heavy, filled with dust and decay.

“What the fuck were they doing taking her here?” Jay whispers,

sweeping the room.

I shake my head, incapable of verbally answering when my heart is

beating in my throat. But that’s exactly what I’m about to find out.

Not wasting any more time, I rush through the space, checking a few

rooms, only to find them empty. In the back is a stairway with a dim light shining from beyond the steps, the only sound a quiet whirring from the light bulb.

Glancing back at Jay, I put my finger to my lips before carefully making

my way up the stairs. From the sound of it, there doesn’t appear to be any

activity, but if lights are on, I won’t take any risks.

The whirring grows louder as I near the top, and with it comes a

wretched smell that burns at my nostrils.

I nearly choke on how rancid it is, and I hear Jay cough from behind me.

Well, fuck. That’s a smell I’m very well acquainted with.

Someone died up here, and I will gladly place a bet that the body is

rotting in the same place where they fell.

The landing opens up to a small, dark area with a hallway branching off

from it, strands of light stretching from the back of it and toward us.

Straight ahead appears to be a second stairwell, leading to the final floor.

Planting myself against the wall, I motion for Jay to follow my lead, then

peer around the corner and down the hallway, eyes narrowing when I glimpse an open room with what looks like an IV pole standing in the corner.

I can’t see much else from my vantage point, however, I’m positive there

isn’t anyone up here. Not anyone alive, anyway.

“Let’s go,” I whisper, making my way towards the room, gritting my

teeth as the smell worsens.

As soon as I breach the entrance, I stop short, causing Jay to collide into

my back.

On the floor is a massive pool of dried blood, a dead man lying directly

in the middle of it. He’s bloated, well into the process of decomposition.

“Jesus, fuck,” Jay mutters, as we both stare down at the stranger, disgust

curling our faces. Dead bodies don’t bother me, but their rot will curdle the strongest stomach.

Immediately, I notice dry bloody footprints leading from the corpse and

toward the doorway we’re standing in. Grabbing my phone, I click on the light and follow the footprints down the hallway and toward the second staircase.

“Female,” he says, confirming my thoughts. I get closer, taking care not

to step in the blood. “You think they’re Addie’s?”

“Most likely,” I murmur. The prints are tiny and barefoot. Unless they

took other females alongside Addie, I doubt they’re anyone else’s.

I sweep the corners of the room, locating several cameras pointing in

different directions.

“Cameras,” I call out, stepping around the blood and farther into the

room. Those will confirm whose prints they belong to.

My heart pounds as I take in Frankenstein's lair. Several machines are set

up, a long metal table with a copious amount of instruments, and a bed with a blanket laid haphazardly across it.

“He’s been dead for several days,” Jay observes. “Shot in the head. From

the back.”

I listen to him prattle on about his death as I scan every inch of the room. “Let’s follow the footprints,” I mumble, my brow pinched as I try to

piece together what could’ve happened.

Following close behind, Jay and I make our way back down the hallway

and up the second stairwell. The landing opens directly into a studio apartment. Straight ahead, the entire wall is all glass, giving the room incredible natural light. A massive bed is in the middle of the area to my left with a small kitchenette to the right, dishes still in the sink and now attracting flies.

In the back corner of the apartment is a white tiled partition with a

shower stall behind it.

The footprints lead all the way to it, and in the corner is a bloody

hospital gown, dried and wrinkled now.

I stare, trying to process what the hell happened. “Somehow… she was involved with that man’s death. And then it looks

like she walked up here and showered,” Jay concludes.

I shake my head, coming to the same conclusion. Fury is seeping into

my vision, casting everything in red.

“Either she or someone else shot him from behind,” I surmise. “Most

likely someone else if she was covered in his blood and then had to shower it off.”

“You think she was in front of him?” Jay questions curiously. “Or under him,” I grunt, hands beginning to shake as images of Addie

being attacked by the man downstairs flood my head. Whatever he was attempting to do to her, it was bad enough that a human trafficker had to step in and kill him for it.

My hand goes flying into the nearest wall, breaking straight through it.

Like a malfunctioning robot, I cock it back and drive it through a second time. And a third, a fourth, a fifth, before Jay’s hands wrap around my arm

and using my momentum, yanks me backward. I stumble, and we both come close to falling from the force.

“Snap out of it, dude,” he barks, sweat gathered across his hairline.

I growl and roughly shake my head, like a lion shaking off a hit to the

head. My knuckles are split, droplets of blood dribbling on the cement floor.

“We’ll have to clean up any traces of your blood,” he mutters. “She could’ve been hurt,” I clip, ignoring him. I’m ready to storm back

downstairs and beat the shit out of a dead man. Torture him in the worst imaginable ways, despite him not being able to feel a damn thing.

Fuck. So badly, I want to tear through whatever veil separates the dead

from the living, reach in, snatch his soul back out, and make him wish he never had one.

Every muscle in my body is locked tight and brimming with tension. “We’re going to find her.” “Hack the cameras,” I snap, charging up to the massive window and

looking out at the back end of the building. Jay sits on the edge of the bed, briefly looking at it like he’s sitting in a cesspool of DNA, then cracks open his laptop and gets to work.

I peer through the grime and find the black van sitting right at the

parking lot exit, abandoned. My fists clench, noting the bashed-in fender and damage to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

I’m two seconds away from losing my shit again and punching the

window, so I work to decompress, closing my eyes and cracking my neck.

Keep it together, I chant to myself. Over and over and until I regain

control. I’ve seen some fucked-up shit in my life, more than most could handle, yet Addie's abduction is the worst thing I've ever experienced. There is no control anymore. Though with her, there never really fucking was.

I will gladly pour gasoline on everything in my path and set it aflame, if

only it leads me back to my mouse.

“Zade, you’re not going to want to see this… but you need to.”

Chapter 11

The Hunter

Baby, what have I told you about lashing out when you’re angry?

Why is it now, the remnants of my mother's voice plague me?

Destruction is right beyond my fingertips, just waiting to be set free. It would be as simple as flicking a lighter, igniting a small flame that would lead to obliteration.

“Zade?” Jay’s voice cuts through my mother’s whispers, fading like

wisps of cigarette smoke.

Speaking of, I shove my hand in my hoodie pocket, snatch one out of the

packet, and light up.

Jay’s mouth opens, poised over words I honestly don’t want to hear right

now.

“Don’t tell me not to smoke, and don’t ask me if I’m okay,” I cut in,

voice hoarse with rage.

His mouth clicks shut, and he nods, looking back at the video of Addie

fighting for her life, time-stamped seven days ago. The cameras don’t have audio, so while I’m unaware of the reasoning for the doctor trying to kidnap her, it doesn’t change the fact that he tried. Made clear by him quickly urging her out of bed, and her resistance the entire way.

She ambushed him with a scalpel of some sort, and he attacked her in

retaliation. Only for the back of his head to be blown off while on top of her.

And while that is incredibly traumatizing, that’s not the part that has me

boiling with rage. It’s the asshole that killed the doctor, then followed her up the stairs and watched her fucking shower.

Rio.

Daya has done her research, and while there was plenty to find on Rick

Boreman—there’s almost nothing on Rio, outside of being born and raised in Puerto Rico, his school records, then migrating to the United States when he was eighteen. From there, she could find almost nothing on him. Only his visa, the apartment he rents, and two speeding tickets.

I call bullshit on that. “Kind of weird this guy has cameras in his room only facing his shower

and bed,” Jay mumbles, more to himself. I’m too busy inhaling a cigarette like it’s giving me life rather than taking it. If I watch that video again, I’ll be liable to whip out my gun and shoot the monitor until it’s nothing but shards of plastic and metal.

Jay’s fingers fly across the keyboard so quickly, I think I see flakes of his

purple nail polish flying off. The video feed from when Addie was here disappears, and in its place are archived recordings that span back several years.

Whoever this guy is, he’s been illegally practicing for decades. Several

times a month, injured people are brought to him—people that look like they’re up to no good.

I flick my cigarette to the ground and crush it beneath my boot, blowing

out smoke as I watch Jay skip through several recordings. Just as I lift my boot to kick away the butt, I freeze and clench my jaw, hearing Addie's smart mouth even now.

Stop littering.

This place will be ashes by the time I’m done, but I said I would stop, so

I will.

I pick up the butt, stuff it in my pocket, and force myself to refocus on

the screen.

Several clips of women showering display on the screen, and with each

passing video, my teeth clench harder and harder until every bone in my face threatens to crack.

They are all dressed in hospital gowns before and after their shower, and

plenty are covered in bandages or have casts. They were patients, and they were unknowingly being recorded for the doctor’s viewing pleasure.

Jay’s face is tightened into a scowl, hundreds of videos on the screen.

But then he pauses, hesitation permeating the air.

“What?” I ask, scanning my eyes over the screen to find what he’s

seeing. It takes two seconds, and my heart stops. “Play the videos.”

Jay shakes his head and croaks, “You know what happens in them, Z.

You don’t have—”

“Dammit, Jay, I do have to watch them. You know I fucking do.”

He sighs, acquiescing with a slump of his shoulders, and clicks the

video. It’s just like the rituals—I wasn’t there to save them at the moment, but I’ll be damned if I turn my head away from their pain now.

On the screen, the doctor is carrying an unconscious woman to his bed,

having just come from the second floor where she was probably treated for wounds.

He lays her down, removes her hospital gown, and then his own clothes.

And for the next several minutes, he defiles her unconscious body. Disgust swirls in my stomach, growing stronger alongside a whirlpool of anger and the deepening desire to resurrect him so I can kill him myself.

As Jay continues to flip through videos, we realize that woman was one

of probably hundreds of patients that were taken advantage of while they were unconscious.

Patients that were also children. “I think we’ve seen enough. I don’t want to keep looking at this shit

anymore,” Jay says, voice tight and uneven.

Clenching my fists, I nod, “Look up who this guy is real quick.” He does as I ask, and I turn away, fiending for another cigarette already. “Dr. Jim Garrison,” he announces fifteen minutes later. “Previously

married to Wilma Garrison. She died of a heart attack in 2004. There are reports from her two daughters from a previous marriage citing foul play, but he had Wilma cremated before an autopsy could be done, and nothing ever came of it. In 2000, he was fired from a hospital for malpractice, and he bought this building only a few months later. There were a few lawsuits against him, but he must’ve had a good lawyer because he got away with those due to lack of evidence. Seems to have been operating here since.”

Sounds like he is a sick fuck who was doing something evil to his

patients, got fired for it, and created his own business to carry out all his dark desires. Most likely killed his wife—maybe she found out about what he was doing or perhaps he simply got tired of her.

“Go back to the videos when the patients are brought in. I want to see if I

recognize anyone.”

He gratefully flips back to the camera on the second floor, hundreds of

different faces bringing in injured people of different ages. Most of the time, they’re women and children, but a few men are mixed in there, too.

My guess is from shoot-outs gone wrong.

He comes across a clip of the doctor treating what looks like a five-year-

old girl with a bullet wound in her thigh. A mammoth of a man with light brown hair tied up in a bun and tattoos crawling up his arms and neck stands at the foot of the bed, watching the doctor work with an intense look on his face.

Jay poises his finger over a key, ready to flip to the next video, but I put

a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Wait, I want to watch this one.”

Swirling in my gut is an inexplicable feeling that I need to see this.

I lean closer to the screen, zoning in on the tattooed man and the little

girl he brought in. He could be a trafficker in this area, and if little girls are getting shot, I can only imagine the situations the children are being put in.

The doctor is frantic as he works to stabilize the child, administers what I

assume is anesthesia, and then quickly performs surgery, blood spilling from the girl’s leg as he extracts the bullet. It seems as if the doctor is shouting, but after fast-forwarding, we watch him finish up with the girl and then leave the room. The entire time, the man stood as still as a statue, hardly moving an inch.

I frown, focusing on the screen as the man rounds the bed, lifts his hand,

and gently swipes the girl’s hair from her face. She’s still knocked out from the anesthesia, so it’s impossible to tell how she feels toward him.

Setting my jaw, I stare hard, trying to interpret his tenderness. Is it

coming from a man who is fetishizing her or from someone who saved her?

And how the fuck did the little girl end up with a bullet in her leg?

I’m not entirely sure what it is, but something about this video feels…

important.

“Send all of these files to me, and then let’s get into the security cameras

and see if we can get a view on the vehicle that they left in.”

I slap Jay’s back before turning back to the grimy windows, a silent

thank you.

He’s been handling my attitude like a champ, and even in the throes of

grief and fury, I can still recognize that I’m being an intolerable shithead.

“Shit,” Jay mutters, the sound of his fingers clacking on the keyboard

growing louder and more intense. I grind my teeth, already suspecting the answer before it comes out of his mouth.

“No cameras back there. No cameras angled toward the parking lot from

other buildings, either. I’m sorry, man. I got nothing.”

I tip my head back, breathing in deeply through my nose as black fire

licks at my nerves. Addie left here only a week ago, but that’s an incredible amount of time in the human trafficking world.

“You sent the files?” I ask. I don’t even recognize my own voice. “Yes,” Jay confirms. I hear rustling as he packs up his belongings,

sensing the obliteration on the horizon.

“Get out of here, Jay.” “Yep, consider me gone.” “And Jay?” He pauses. “Yeah?” “Set up cameras that point toward these windows. Just wait until after I

break through it,” I order.

He hesitates but ultimately agrees and shuffles out.

I give him two minutes to leave. Two minutes of warfare raging in my

head, bubbling to the surface, and bleeding out onto the floor where I stand, just like the bloated dead man below.

My body moves on autopilot. I head down to the hospital room and rifle

through a cabinet, collecting drapes, clothing, and anything else that's flammable, then scatter them throughout the entire building. Next, I grab alcohol-based liquids, and saturate the littered floor with them. Fires are more common in hospitals than most realize, and it’s fucking perfect for the destruction I’m intent on causing.

After that, I take every bedsheet I can find in his studio and tie them

together into an extensive rope, then set it aside.

Breathing heavily, I aim for a heavy cabinet in his kitchen and empty out

the contents. Dragging it to the massive window, I lean it snugly against it and then take a step back.

I inhale deeply, gather every ounce of wrath, use it as fuel, and kick out

my leg with all my strength. The cabinet splinters the glass, spiderwebs fissuring across the entire window. Growling, I kick out once more, and with a loud crack, the cabinet goes flying through it.

Tiny shards cut into my skin, but I hardly notice, just as the deafening

crash from the cabinet barreling into the ground doesn’t register, either.

I’m already making my way back down to the second floor, where the

doctor lies dead, donning gloves and a mask from his supplies. The smell stabs at my nostrils and eyes; the N95 doing nothing to filter out the smell.

Snapping on two layers of gloves, I grab the corpse by the collar of his

shirt and drag him back up to his studio, where the sick fuck used to take patients and rape them while unconscious.

Regardless of his extracurricular activities, the doctor was clearly

involved in the skin trade, which means this won’t only send a message to the Society, but it will also send a message to every trafficker who has had the misfortune of stepping foot inside this place.

They will know that Z knows.

Vomit swirls in my stomach from the pungent odor, threatening to rise

up my throat as I drag the dead body to the window. I grab the last bottle of alcohol and dump the entire contents all over him.

Holding my breath, I grab the rope made out of bed sheets, tie one end

around his torso beneath his arms, and the other end to his bed frame.

Then, I throw him out of the fucking window. The legs of the frame

scream against the cement floor as it drags a few feet before holding tight.

Satisfied, I tear off the gloves and mask, pull out another cigarette and

light it up, inhaling deeply as I sit on the edge of the bed. I hold the lighter to one of the drapes on the floor, the material bursting into flames and quickly spreading.

And then I enjoy my cigarette while my wrath comes to life before my

eyes.

It’s both loud and silent in my brain, filled with white noise that drowns

out any coherent thoughts. I feel everything and nothing at all, and I’ve never been more dangerous.

Never been more lethal.

I laugh and enjoy watching this place fucking burn. So many awful

things happened here. So many victims—so many women and children were brought through for a temporary fix just to be taken somewhere and broken all over again.

Slowly, I stand and make my way out of the room. My body physically

registers the heat, sweat beading on my forehead and down the back of my neck. Smoke fills my lungs and the flames singe at my skin.

Yet, I can’t feel a goddamn thing.

Right as I exit the building, I inhale fresh air and meet a frantic Jay. I

cough a few times, clearing my lungs as best I can before I take another puff on my cigarette.

“Seriously, dude? You’re smoking while burning down a building? You

literally just inhaled a shit ton from the fire.”

Ignoring him, I walk around to the back where the corpse hangs from the

rope. Smoke licks at the edges of the window, and while the bedsheets are beginning to burn, I had purposely left them dry.

I bring the cigarette to my lips and inhale one last time before flicking it

onto the doctor, his body instantly igniting.

I smile, smoke curling out from between my bared teeth.

That’s better.

A beacon to let every motherfucker in my path know what is coming for

them next—a beast that has made a home within the fire.

These flames will die, but the ones in Hell are eternal.

I'll see you there, fucker.

Satisfied, I turn my back to the inferno I’ve breathed to life and walk

away.

I told my mouse I would stop littering, but something tells me she

wouldn’t mind just this once.

Chapter 12

The Diamond

“How’s it feel to be a failure?” a voice whispers from behind me.

It instantly evokes chills down my spine. I whip around, her face inches

from mine, causing me to jerk back. My fist curls, tempted to send it flying into her fucking nose.

I was standing in my room, just about to unbutton my jeans and look at

the damage, when she snuck up behind me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss. She just stares at me with

wide dark eyes, a smile frozen on her creepy fucking face.

I swallow, unsettled, and thoroughly weirded the hell out. “I think the better question is what isn’t wrong with me,” she retorts,

giggling as she does. She rocks up on her toes, her eyes gliding up and down my ravaged body.

Francesca took us out into the back of the woods—a practice run for the

Culling. She and her men used plastic arrows to track us down, shooting them at us like we’re fawn running from a hunter’s hungry stomach.

The objective is not to get hit, and the burning in the back of my thigh is

a constant reminder of how epically I failed. I came so close to succeeding, but then Sydney happened.

She was waiting for me and stuck out her foot right as I passed by,

Francesca’s arrows nipping at my heels. I face-planted the cold earth, and by the time I got back up, an arrow was ripping through the air and piercing the back of my thigh.

It didn’t break the skin, but I can tell I’m going to wake up with a nasty

bruise tomorrow. Though, I’m sure it’ll be swallowed up by the others when I receive my punishment.

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?” I snap, throwing my arms out to

the sides. Her smile grows, the gleam in her eye a testament just how unhinged she is. “We are in the same exact situation. Why are you acting like this?”

“I heard Francesca talking about you soon after you got here. Said you

were promising and might be her best girl yet if she can correct your attitude. Then yesterday, you went and got yourself raped, and I saw her face. I saw her almost step in. And she’s never done that for me or any of the other girls. But then—” she holds a finger up in the air— “Then, you punch Rocco and break his nose. He wanted to punish you for it, and you know what she did? She took the punishment for you instead. That’s definitely never been done for any of us.”

My brows knit, confused as to why Francesca would do something like

that.

“She’s giving you privileges that we don’t get because she thinks you’re

special. Well guess what, diamond, I don’t think you’re special at all.”

Doesn’t really matter what you think, does it, bitch?

I’m not exactly sure if Francesca will stand by her confidence in me now

that I’ve failed the test today, but determination cements into my bones anyway.

If she sees potential in me—if she’s going as far as to protect me—then

there’s a good chance I can get her to see me as a person.

We’re seen as cattle. Product to mold to perfection and then ship off to

the highest bidder. However, the more she sees me as something other than just a price tag, the more she’ll soften toward me. That could mean letting her guard down. Letting information slip or getting privileges that could assist with my escape.

My thoughts race with the possibilities that could mean for me. I know

that I won’t be exempt from the horror that comes hand-in-hand with human trafficking, but I might be able to save myself from some of it.

Sydney understands this, and maybe rightfully so, she’s not happy with

it. There’s a power imbalance, and the other girls might start to feel the same.

“We’re all leaving this place,” I remind her. “Soon, we’ll be shipped off

to whoever pays the most money, and how Francesca treats me won’t matter anymore.”

“It does matter,” she snarls. “I want to stay here, and she won’t let me

now that you’ve shown up. You heard her.”

I set my jaw. Sydney doesn’t want to see the diamond shine because that

means she’ll be expected to as well. And when we shine, that means we are

good enough to be sold. Francesca cares about one thing above all else— her reputation. And there’s only one thing Sydney wants more than anything—not to be sold—which must be why she acts out so badly and causes trouble. Her punishments are worth it, as long as Francesca never sees her as fit to be auctioned.

“Why do you want to stay here so badly?” “Because it’s my home. I have nothing outside of this house, and I would

rather be here than stuck with some fat, old man with a worm dick. And you are ruining that!”

I blink. Interesting depiction, but not entirely wrong either. “You get raped here, too, Sydney,” I point out.

She shrugs. “It’s not so bad. It’s what I’m used to and comfortable with.” Another blink. How one could settle into the life of being raped and

beaten is beyond me, but she’s hinted at having nowhere else to go. This tells me a life outside of this house for Sydney is bleak. Nonexistent. Most likely filled with nights on the streets and random men.

And I suppose being in a house with the monsters you know is safer than

a man who paid money and believes they own her.

Men have this funny habit of thinking they're entitled to women,

especially when they don't respect them. As if their respect is a determining factor on how women deserve to be treated.

At least the men in this house have rules and limitations on what they

can do to us. Mainly mutilating or causing permanent damage. Men on the streets or the ones who buy us at an auction—they don't have rules.

“So that’s it,” I say. “You’re going to continue to terrorize me because

you want to cheat the system when none of us will get that option. Maybe it's you who thinks they're special when you're not.”

She giggles a high-pitched sound that grinds my nerves to dust. And then

she turns and walks away without a word, casting an indecipherable look over her shoulder.

Who we’re fighting over would rather see us shipped off to the highest

bidder, and she’s not just causing me to fail a test, she’s actively inflicting trauma on me.

Abuse. Rape. Things that no human being should ever have to suffer

through—especially in the name of jealousy or pettiness.

“You sabotaged me, Sydney,” I call out, causing her to stop in her tracks.

“I won’t forget that.”

Keeping her back turned, she swivels her head to the side, and her hand

drifts up and down the doorjamb airily, as if she’s toying with the thought as her fingers are with the wood.

Finally, she glances over her shoulder at me, a grin on her thin lips. “You’re going to be a lot of fun, diamond.” She winks at me and then

leaves, sashaying down the hall before she disappears into a room at the end.

I glare at her the entire way, and I know damn well she can feel the heat

of it burning into her back.

The cunt is probably getting off on it, and the vindictive side of me will

be happy to fuck her in the worst of ways any chance I can get.

Raucous laughter booms from downstairs, nearly vibrating the floor

beneath my knees. Francesca and Rocco are the only two who actually live here, but he likes to invite his rapist friends over every day to shoot copious amounts of drugs in their veins and have their way with the girls when permitted.

Though, I suppose Rio and Rick have been practically living here now

that they can’t be seen in public. I've been praying Rick makes it easy on me and leaves the house anyway, but the bozo is too fucking lazy and high off his rocker now that he has an endless stream of drugs coming in. He's got the money to get his junk hand-delivered.

Regardless, they’re all fucking obnoxious, incapable of keeping their

mouths shut and not making disgusting remarks anytime we’re in their vicinity.

Damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck that tight ass.

Do you see the way it bounces? Imagine how it would look railing her

from behind.

Jesus, her tits are to fucking die for. I can’t wait to fuck them.

Each word twists my stomach further and further, wringing my insides

like a wet rag until it’s coiled into a knotted rope. Sydney’s words are the only thing keeping my teeth glued together.

Francesca has high hopes for me, and I need to do everything in my

power to stay in that light, even if it means cracking my molars from the force of keeping my mouth shut.

Sleep still clings to my eyes while Francesca paces before us. Yesterday

was the Culling practice, and I spent the entire night waiting for our punishment, but it never came. So, when she barged in my room at the ass crack of dawn, I hadn’t even closed my eyes yet.

“Etiquette is important,” Francesca begins, walking back and forth down

the line, her five-inch heels matching the pounding of my heart.

She’s always ready to walk down a runway, and I wonder if she puts so

much effort into making the outside look pretty because her insides are a cemetery of bones and decay. She should’ve looked into becoming a mortician with the way she’s so good at dressing up a corpse.

She stops before me, and I keep my eyes casted down at her feet. The tip

of her shoe is scuffed a little. Wonder how much that bothers her.

“Look at me.” My eyes instantly find hers, with no hesitation. “Kiss my foot,” she orders, tipping out her shoe with the mark. Part of

me wonders if she could hear my thoughts and is punishing me for it.

Nevertheless, I decide it’s probably the She-Devil above. Now She just loves to punish me.

My immediate reaction is pure fire. My mouth works to gather saliva,

ready to spit on her shoe instead, but I manage to refrain. Barely.

Hesitation races down my spine, and it takes physical force to bend my

spine forward and do as she says, placing my lips gently on her dirty shoe.

"Now lick it." My lips twitch, threatening to curl into a snarl, but I do as she says and

quickly lick it, dirt and lord knows what else gathering on my tongue.

I imagine it tastes exactly how her soul looks.

I squeeze my eyes shut, working to regain control over the screaming in

my head, before I rise up again, keeping my eyes downcast. If I look at her, she’ll see death in my eyes.

As if sensing this, she bends at the waist and curls her finger beneath my

chin, the cold metal of her ring seeping into my skin as she lifts my head.

“I know it hurts but hesitate again and your teeth will be kissing the floor

instead.”

Swallowing down vomit, I nod my head and whisper, “I’m sorry.” She smiles prettily and straightens, satisfied. “Each second you hesitate is another reason to punish you. Your master

will expect obedience. Mindless little zombies, you will be.”

Sydney giggles, raises her arms, and moans like an actual zombie. My

eyes widen, and none of us can contain the shock, staring at her like she’s insane.

Well, no shit, I guess. The bitch is insane.

Francesca snarls, storms to her, and slaps her across the face, the sound

of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the room. Her head snaps to the side, strands of hair flying across her face from the force. Disturbingly enough, Sydney peers up at Francesca through her hair, another laugh releasing from her tongue.

Francesca bends at the waist. “You keep laughing, Sydney, and I’ll keep

letting Rocco stretch your ass until my entire foot fits.”

I swallow, looking back down to the floor. She’s fucking certifiable, and

I can’t help but feel a stab of sympathy.

Was Sydney an average girl before she was stolen away? Did she live a

normal life, have a job, friends, and go out on weekends to find a fling?

Who was she before she died inside?

After an entire day of grueling training on how to serve our future

masters, dinner is served in our rooms. None of us are allowed to eat together and I imagine it’s because they don’t want any of us becoming friends—joining forces and planning to escape together or some shit. The more alone we feel, the more hopeless.

We’re fed soup and crackers, a meager meal but something she claims

won’t fatten us up. Apparently even sex traffickers are fatphobic and body

shame the women. Never mind that they can’t get pussy unless they quite literally steal it.

I’ve just finished eating when it sounds like Francesca screeches from

below, the enraged sound echoing throughout the house. I freeze, slowly setting my soup bowl on the nightstand when footsteps pound on the wood, though, it doesn’t sound like she has her heels on. Her angry stride travels up the stairs and down the hall, my heart beating faster with each step toward me.

My door slams open, and she storms into my room, the doorknob

deepening the crater in the wall from the force.

I flinch and jump up from my bed, heart racing as she stomps towards

me and sticks her face in mine.

“You were doing so well,” she spits.

My mouth parts and I shake my head, speechless as confusion and

adrenaline war in my brain.

“Wha—” “Don’t play stupid,” she hisses before backhanding me, fire lancing

across my cheek and a gasp slipping free.

Instinctively, I grab my cheek, shock rendering me utterly paralyzed.

I look at her just as she shoves a shoe in my face. Or what used to be

one. It’s the same ones she was wearing earlier—the same ones she made me kiss and lick—black stilettos with gold heels. Except now, the gold spike is cracked off at the base, barely hanging on, and deep scratches mar every inch of it.

“You did this,” she accuses. “You did this to all my fucking shoes!” I shake my head again, eyes wide and protests falling from my lips. “I

didn’t, I swear, Francesca. I didn—”

Another sharp slap to the same cheek cuts off my truth. Her chest heaves

with anger. Heat radiates from her in waves, solar flares of fury lashing at me as she seethes.

Tears rush to my eyes, and I shake from the effort to keep them from

falling. I don’t want to show an ounce of weakness. She’ll take the tears for guilt. My vision blurs and colorful words gather on my tongue. It takes several swallows to force them back down my throat.

“I saw the look in your eyes earlier, diamond. Don’t pretend like you

weren’t planning my death. You’re a spoiled little brat and doing this—”

she shoves the shoe in my face— “will do you no favors.”

“Fran—” “Shut up!” she screeches, completely losing her mind. She grabs my hair

and yanks me down onto the ground, fire racing across my scalp. I cry out; the sound quickly muffled when she shoves my face into the wooden floor and starts yanking down my leggings.

My eyes blow wide, and panic begins to override my senses. “Wait, wait, Francesca, I didn’t do it!” She’s not listening, though. “This will be the last time you disrespect me. Do you understand me?!”

she shouts, finally getting the material down past my ass.

I twist, attempting to roll out of her hold, but her nails are clawing into

my hip and forcing me back down. Still, I can’t stop fighting, not when she’s trying to spread my legs.

“Stop!” I yell, vision blackening with panic and a slew of tears. “Get in here,” she snaps to someone, but I don’t see who. I only feel

their weight pressing down on me, and my body truly begins to fight then.

“Wait, wait, please, please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it,” I sob, desperate

to get away but unable to. The weight is pressing down on my head, preventing me from seeing or moving, but I can feel everything.

Oh god, I can feel everything. The broken heel of her shoe is being

shoved inside me, and I scream as it tears me apart.

“Please, please, please,” I cry. I cry and cry and cry, but she’s past

listening.

Her hands disappear, along with the weight of the person on top of me

being shoved off.

Francesca is yanking my head back, forcing me to stare at her contorted

face, nearly spitting with ire. She’s on her knees, eyes wild as she hisses, “Don’t you ever destroy my things again, or you will suffer much worse than this. I swear to fucking God, I will make you wish you were dead. Am I understood?”

Sobs rack my throat, slobber nearly pouring from my mouth as I cry out,

“I didn’t do it.”

Rearing back, she slaps me across the face again, my ears ringing as she

continues to mindlessly hit me, over and over until I’m breathless from the onslaught of pain.

“You fucking useless bitch!” she screams. She lifts my head again, but I

can no longer see her through the rivers pouring from my eyes.

Indiscernible pleas fall past my lips, but even I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.

“You know what happens when you become useless? You end up buried

in an unmarked grave somewhere no one will ever find you.”

Finally, she releases me, nearly smacking my head off the wood.

Immediately, my body curls in on itself, the foreign object still lodged painfully inside me, but I don’t have it in me to take it out.

Whimpers tear through my throat, so powerful that no noise is capable of

slipping through, stealing my breath in the process. Francesca storms out of the room, leaving me violently shaking and bawling from the assault.

A mass comes back down on me, and my body uselessly flails, fists

flying but making no contact.

“Shhh,” the voice whispers. The moment it registers that it’s Sydney’s, I

fight harder, screaming at her to get off, but she’s too strong for me right now.

She’s completely wrapped around my back, her legs circled tightly

around my waist and locked on my stomach while her hand pets my hair.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers. “We’ll be together now.” The little energy I had left dissipates, and the only thing I am able to do

is sob.

Grabbing my hot, reddened face, she tilts my chin up. Just barely, I make

out her wide brown eyes and a gentle smile. Almost reverently, she pets my hair and down my cheeks, staring at me as if I’m a prized possession.

“Welcome home,” she whispers.

Chapter 13

The Hunter

“They deal in the black market,” Jay tells me. I’m staring at camera

footage of the tattooed man from the video—the one that brought a little girl with a gunshot wound into Dr. Garrison’s shoddy hospital. “Organ traffickers, to be specific.”

“Who is ‘they’?” I ask, carefully watching the man carry the injured

child out of the hospital, gently set her in the backseat of a red Camaro, and then speed off. Whether he didn’t care to avoid the one camera on the front of the building, or wasn’t aware of it, doesn’t actually matter. I got his license plate number.

Jay pulls up a photo. It’s of the tattooed man with three other men. Based

on their body language, they appear very comfortable with each other.

“Them. They call themselves the Basilisk Brotherhood. Widely known in

the black market for trading in human organs. Ryker, Daire, Kace, and Slade. No one knows their real last names.”

I close my eyes, reining in my temper. I have little control over it these

days.

“Before you get growly and go on a killing spree, Tony the Tiger, there’s

been some talk that they are not actually as bad as they’re making themselves out to be.”

I shoot Jay a look, but he ignores me. I’m scarier than Tony the Tiger,

and he knows it.

“Why do you say that?” “Just some comments on forums that I’ve come across on a few deep

websites,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know what it is, but I have a feeling those rumors are true.”

We’ll see. “Regardless, they would have knowledge on the comings and goings of

the skin trade,” I surmise.

Jay meets my heavy stare, a mutual agreement passing between us

silently.

If Addie is traded or auctioned off, they might be able to track it, which

means that I need to have a chat with the Basilisk Brotherhood.

“Give me a second, and I’ll get in contact with them,” I say,

straightening and motioning for Jay to move aside. He grumbles something about this being his computer, but I don’t pay him any mind.

Jay’s great at what he does—amazing, even.

But I’m better.

I sit down and open up several programs. The first one is a software with

facial recognition. It provides a hit on every single camera their face has appeared on. I’m almost impressed when very few pop up.

Ryker’s face is the most popular—the same large, angry-looking man

that brought in the little girl to the doctor. Unlike the grainy footage from the hospital, this camera catches a clear image of him.

He’s interesting-looking, with sharp features, long hair that seems to

always be tied up, pale gray-green eyes, light stubble, and a nose piercing.

Type of face women would fall to their knees for.

The other three certainly aren’t hurting for pussy either, though they’re

all incredibly different from each other. Definitely not real brothers, though I'm sure they act like it.

“You’ll get along with them great,” Jay says over my shoulder. “You all

are in a business where being obscure is key, yet each one of you stands out like lollipops among moldy bread. Very lickable lollipops, too.”

Yeah, whatever. I didn’t ask to be beautiful.

I ignore him and narrow down my search to the most recent location

they were spotted last. Portland, Oregon. Massive city and a great place to hide.

Also, a prime location for human trafficking. Prostitution runs rampant

there—one of the most blatant and in-your-face forms of trafficking there is. The police spend more time arresting the girls for their crimes rather than trying to save them.

‘Merica.

In the video, it appears as if they’re doing some type of exchange. Could

be drugs, but something like cocaine or heroin is child’s play when you’re

dealing with human organs. Call it intuition, but none of them give off the vibe of a drug addict.

I sift through different programs until I finally get a hit on a residential

house’s Nest camera from two weeks ago. The red Camaro pulls into the driveway, and the four men pour out of the car.

An older woman steps out of the front door and waves her hand

animatedly. The Nest picks up audio, so when her voice comes through, it’s clear that whoever owns this house is either family or like family.

She’s loud and boisterous as she greets them, and the men gravitate

towards her like little boys would their grandma.

“I’ll never get over how grown-up you boys are!” she exclaims, first

hugging Ryker, and then the other three.

“’Sup, Mama T,” Daire says, grinning at her. He slings an arm around

the woman and ruffles her short silver hair with the other hand. Swatting at him, she berates him lovingly as they disappear into the house, their voices quickly fading.

Clicking off the program, I open up a browser and search the quickest

route back to Portland. Seems I’m going to be spending a lot of time there.

“You’re going to her house?’ I turn my head, spotting Jay from the corner of my eye, a disapproving

look on his face.

“Where else would I go?” “You’re going to piss them off.” “I’m not going to hurt her,” I scowl. “Do you think that will matter to them? Your presence will be

threatening enough.”

I swivel my chair completely around, cocking my brow as I lean back

and cross my arms.

“Do I look fucking scared?” He tips his head back and sighs dramatically. “We know you’re a bad

bitch, Zade. That’s not the point.” I reach out and punch his thigh in response to being called a bad bitch, earning me a groaned ow.

“No, the point is that this is my quickest option. I will give them a very

good reason to come to me, and I will ensure we come to a mutually beneficial agreement. I don’t have time to learn the ins and outs of transporting humans. It’s complicated as fuck, and my primary focus the

past several years has been locating the rings once the girls have already been moved. Addie can be traded any day if she hasn’t been already, so I need to cover my bases. While I try to find where she’s being held, I need someone that understands the business to keep an eye out for if or when she’s transported.”

Jay sighs, sensing that I'm going to do what I want anyway. “Fine. Just

don’t be a dick to her.”

I flash a grin. “Don’t worry. The ladies love me.”

“Get out of my house right now, you fucker!” Teresa, otherwise known

as Mama T, yells, pointing a finger at me. “Do you think you can just waltz into my house? Who do you think you are?”

I lean back into the couch, wiggling my butt until I’m comfortable. “A very desperate man, Teresa Baker,” I say, looking over the house

casually. She has a very cozy home, and everything has its place.

Cream walls with matching couches, maroon flower pictures spaced out

perfectly, matching wooden furniture, the brown surfaces gleaming as if she dusted them not two seconds ago, and a white birdcage hanging in the corner, a little Tweety chirping away.

Does she have a Sylvester, too?

She scoffs, “What the hell does that have to do with me?” “You know some men who I need to have a chat with. Does Ryker sound

familiar? Slade, Daire or Kace, even?”

Her face visibly pales, and her thin red lips part as she scrambles for a

response.

Too slow, Mama T. “Call them. Bring them here. That’s all I want.” She huffs out an amused laugh. “You know they’re going to kill you,

right?”

“Now why would they do that? We’re having a lovely time.” She shoots me a look, sits down in her chair, and grabs the phone off the

receiver. She’s probably one out of fifteen people in the world who still

have a landline.

Her green eyes spear me like sharpened knives as she slaps the phone to

her ear. I smile wide at her in return, though I fear it came out a tad feral.

“Get over here, now. Bring your brothers,” she says after someone picks

up, glancing over at me with irritation.

“No, I’m not hurt,” she assures quickly. “There’s a man here to see you

four.”

He must agree because she hangs up the phone without another word.

Still shooting me the evil eye, she sets the phone down a tad aggressively, and an uncomfortable silence descends.

Nothing about Mama T is typical, nor is she shy as she meets my stare

head-on. Despite being in her fifties, she’s got character—tattoos on her neck, a Monroe piercing, a nose ring, and dark red lipstick.

“My girl was kidnapped,” I tell her, hoping to appease some of her

anger.

Honestly, I have no interest in harming an old lady. I hate that I’m

making her uncomfortable, but it’s a necessary means to get what I need.

I’d rather she feels relaxed in my presence—as much as she’s capable of when a six-foot-six man with scars all over his body walks into your home.

She stares at me blankly, waiting for me to continue. “She was taken by

some very bad and powerful people. Could be anywhere in the world at this point. Your boys happen to have a refined skill in what I need to possibly track her down.”

She leans her elbows on her spread knees, and it feels like she’s looking

past my flesh and into my soul. I stay still. People seeing me for who I am has never bothered me.

“You’re a powerful, bad man.” I shrug. “And also, someone with very little time to waste. I’ve got a

firm hold on my manhood, and I can admit when I need help.”

She raises her thin brows and gives me a look that suggests at least you

have that going for you.

I'd like to think I'm pretty, too, but I'll let it slide. “What makes you think my boys will help you? Is my life your

bargaining chip?”

“Of course not,” I chirp, much like the bird chattering in the cage. “Only

a weaker man would hurt an innocent woman to get what they want.”

She cocks a brow, unimpressed. I can’t help but smile at that. “Like you said, I’m a powerful, bad man. I have connections and

capabilities of my own. Whatever they need, I can do, once my girl is safe and sound.”

She nods her head, though she doesn’t look convinced. I’m not worried

about what they will ask of me. What I don’t know, I can learn. When it comes time to collect, Addie will be by my side, and I’ll have all the time in the world to get them whatever they need.

“Well, I don’t approve of your methods, but I was married once and

would’ve killed to have even a fraction of the love you have for your lady friend.”

“Come on, there’s time. You could still find your one and only.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m too old for that shit. I have my boys, and that’s

enough. Just next time, would ya knock? You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack.”

“I’m sorry, Teresa,” I say genuinely, my hand over my heart. It only

earns me another eye roll.

“Call me Mama T.” I grin, pleased that I’ve been accepted. I told Jay—the ladies love me.

If the Basilisk Brotherhood didn’t respect Teresa, they would’ve kicked

the door down to get to me. Instead, they rush inside, the four of them nearly tripping on each other to get in.

Teresa is already waiting at the door, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Now, calm down, boys. He’s not here to hurt me.” Slade grips her by her arms and spins her around, assuming to check for

injuries. She twists out of his grip and swats at him.

“Stop it, I’m fine. I can take care of my damn self.” Ryker's eyes immediately find mine, his pursuit never pausing for even a

moment. He rushes toward me, but before he can make it another step, Teresa grabs him by the arm.

His head whips around to her in shock, and she glares at him.

“Are ya fucking deaf, or am I a mute now? What did I say? He ain’t here

to hurt me, so calm down.”

Ryker faces me again, a mixture of anger and bewilderment on his face.

I take a bite of my chocolate chip cookie and give him a close-lipped

smile while I chew.

These cookies are fucking delicious. “Who the fuck are you?” Ryker barks while the other three flank him.

Chests puffed, chins notched high, and hands ready to pull out their firearms.

Teresa rolls her eyes and mutters beneath her breath, storming out from

behind them to sit in her chair with an irritated huff.

Boys will be boys.

Slowly, I stand, wiping the crumbs from my hands on my jeans. “Z,” is my only response and Ryker’s brow quirks. “Z,” he echoes dryly as if he doesn’t believe me. “That’s what I said.” “Like the Z?” Daire clarifies. Two tiny diamond dermals are pierced

above a thick black brow, glinting as he arches it on his forehead.

“Yes,” I say. Introductions are so tedious when very few have actually

seen my face. Anyone could claim to be me, but all of them would fail when it came time to prove it.

Slade snorts, rolling his dark eyes, which make an interesting contrast to

the waves of dirty blond hair falling into them.

The only one who doesn’t have much to say is Kace, who stands back

and observes me closely. If I were a lesser man, it’d make me uncomfortable.

“Let’s say I give a shit that you’re Z—why are you here and in Teresa’s

house?”

“Well, to get to you, of course. Excuse my impolite methods, however,

time is of the essence,” I answer, flashing a grin. Ryker snarls in response.

Touchy. “Does Dr. Garrison ring any bells?” A collective silence ensues for a few moments, and then Daire chuckles.

“That was you, wasn’t it? That set him and his place on fire?”

“Sure was. I happened across some intriguing footage with Ryker’s face

on it. Intriguing enough for me to investigate, and it’s like Jesus himself

handed me a gift. Word on the street is that you’re all very particular… tradesmen. And I have a current need for that.”

Ryker glances at Teresa, who’s staring up at us with complete boredom

on her face.

Sensing Ryker’s need for secrecy, she waves her hand. “Leave. It’s my

nap time.”

He glances at me before walking to an end table next to Teresa’s chair

and snatching a crumpled receipt and pen. She grumbles when he starts scribbling on it but doesn’t stop him.

Straightening, he hands the slip of paper to me. “You caught us in the

middle of something. Meet us at this address in four hours. Don’t be late.

Now get out.”

I arch a brow when I spot hemorrhoid cream on the receipt but quickly

decide it’s not my business what’s growing on Teresa’s ass.

“I’ll be early,” I say. “Bye, Mama T.” “Good luck,” she calls. I wave a hand in acknowledgment before

opening and shutting the front door behind me.

I don’t need luck, just the help of four men, who are probably going to

be enough pains in my ass that I’ll need the hemorrhoid cream next.

Chapter 14

The Diamond

That’s such a good girl, little mouse. Open that pretty mouth and taste

me…

You’ve been naughty, mouse. You like it when I punish you, don’t you?

I could eat you for days, and it would never be enough… Fuck, baby, I’m so fucking addicted… I jolt awake, and for one beautiful second, I thought I was back in

Parsons Manor with Zade. Images of mismatched eyes and a wicked smirk clog my headspace, but the sudden movement lances sharp needles of pain throughout my skull. The memories dissipate, Zade’s deep tenor fading as the dull throb that radiates from between my legs feels like a curse that was cast by an evil witch—a curse that won’t let me forget.

Bright sunlight pierces through the dusty curtains, and it almost feels

mocking. I squint my eyes, the migraine worsening as I train my tired eyes on the dirty window.

It’s cold outside, but it doesn’t look like we’ll be plagued by the usual

rainy forecast today.

The phantom in the sky really is a devil. Why else would She make such

a gruesome day so bright and sunny?

Today is the Culling, and already the house seems to be filling up with

chatter.

To make matters worse, my body doesn’t feel nearly as broken as I

thought it would. My soul? Completely shattered. But at least I can fart without feeling like I’m going to pass out, right?

Wrong. If I could hardly move, it might've provided me with an excuse

to not participate in the Culling.

Despite the beating my body took three days ago from my punishment

for failing the practice test, my wounds are healing, so lying to her about my physical well-being when the other girls will still have to take part… It makes me feel like a coward.

So, thank you, God, for the small blessings in life and for allowing me to

see another day and pass gas properly. A-fucking-men, bitch.

Phoebe, Bethany, and Gloria were raped alongside me. Jillian kept her

head down when she walked past us, but Sydney blatantly laughed in our faces, and all I wanted to do was grab her hair and drag her down on that dirty ground next to us. It was her fault I was on that floor to begin with, naked men crowding around me, and already injured from her stunt with Francesca.

All I could think about as we were passed around from man to man was

how much I hated her. Hated her superiority and hated her for sabotaging me.

It was the only thing that got me through touches from dirty fingers and

violent invasions from men that weren’t my shadow.

Afterward, Rio carried me up to my bed, my legs physically unable to

support me from the abuse my body endured. He couldn’t look at me. Not when he did nothing while men stole from me, and then he picked up that broken girl and carried her to bed—only because Francesca demanded it of him.

But he did speak to me. He told me about the chupacabra, a mythical

being rumored to terrorize Puerto Rico. He told me when he was young, he was playing with his baby sister when he swears that he saw it. A grotesque gray creature with wings, and it flew by before he could blink.

I don't know why he told me that story. Maybe to distract me, but I

suppose it worked. He gave me a monster that didn't feel real instead of focusing on the monsters that are.

“Get up.” The sharp slap that follows the harsh words startles me, and I

yelp from both the surprise and pain. I hadn’t even heard her come in, despite her loud-ass heels. She must’ve gotten new ones already.

I look up to find Francesca staring down at me, a frown marring her

bright pink lips. She looks disappointed in me, and I hate how small that makes me feel.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. What am I supposed to do?

Apologize?

After she assaulted me with her broken heel and I was gang-banged by

Rocco’s friends, she couldn’t bear looking at me for a full day. Yesterday, I

had finally broken through and managed to convince her that Sydney was the one to destroy her things.

She didn’t apologize. Didn’t even appear remorseful. But she did lock

Sydney in an old cellar on the property for the entire day, and I’m almost ashamed to admit how much it soothed my soul to hear her screaming to be let out. Already, I’m changing, and the old Addie is unrecognizable.

I’ve never wanted to hurt someone until now. Never felt the urge to grab

a knife and rip someone’s throat open ear to ear.

I’m vibrating with it, but Sydney isn’t the only one on the receiving end.

I’m pissed at every single person in this house, save for the other innocent girls.

Especially with Francesca, and every man who stole a piece of my soul

that night. A piece I don’t even think Zade will ever be able to get back for me.

There will always be pockets missing where my innocence used to

reside.

“Get ready in the beauty room. Our guests will be here soon.” Her eyes

flicker down my body snidely. “Look presentable,” she tacks on, the words digging into my skin like a needle, before turning and walking out, her clicking heels echoing against the hardwood floor.

Grinding my teeth, it takes monumental effort not to fucking scream.

From rage, pain, and just pure frustration.

Instead, I force my battered body into movement, slip out of the lumpy

bed and pad my way towards the beauty room.

Men’s voices drift from below, and the sound sends my heart flying to

my throat. I work to swallow as I meet Phoebe at the threshold.

The second our eyes meet, both of us look away. Incapable of connecting

over something that we both suffered through. Shame. Embarrassment.

Sorrow. All are at the forefront as we walk into the room.

Bethany and Gloria are picking through the clothes on a rack Francesca

must’ve set out for us. Instead of revealing outfits, warm clothing hangs from the metal rod. Guess it wouldn’t be ideal for five girls to run for their life with a thong riding up their ass and tassels hanging from their nipples in freezing weather.

Jillian is sitting at a vanity and putting on concealer in hopes of covering

up the dark circles rimming the underside of her eyes. Briefly, we make eye

contact, but her gaze flickers away immediately. I haven’t seen her since our punishment—apparently, she’s been sick and has missed out on the last couple of lessons.

A swarm of angry bees rises up my throat, and I can’t stop the

uncontrollable bitterness from taking hold, seizing my heartstrings, and turning it into a puppet of mass destruction.

Did she sleep that night? Hearing three girls scream in pain and begging

for them to stop? Begging and begging and begging.

Please.

Pleaaase, stop!

Please, I’m begging you!

Please… please… please… Has she grown tired of the word? Does it sound funny to her now? When

a word is said so many times, it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. It sounds like gibberish—a sound comprised of pitch and tones that hold no real meaning. A construct that humans have formed to communicate their wants and needs. But what do words fucking matter when no one listens?

Her eyes meet mine again, a glossy sheen over the surface of them. And

there it is. Shame. Embarrassment. Sorrow.

She made it out unscathed, and it looks like survivor’s guilt has been

gnawing at her insides for the past few days.

I deflate, berating myself for taking my anger out on someone who

doesn’t deserve it. Jillian is just trying to survive like the rest of us. None of this is her fault.

Then, Sydney walks in, all high and mighty, and my unwarranted anger

towards Jillian redirects itself towards the person who actually deserves it.

She acts as if she didn’t spend an entire day screaming in a cellar.

Biting my tongue, I walk over to the vanity next to Jillian, my

movements mechanical. My bones feel like rusty hinges as I reach for a bright pink sponge and concealer. It’s going to take mounds of it to hide the distress, but I settle with a few dollops to start.

My hand trembles as I apply chemicals to my face that are meant to hide

my pain. Bethany and Phoebe talk quietly in the background, whispers full of fear and comfort.

Bad, bad girls.

I consider listening in on their conversation, but I’m distracted when

Sydney starts tearing off her clothes until she’s naked. Jillian and I have a clear view of her through our vanity mirrors. We both pause, hands suspended in the air as we stare at the unhinged girl behind us, now picking through the clothes on the rack.

Bethany and Phoebe’s whispers taper off, and soon the entire room is

disturbingly enraptured by her.

I can’t help but watch her as she hums, takes a shirt off the rack, and

observes it as if she’s a regular girl shopping in a fancy boutique. Entirely unbothered by the eyes burning into her exposed skin.

Forcing my attention away, I glance at Jillian. She’s now staring hard at

herself, most likely trying to avoid Sydney’s naked form reflected in the mirror.

“You have any advice?” I ask, my voice weak and hoarse from all the

screaming.

I watch her freeze from the corner of my eye. She collects herself and

then resumes blending her concealer, clearing her throat.

“Cover your tracks,” she says quietly, her Russian accent prominent. She

has a beautiful voice, and Rocco's friends thinks so, too. “And run only when necessary. It isn’t about how far you can get; it’s about making sure they never find you. You can run for hours, and you’ll always lead them right to you.”

“They can’t get you if they don’t know where you are,” I mutter aloud.

The words come out raspy and broken, but I don’t bother trying to repeat myself. “What about the traps?”

“I counted the distance between them the best I could. They’re about

thirty feet apart, roughly. They’re uniform, so the hunters know how to avoid them.”

I roll my lip between my teeth. “Thank you for helping me.” She glances at me. “Don’t mention it.” Literally, or we’ll both be in trouble.

We descend into silence after that. She doesn’t offer any consolation, but

it’s not something I would ever want from her. From anyone.

Twenty-five minutes later, we’re all dressed in jeans and long-sleeved

shirts. They’ll do virtually nothing to protect us from the elements, and certainly not any metal arrowheads plunging into our bodies at a breakneck

speed. But considering we’ll be running on adrenaline, it’s enough to keep our bodies warm.

Francesca’s heels resonate as she climbs the steps, and my system floods

with panic, whatever control I was grasping onto slipping. So easily, like my fingers are covered in grease.

“You girls ready?” Her voice is like a punch to the kidneys. I glance at

her through the mirror, her eyes perusing each of us, clicking her tongue when she must deem us presentable enough.

“Let’s go. Time to eat, and then we will go over lessons on how to act

properly tonight. When night falls, the Culling will begin, and if you pass, you will be required to mingle with our guests afterward.”

Panicked glances are exchanged. Even surprise flashes across Sydney’s

gaze.

Bethany raises a trembling hand, requesting permission to speak. “Are you saying that we have to do the Culling… in the dark?” she asks

hesitantly.

Francesca raises an eyebrow. “That’s what I said.” Then, she turns and walks out, the expectation to follow clear. Slowly,

we trail after her, but not before we look at each other with the same panicked expression.

We’re fucked. We’re all fucked.

Single file, ladies. We must be in a uniform line to greet your potential

rapists. Make a good impression, and they may be nice when they rape you.

Bursts of loud laughter and deep voices tighten my throat. It feels as if

my heart is making an escape attempt, breaking through its gilded cage and clawing its way out of captivity.

Jesus, I think I’m going to pass out.

My legs wobble and my hand catches the railing, clutching it so tightly,

my knuckles are bleached white. It’s the only thing keeping me from pitching forward.

“Get it together,” Jillian whispers harshly from behind me.

“Says the girl who wasn’t punished for this three days ago,” I snap back.

She quietens. That was rude of me. But fuck, there’s not a manual on

how to rewire my brain to be unafraid and calm. I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time we reach the landing and make our way into the living room where the hunters await.

These men don’t belong here.

This house is run-down, and it doesn’t matter how clean or tidy it is, it

still looks like trash. And there are five men standing in the middle of it, wearing Armani suits, diamond-encrusted Rolex watches, and submerged in a shroud of expensive cologne that costs more than my car note.

Their conversation dies as they turn to us, and I realize the different

colors in their eyes look the same when they’re all lifeless.

“Francesca,” one calls, drawing out her name with affection. “You’ve

got yourself a beautiful lot here.”

The man has short, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep tan to

complement his toned body. He looks like he spends his days lounging on his yacht, most likely shacked up with a supermodel in a skimpy red bikini, who’s blissfully unaware of her sugar daddy’s taste for hunting innocent women for sport.

Lucky her.

His eyes slide to mine and lock, his grin growing as the other three men

grunt their agreement. I’m supposed to appear meek and submissive, but it takes me too many seconds to drop my stare to the glossy wooden floor.

Courtesy of yours truly. We had to make this place look presentable, and adding a coat of oil apparently accomplishes that feat.

Feeling the burn of his stare caressing my tender skin, I’m now confident

that I was too slow. A spark of adrenaline ignites in my blood, worsening my nausea. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know he’s going to be the one hunting me today.

“The one with the orange hair, does her pussy match, or did she ruin it

by dyeing it that color?” another asks, and I have to clench my teeth and bite back a response. Phoebe trembles beside me as Francesca affirms something incredibly personal, her voice even and pleasant.

Nasty bitch. “I like that one,” he states. My gaze flickers to him, noting his bushy

black brows, tiny eyes, and potbelly. “Her hair will look beautiful wrapped

around my fist when she’s sucking my cock.”

A knot forms in my throat, and I take a risk by hooking my pinky around

hers and squeezing briefly. We’re crowded into each other tightly enough that the quick action goes unnoticed.

“Of course, Ben,” Francesca responds pleasantly. The man, Ben,

practically foams at the mouth while his cold eyes heat with wickedness.

One thing we have in common at this moment—nefarious, evil things are running through both of our minds.

“And I think I want her,” the blond man pipes in, nodding at me. His

searing gaze hasn’t lifted, causing sweat to pour down my spine and vomit to travel up to my throat.

“You’re sure, Xavier?” Francesca questions. “She’s not eligible, yet. Still

has a lot of healing to do.” My heart bottoms out when I realize he’s the important man she told us about—Xavier Delano. And of fucking course, he’s targeting me.

God? Why do I always attract the big, bad wolves?

He licks his lips, a crooked grin forming. “I’ve never been surer of

anything in my life. I’m confident I’ll get a taste of her soon. Whether it’s tonight… or another time.”

I feel my face bleach of color, and it’s becoming increasingly harder to

keep from blowing chunks all over his snakeskin Armani shoes. He would definitely blend in with the place then.

The remaining men choose their targets, and soon, Francesca is leading

us out of the door and back toward the deep woods. Crickets chatter, and the biting wind ravages our brittle statures. If we weren’t so tense, we’d bend like rubber beneath the strong gusts.

A massive bonfire rages directly behind the house, dozens of people

crowded around it, bundled in warm clothing and drinks in hand. There are also several large TVs placed sporadically around. According to Francesca, the hunters will wear body cams, providing entertainment and viewing pleasure for the other guests.

My breathing escalates as I face the endless trees, shadows flickering

from the fire behind us. The scent of fear emanates from the six of us as we line up, and I break out into a cold sweat. My boots sink into the mud, suctioning my feet deeply into the frigid earth. Part of me desperately wishes it was tar instead, granting me the fortune of getting stuck here.

Already, I’m plagued with memories of sprinting through these woods

and coming so close to victory, only for Sydney to appear behind a tree, lips curled into an evil smile and reeking of malevolence.

What if she does it again? I think I’ll kill her if she does. Rip the arrow

out of my body myself and stab it into her instead.

Behind us, the men ready their crossbows, the clanging of metal as they

load arrows into them grinding against my frayed nerves. Risking a glance behind me, my eyes round when I see headgear settled over their eyes.

Night vision goggles.

Fuckers. Everything about this stupid fucking game is rigged. “All right, ladies,” Francesca starts. “Let’s go over the rules briefly. You

will be given a ten-minute head start. You are required to stay within the maze walls. If caught going outside of them, it will result in immediate death. They will shoot to kill, not shoot to maim. At the end of the maze, there is an open area. If you reach this location, you are immediately deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. If you are still within the maze but have not been shot, and the allotted hour depletes, you are also deemed safe, and no harm will come to you. Is that understood?”

None of us speak, and our lack of protest is answer enough. “How’s it said from The Hunger Games, may the odds be ever in your

favor?” a male cuts in, and it sounds like Xavier.

A round of laughter follows the bad joke, but before my lack of self-

control can get me in trouble, he calls out, “Run!”

We take off, sprinting through the woods carefully, wary of traps. Strings

will be tightened between two objects at foot level, and if tripped, we’ll be strung up, easy for the picking. Walls of branches are piled high on either side of us, makeshift barriers to confine us in a maze. Not only is it redirecting our focus onto getting out rather than staying hidden, but it’s also meant to disorient us and incite panic.

And fuck, does it work.

I bring myself to a halt and rush behind a trunk, my heart pounding

rapidly. The walls of the maze are spread out, allowing plenty of trees in between.

There’s no point in covering my tracks up until this point; it’s from here

on out that will matter. I tear through leaves and twigs, searching for a

branch. My fingers are already red and stiff from the cold, but I hardly feel it with the adrenaline coursing through my system.

In the dead of night, it takes too long to find a suitable branch with

leaves on it, brittle as they are, and even longer to accomplish what I’m doing.

After Jillian’s advice, I racked my brain for all the ways to cover my

tracks without having to consistently stop and sweep them away as I run. I settled on fashioning a sweeper to my back, using a belt I stole from the beauty room to keep it in place.

She said gaining distance isn’t as important, but I want to accomplish

both. Get as far away as I can and do so without a trace. I suppose one good thing is coming from this, and that’s learning how exactly I’m going to escape when the time comes.

I grab onto the branch with leaves, poise it on my lower back, and use

the satin belt to anchor it to me, tying the fabric in several tight knots. And then I start speed-walking, swiveling my head back and forth to both keep from kissing a tree, and ensuring the branch is doing its job.

It's too dark to tell for sure, but it appears as if it is, and that's good

enough for me.

So I take off, counting my steps and lifting my branch carefully over the

wire when I reach them. My pace is quick but steady, holding on to the belt tightly for extra security with one hand and keeping the other in front of me, preventing me from running into anything nature has to offer.

I dart from one tree to another, keeping myself concealed at all times.

Several minutes later, I reach a dead end, and from the corner of my eye, I see a flash of dark orange to my left. Phoebe.

Of course, she doesn’t know how to cover her tracks as she runs. And as

dangerous as she is to be around right now, I refuse to keep my mouth shut and allow another woman to fail.

“Phoebe!” I call out, keeping my voice as quiet as possible.

She skids and turns to me, breathing heavily. I can’t see much of her

features, but I imagine her face matches mine. Panicked, and eyes dilated with fear.

“Cover your tracks. You’re leading them right to you,” I tell her in a

whisper-shout, and then I take off in the opposite direction. I don’t know if

she’ll listen, although I do know that it might be too late. She’s led them this far, and to ensure my own survival, I need to get the hell away from her.

The branch dragging behind me is loud, so I force myself to slow,

counting my thirty steps and keeping an eye out for any wires. I’m nearly gasping for breath, willing my heart rate to calm. I should’ve put enough distance between the two of us by now.

So, when I turn to see Phoebe running after me, I fucking spazz. “What are you doing?!” I exclaim, attempting to keep my voice down,

only causing it to break from the pitch.

“Please, let me stay with you,” she pleads, no branch in her hands to

cover her tracks. She didn’t even bother to try.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, no! You’re going to get me killed,” I

snap, chest pumping as my eyes pinball, searching for any movement in the darkness. I'm almost positive our ten-minute head start has passed. They have night vision goggles—we don’t. Which means they could be anywhere.

Her pale hand clutches my arm and pulls me close, her nails digging in.

Now that I can see her clearly, she looks crazed.

“Please, I can’t let them do that to me again. Let me come with you,

please!”

I try to wrangle my hand from her, but her grip tightens, and she refuses

to let go.

“I’m not letting you go! I’m coming with you.” Shit. This is what I fucking get for not being like Sydney and gladly

watching others fail.

"Okay, fuck. You can come, just let me go," I hiss, finally freeing my

arm from her desperate clutches. Making a split-second decision, I run back the way we came about twenty feet, swivel my branch to my front and start brushing away her tracks, walking backwards until I reach her once more.

"Stay in front of me, and run as fast as you can," I demand. "And don't

do anything to get us killed. Not more than you already have."

She winces from my harsh words, but I feel no remorse. I'm pissed off

that my kindness has most likely just earned me an arrow in the back, and even more angry that I can't find it in me to knock her ass out and leave her behind.

It would benefit me, however, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It's

the whole reason I called out to her in the first place. She's young, desperate, and terrified and I'm putting on a good show of looking like I know what I'm doing. Of course, she's going to latch onto me.

Thankfully, Phoebe listens this time, keeping in front of me as we sprint.

My branch is behind me again, clearing our tracks. Sweat coats nearly every inch of my skin, trickling down my forehead and spine, irritating the stitches in my skin. Clouds puff from my mouth, and I have an insane moment of panic when I wonder if my bad breath will leave a scent trail.

Several times we get turned around, and I swear we’ve passed the same

fucking tree three times now. I’m growing frustrated and tired, so I skid to a stop and urge Phoebe to find a large tree to hide behind. I find one several feet southwest of her that provides a clear view of the space between both trees.

I'm heaving, desperate for oxygen, and on the verge of puking. I need to

catch my breath, and I'm growing paranoid that even if they can't see our footprints, they'll be able to hear us.

"Stay quiet," I whisper, even though I'm struggling to accomplish that

myself. My body doesn't care about keeping silent. All it’s only focused on is greedily sucking in precious air, no matter the cost.

I split my focus on catching my breath and listening for any footsteps.

An owl hoots and a cold yet soft breeze flows through the forest. Such a stark contrast to the dark and dangerous situation. It feels like there should be Michael Myers music playing in the background.

A rustle from a nearby brush nearly sends my heart flying out of my

throat, but then a bunny emerges and sprints off. Just as I wrangle the muscle back down where it belongs, a voice calls out.

"Fiiirecraacker." Fuck. I don't know if it was a good guess, or if my branch failed to

conceal both sets of footprints, but Phoebe's pursuer caught up to us. Round eyes clash with mine, and I know that my irises are dilated with fear just as much as hers are.

"What do we do?" she mouths silently, and I shake my head, at a loss. I

don't know what we fucking do. I’ve no idea where he is exactly, but if even an elbow pops out from behind a tree, he’ll be able to spot it immediately.

Does it count if I'm hit with someone else's arrow? I'm sure I'll still be

punished, even if I wasn't the intended target.

"Fiiiiirecrackeeer," Ben calls out again. I risk a glance around the tree

trunk and see a shadow move about twenty feet behind us.

Fuck. Way too close.

If we stay silent, we might get lucky, and he'll wander off in another

direction. He might think we’ve gone down a different trail and allow us to put distance between one another. But right now, the slightest sound, and he could hone in on us. It's not safe for either of us to even breathe.

Not that I can fucking breathe anyway.

Phoebe covers her nose and mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes

shut, tears crowding past her lashes and glinting in the moonlight. If she's not already, she's going to start having a panic attack. And in my experience, those are rarely silent.

I put my shaking finger to my lips, a tear of my own breaking free. My

vision blurs as I face the very real possibility that I might get hit with an arrow, and then later be brutally raped for it. Again.

But she can't hold on, and a small whimper slips past her hand. My heart

stalls, and almost in slow motion, I hear several footsteps taken in our direction.

“Was that you, firecracker?” he says in a hushed tone as if he’s

whispering right into our ears.

Shit, Addie, think. What would Zade do?

He'd be a fucking hero; that's what he'd do. Zade isn't interested in

saving himself, only everyone else. So, what would he want me to do?

Save myself. He’d want me to save myself. But the Culling wasn’t

designed for the prey to safely get away.

Before I can decide, Phoebe’s eyes widen into round discs, and she

seems to shy away, her body beginning to emerge from the other side.

Slowly, she raises a shaking hand and points behind me.

My heart drops, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed. My brain once again

divides into two, one half panicking because she’s no longer concealed, and the other half frozen in terror because there’s somebody fucking behind me.

I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s Xavier. He’s found me.

Leaves crunch and a twig snaps to my right. My head whips in that

direction, and I scarcely see the shine of a crossbow glinting under the

moonbeams.

And then time speeds up, slapping me in the face as two arrows barrel

towards us at once. One from Ben, and the other from behind me.

The air whistles and my body moves purely on instinct, ducking low and

veering off toward the tree to the left of me. The arrow flies between my tree and the one I’m aiming for, and a thunk stops me in my tracks. Mere inches separate the tip of the arrow now impaled in the bark, and my face.

My eyes blow wide, and I yelp. I look up and notice the first shot

towards Phoebe also failed. We won’t get that lucky again. And we only have about seventeen seconds to get away.

…three, four, five… “Phoebe, run!” Both of us scramble, dirt and leaves kicking up beneath our boots as we

take off, our legs pumping and tearing through the foliage.

“Jump!” I screech, my mind scrambling to keep up with our steps.

Scarcely, I lift the branch attached to me, and the both of us jump over the tripwire, coming incredibly close to snagging it.

Our pounding footsteps ruminate through the forest floor. There’s no

hiding now. There’s only escaping a silver arrowhead. The paths we take are strategic only in the sense of losing them, rather than trying to find our way out.

We clear a few more traps, and after several minutes, I hear Phoebe’s

footfalls coming to a sudden stop. I skid, turning to see her bent at the waist, panting so hard, she’s nearly choking. Her face is as bright as her hair, and her eyes seem to cross.

“I can’t keep running,” she chokes out, and then gags. “I can’t.” "No, no, you can do it! Come on, Phoebe, you got this.” She shakes her head again, and I can't help but take a step back when I

see a shadow dart to the side about ten yards away or so. A scream tears from my throat when the arrow goes flying, piercing Phoebe straight in the back of the shoulder.

She falls face first, an agonized wail following suit. Groaning, she

manages to pick herself up and charge past me. Confused, I chase after her, then come skidding to a halt again when she steps over the tripwire, collapses to the ground, and grabs onto the string.

"Addie, fucking go!" she screams, her voice breaking from the force. My

face contorts and tears spill over my eyelids, both from denial and guilt. But an arrow cutting through time and space has me diving ahead, another arrow coming within scant inches from my head.

My hands grapple at the cold ground to propel me forward, nearly face-

planting again in my pursuit to get back on my feet.

Run, little mouse. They're coming for you.

I make it about fifteen feet before a loud cracking noise echoes in the

brittle wind. Gasping, I turn my head in time to see a rope snap around Ben’s ankle, sending him flying straight up into the air. His crossbow drops from his hands, thudding to the ground next to Phoebe.

My mouth drops, a shocked laugh tinkling out as Ben’s shouts of fury fill

the air, wiggling like a worm on a hook as he swings from above. Even from hundreds of feet away, you can hear the gasps of shock and outrage from the house.

Phoebe must’ve waited until Ben approached her and then released the

wire right when he was in the crosshairs of it.

"Let me down right now!" Ben shouts, and though the shadows conceal

his face, I know it's cherry red. "I will fucking kill you for this."

And he will. I know it.

Phoebe knows it, too.

Our eyes clash for a moment, and then her gaze slowly drops to the

crossbow.

“Phoebe…” I warn. “I’m dead, anyways,” she rasps, grabbing the crossbow in her hands, and

stumbling through reloading it. Glancing around nervously, I tuck myself behind a tree, wary of another arrow flying my way. I need to run—like ten seconds ago, but I can’t pull myself away.

“Don’t do it, little girl,” Xavier calls out from the depths of the trees. I

bristle, warring with the need to run and stay by Phoebe's side. Neither of us can see him, but his attention seems to be focused on the girl loading a dangerous weapon with the desire to kill on her fingertips.

"Help! Fucking help me!" Ben screams, wriggling fiercely but getting

nowhere. He's suspended above a deadly angel, and her arrow will show no mercy to the wicked.

"God fucking dammit, Xavier, GET HER! GET HER—"

She ignores them both, takes aim, and right when she pulls the trigger,

another arrow is zipping through the air and plunging into her other shoulder.

She cries out, the scream echoing, but her own arrow strikes true,

embedding directly into the top of Ben’s skull and killing him instantly, the rest of his sentence silenced by a metal arrowhead.

Covering my mouth, I watch as blood pours down like a waterfall

directly on top of her, but she’s too busy laughing maniacally to notice.

Once more, she meets my wide stare. So many words rise to the tip of

my tongue, none of them sufficient. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and all I want to do is tell her how proud I am. How fucking admirable and brave she is. We both know she’s not going to make it through the night, but this was her choice.

“Go,” she mouths. With one last lingering look, I take off, hoping she

can see everything I couldn’t say in my eyes.

"You can run, little girl. But you can't escape me,” Xavier shouts, his

threat following me as I sprint through the maze. Phoebe’s distraction provided me with the head start I needed to get away.

Determination takes hold, and I kick my legs as hard as I can. I continue

to weave through the maze, holding my breath as another whistle pierces the air, and an arrow embeds in a trunk only a foot away.

These men may be skilled in hunting, but what they don't know is that

I've been hunted by a far scarier man. I was a mouse caught in a trap before, scared, and helpless as I was taken between the teeth of an apex predator.

But I'm not their little mouse, and they are not Zade.

And I will never succumb to them.

Chapter 15

The Diamond

I lost him.

Not only that, but I made it out of the maze, deeming me safe.

No harm will come to you.

Lies, but I’ll take it for now.

I didn’t stop there, though. I ran so deep into the woods that I’m

thoroughly lost now, not even a whisper of human life. It reminds me so much of Parsons Manor, it makes my chest ache. Doesn’t help that I’m breathing so heavily that I choke on the oxygen with every inhale. I’m on the verge of both vomiting and passing out, even though my body can’t decide which to do first.

Feeling confident enough that they don’t know where I am, I rip the

branch off my waist, lean heavily against a tree and slide down, my legs incapable of holding me up any longer.

My eyes begin to roll, but I fight against the urge because despite being

considered safe, that doesn’t really exist in this world. Xavier could stumble upon me and take advantage of us being alone. My screams wouldn’t be heard, and even if they were, no one would give a shit.

Wiping sweat from my eyes, I look over my surroundings. At first, I see

nothing but trees. But then, off in the distance, I glimpse metal glinting in the moonlight.

A crease forms between my brows and my curiosity piques. I allow

myself another minute to catch my breath before I force myself back to my feet and jog toward the foreign object while periodically checking over my shoulder to make sure that no one is behind me.

As I approach, the object becomes identifiable, and I lose my breath all

over again when I realize what it is.

It’s an abandoned train. A massive row of trailers stretches across the

wooded area in either direction, the metal rusted and corroded from nature.

My heart pounds and excitement blooms.

Escape.

That’s the only word that comes to mind when I look at this abandoned

train. I don’t know how yet, but I do know that it could provide me shelter when I eventually leave this place.

Checking over my shoulder once more and seeing nobody there, I

approach the train and run my hands over the cold metal. So badly, I want to seek asylum here instead of returning to that house. I’ve no idea whether they know of the train’s location, but it won’t be hard to find with the tracking device in the back of my neck.

If this train is going to offer me anything, then I need to utilize it when

they aren’t able to track me.

A loud horn breaks through the silence, causing critters to scatter and a

yelp to escape, my heart jumping up my throat. Breathing heavily, I peer over my shoulder, hearing voices calling out, announcing the end of the Culling.

They’ll be looking for me, and I’m tempted to dig out the tracking

device with a sharp branch and make a run for it anyway, but fear has me in a chokehold. There are too many factors against me.

Be smart, little mouse.

I take off back in the direction I came from, now paranoid that they’ll

find me near the train and discover it if they weren’t already aware of it. I don’t want to chance it if they weren’t.

After several minutes of jogging, I catch a glimpse of black hair and a

feminine stature before it disappears behind a tree.

“Hey!” I call out, hoping whoever it is, they’ll know the way back.

The person emerges from the other end of the tree, and I realize that it’s

Jillian.

She looks over to me, eyes wide and breathing heavily. She doesn’t look

much worse than I do, which is honestly relieving.

“You made it,” she says softly. We meet each other in the middle and her

eyes look me up and down, likely looking for injuries.

“I did,” I respond, still breathless. Up until Zade’s training, I’ve never

exerted this much energy in my entire life.

“Do you know how to get back?” I ask.

She glances around. “I think so. If not, they’ll come get us.” I nod, and we begin to walk. “Have you been through the Culling before?” I ask.

She seems to have so much knowledge for it being her first time. “No, you only go through it once,” she answers. “Except if you’re Sydney,” I mutter, though I’m relieved to hear that I’ll

never have to do this again.

Jillian snorts. “That’s true. She knows the maze like the back of her hand

now.”

“Is she the one who taught you how to get through it?” She shakes her head. “When I first arrived, I was even more combative

than you. Francesca considered me too much of a risk to put in the Culling until she could set me straight, so I had watched other girls go through it first. I learned a lot from them.” She pauses. “And I also witnessed everything that happened after. Look, you need to prepare for—"

A deep booming laugh interrupts whatever she was going to say. Jillian

and I both flinch and turn toward the sound. Xavier emerges from behind a tree, and my poor overused heart speeds up once more.

“Well, diamond, I guess you proved me wrong this time,” he chuckles,

his eyes sweeping my body up and down in a predatory way.

As much as it tickles their manhood to catch us during the Culling, it

also means that we’re deemed unworthy to be auctioned off. And that means they're allowed to dole out our punishment for tonight only. So, while escaping Xavier might’ve ruffled his feathers, it’s still an accomplishment.

Because now he gets to keep me.

Swallowing nervously, I say, “I guess I did.” He purses his lips and nods, and then tips his chin in the direction that

we need to go.

“I’d be happy to escort you fine ladies, if you don’t mind,” he offers, his

voice deepening.

Jillian and I glance at each other, but ultimately, we nod our heads.

Because what else are we supposed to fucking say?

No, go away, you have cooties.

If only it were that easy.

He directs us outside of the maze so we can avoid the tripwires. It takes

thirty-five long grueling minutes to make it back to the house. Thirty-five minutes of bouts of uncomfortable silence, stilted conversation, and the anticipation of buying me.

Jillian and I are exhausted, both of us stumbling several times from our

quaking knees and fried nerves.

When we arrive back at the house, Francesca is standing at the tree line,

hands clasped as she watches the hunters and prey emerge. She looks a little unhinged, most likely because one of her girls killed someone, but when her eyes find mine, they quickly take me in, checking for injuries. A subtle smile tips the corners of her pink lips when she doesn’t spot any, glee brightening her eyes. She may have a death on her hands, but the diamond still shines bright, I guess.

Glad to be of use, bitch.

Phoebe is already leaning against the back of the house, blood pouring

from her wounds and staining her backside. They’ve already removed the arrows, and now they’re working to staunch the bleeding. This surprises me as much as it scares me, considering she killed a man tonight. I would’ve thought she’d never make it out of those woods alive.

She’s pale and looks delirious from the pain, but there’s a sereneness to

her face that I’ve never seen before. She forced me into saving her, then turned around and saved me instead.

All I want to do is hug her tight and tell her that everything is going to be

okay. Not because either of us believes she’s going to survive, but because once she’s gone, she’ll be in a better place than she is now.

Sydney comes running out, not a drop of blood in sight. I’m admittedly

disappointed by that. Luckily, Gloria follows closely behind, pride shining in her eyes as she walks toward me, unscathed this time around. I begin to smile, but that small moment of elation quickly fizzles out when a large man emerges with Bethany slung over his shoulder, an arrow in her back.

My eyes widen in horror, disgusted to see the arrow lodged deeply in her spine, blood soaking both her and the man who carries her.

It takes a monumental effort to keep the tears at bay, but I refuse to turn

my head away from her. She doesn’t deserve for any of us to ignore her pain. Another man gathers Phoebe, and together they carry her and Bethany off.

My lip trembles, and I quickly suck it between my teeth and bite down

before Francesca can spot it. I don’t know how Zade kept it together in situations like this. Maybe because he had the assurance he could kill them for it, and I… fuck, I’m so helpless.

I try to dissolve my face of any emotion, but I don’t know how

successful I am when I’m watching two girls be carried off to a fate worse than death.

Sydney comes to stand beside me, purposely bumping into my shoulder,

and Jillian and Gloria flank the other side of me. Francesca turns to us, a mix of pride and exhaustion shining through her made-up face.

“Only two, that’s wonderful news,” she says, even going as far as to clap

her hands like a little sea otter, though it’s lackluster. I wonder if she’s going to be punished for what Phoebe did, too.

I’d love to be the one to do it. I’d take one of those arrows and stab her

in the eye with it.

“As a reward, you ladies will get to pick dinner tonight. Whatever you

want! McDonald’s even! Though, that stuff is horrendous for your bodies, but just this once should be okay.”

My mouth opens, but fury chokes my words tighter than a Victorian

corset. In the end, I’m glad for it because only poison would’ve spewed from my mouth.

We survived the Culling, and we get fucking McDonald’s as a reward?

It’s too stupid to be real.

Sydney saves me and jumps up and down excitedly. “My favorite!” she

exclaims, nearly bursting my eardrum. I flinch from the pitch, flattening my lips and working to swallow down the venomous words.

I’m shaking. “Sounds good, Francesca. Their fries are always the best,” Gloria says,

her voice tight. One glance, and I can see she and Jillian are tense, struggling to keep their expressions pleasant.

“Wonderful, let’s go in and get you girls cleaned up. There will be

celebrations tonight, and you’ll be expected to mingle with the guests.

Make an impression and be respectful as they could be potential buyers.”

She turns on one foot and walks off with the standard unspoken

expectation for us to follow. Sydney skips after her, but not before throwing a demented look over her shoulder, turning my blood into ice.

Whatever the fuck that look meant—it’s not good.

Nothing with Sydney is ever good.

“Suck it in tighter,” Francesca snaps from behind me. “I’m trying,” I wheeze, right as she tugs on the strings for the thirtieth

time. I ate the McDonald's. Of course, it didn't settle right because when has McDonald's ever made anyone feel better after eating it. And now, Francesca is intent on making it come right back up.

"I think it's tight enough," I groan.

Pretty sure I hear a rib crack in response. It feels cruel that I’m being

forced to wear a corset with this dress, but men that operate within human trafficking rings are just as stereotypical as the men who blame sexual assault on the girls’ clothing. Tiny waists are revered, but probably not as much as not having a gag reflex when a dick is shoved down your throat.

Francesca ties the knot and then helps me slip the dress over my head,

the same dress all of us are required to wear. A black, silky number that accentuates my curves—my now greatly exaggerated curves. The material ends right below my ass cheeks. A butterfly could flutter by, and my dress would fly up like it’s allergic to the winged creature.

If I pass gas, it’s over.

Francesca runs her hands through my cinnamon tresses, observing me

through the mirror. We're in the beauty room, the other girls putting on their makeup, already having gone through the same torture.

“You need to do something with this hair. It’s beautiful but hides that

elegant neck of yours. Don’t cover up your freckles when you put makeup on either. They accentuate your unusual eyes.”

I force a smile, scared that if I do anything more, my stomach will blow

through the corset.

“I can figure something out with my hair, pin it up perhaps,” I say

agreeably.

“I can do it,” Sydney chirps from behind me.

My smile drops, along with my heart. I don’t want the bitch to come a

mile within my vicinity because I know damn well she’s going to pull something.

Just as I open my mouth to protest, Francesca turns to her and says dryly,

“Fine, but if you do anything to her hair, I will personally see that you lose your hand.”

Sydney’s smile only grows, “Of course, I would never.” Francesca scoffs as if she doesn’t believe her but walks away anyway.

If she doesn’t believe her… then why is she walking away?

Setting my jaw, I narrow my eyes and carefully watch Sydney approach

me from behind. She meets my gaze through the mirror, her cold eyes churning with an indecipherable emotion.

A secretive smile pulls her red lips up higher as she begins to sift through

my hair. My shoulders are hiked up to my ears, and the tension between us thickens.

“How long have you been in this house?” I ask after a few moments of

silence.

Her deft fingers start separating pieces on the side of my head and then

begins French braiding a small section.

“Four years,” she responds.

I raise an eyebrow. “You've avoided the auctions that long?” She smirks. “I've worked hard to be too unstable to be sold but too

valuable to be killed. I'm good at what I do,” she finishes with a wink.

I swallow, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

She glances slyly at me, “Rio has been treating me so good lately,

though. He comes to my room every night now. Says my pussy is the tightest he’s ever had.”

I arch a brow. Rio has refused to touch us during lessons, and I've never

seen him show any interest otherwise. I’m not surprised that he's fucking one of the girls if it's consensual, but I am surprised that she thinks I’d give a shit.

“If that makes you happy, then good for you,” I finally say in a

monotone voice.

She pauses. “You don’t care?” “Why would I care?” “He likes you.” I roll my eyes, annoyed by her school girl shit. She acts like we’re two

girls getting ready for prom, gossiping about boys. She plays the classic mean girl act well. Pretends to be nice but all her sugary sweet words are

laced with salty insults. Too bad for her, I'm not interested in playing this game.

“You have a man at home, right? Z is his name?” she asks, noting my

reaction. She pulls my hair particularly tight, and I hiss in response.

“Gentle,” I snap. She only smiles, waiting for a response to her question. “Why do you care?” I ask, my anger heightening when she runs her

hands through the rest of my hair roughly, tearing through knots.

“A sexy Puerto Rican man has the hots for you, and you don't care." She

shrugs. "And I guess I’m curious about the man that makes you so valuable.

Is he looking for you?”

Rio does not have the hots for me, but I ignore that. “Don’t we all have someone looking for us?” She shrugs. “No,” she says simply, and I almost feel a pinch of

sympathy. “Do you really believe he’s going to be able to save you?”

I flatten my lips, debating on responding at all. If I say anything

incriminating, she will immediately use it against me. Twist my words and tell Francesca that I’m trying to escape or something.

“I think all of our loved ones would at least try. That’s what people do

when they love you.”

I hope that hurt.

She gathers my hair together, beginning to pull it into a ponytail in the

middle of my head.

“Do you think he would save me, too?” she asks quietly.

She keeps her eyes downcast, leaving me bereft of her expression.

Manipulative cunt.

“I think he would save everyone,” I say. And then kill her himself.

Finally, she looks up at me, a twinkle in her eye that has my muscles

tightening.

“If he does, I’d be happy to suck his cock for it. Let him fuck me in the

ass, too, if he really wants.”

I narrow my eyes, gritting my teeth so roughly, I’m close to cracking my

molars.

“He would never touch you,” I snap. “Nor would he let you touch him.” A gleeful smile stretches across her face, and I internally slap myself for

giving her the reaction she wanted.

“I think he would once he sees how much better I am than you. I’ve been

here too long not to know how to make a man come in five seconds.”

She fashions my hair into a messy coif that I’d probably consider

beautiful if I knew that being anything but ugly is going to attract the wrong kinds of attention tonight.

The second her hands drop, I calmly stand and turn to face her. And then

I take a page out of Zade’s handbook of being a psychopath, grab her by the neck, whip her around and slam her against the vanity. Bottles of perfume and makeup brushes topple to the floor, and I hear a gasp from one of the girls behind me.

Surprise widens her dark eyes as I come nose-to-nose with her. “Keep pushing my buttons, Sydney. If you perceived me as weak, then

you’re going to get quite the fucking reality check. I put up with your shit this long because I’m sympathetic that Mommy and Daddy don’t love you, nor does Francesca. But I will not be bullied by you and continue to stay quiet.”

She seethes at me, and her true face appears from behind that fragile,

porcelain mask. The room is well lit, yet as her anger amplifies, it seems as if she pulls the shadows from the corners of the walls and shrouds them over her face. Her chin is dipped as she glares at me, but I’m not fucking scared of her.

I’ve faced far worse than her already. All it does is reignite that thrill that

I’ve been missing for so long. My adrenaline is rushing, and this—this I could get off on.

“You’re a pest, Sydney.” “And you’re going to die,” she murmurs. I laugh in her face. “Then I’ll take you down with me, bitch.” I shove her deeper into the vanity, pushing off her and causing a few

more things to knock over.

When I turn my back to her, deliberately letting her know I’m not afraid,

I find Gloria staring at me with wide eyes beneath her big glasses while Jillian gets dressed in the corner, minding her own business.

I make it two steps before Francesca’s loud footsteps bound up the steps

and into our room with a smile on her face. Sydney times it just right, creating a fake coughing fit the moment she heard Francesca coming.

And when she sees Sydney sprawled against the vanity, coughing as she

clutches her neck dramatically, I already know what she’s going to pull.

“What happened?” Francesca barks.

Sydney points at me. “She choked me! Pushed me against the vanity and

choked me.”

Francesca’s eyes turn to me, and I meet her stare head-on, making sure

to keep my face neutral.

I’m not going to get into a she started it fight and present myself as

emotionally unstable as she is.

Her brown eyes assess me closely, but the adrenaline has taken hold in

my bloodstream, and all I can feel is… elation. Heat has warmed every inch of my body, sinking low into my stomach.

If Zade were here… I force those thoughts out of my head before they sweep me away. If I let

that happen, I’d be humping the air, and not only would that be fucking embarrassing, but I’m also in the number one worst place in the world to get horny.

After a pregnant pause, Francesca meets Sydney’s stare. “You probably deserved it.” I smother the smile before it can emerge, but fuck is it hard when she

gasps loudly in response.

“Go to your room until I call you down,” she orders harshly.

Sydney rushes past me, but I feel her intention from a mile away. I step

out of her path before she can knock into me, which only serves to make her angrier. Her head whips around, and the glare she shoots my way is pure hatred before she disappears.

Clearing my throat, I lower my head. Hopefully Francesca sees it as

submission, and not a last-ditch effort to contain how pleased I am.

I feel her eyes boring into me, and a bead of sweat forms on my hairline.

Knowing the drill, Gloria and Jillian line up beside me, effectively distracting her.

“Tonight, is about having fun, but make sure you present yourselves as

ladies. Don’t act like sluts but be docile and compliant. You all are allowed one drink tonight. I won’t tolerate any of you making drunken fools out of yourselves.” She pauses. “Make me proud tonight, girls.”

Chapter 16

The Hunter

The Basilisk Brotherhood lives in a bank in a suburb of Portland.

Obviously, it was abandoned, though the sign outside the building still stands, the old name in bold blue letters. The entire front wall has been replaced with black slate, assumingly because it used to be glass when it was a business.

What’s more interesting is that they turned it into a mini skyscraper. I

know damn well this bank didn’t look this good when it was active, and it sure as shit didn’t have at least five floors on top of it.

I swing open my door and inhale my cigarette one last time before

stubbing it on the ground with my boot.

Stop littering.

Yes, baby.

I grab the butt and throw it in a little trash bag hanging in my car, the

recyclable sack full of orange filters already.

Exiting my Mustang, I slam the door shut and slowly approach the

building. The parking lot is empty, so I’m assuming their cars are hidden in a garage somewhere.

Several cameras watch me as I approach the front door. Glancing up, I

stare directly into the lens hanging above the entrance, and seconds later, the door clicks.

Two of the four brothers are waiting for me on the other side. Ryker and

Kace, the former with his arms crossed and a frown tugging on his lips, and the latter with his hands tucked into his front pockets and a stoic expression.

They both eye me closely, so I put my hands up. “I swear I’m not here to rob you. Scout’s honor,” I say with a grin. “You’d be dead already if you were.” I drop my hands, the smile on my face growing. Deciding I’ll push their

buttons one at a time instead of all at once, I remain quiet.

We’re standing in what used to be the main room; the teller station now

closed off completely. Now, it’s four walls, dimly lit with shiny gray wood

flooring and deep navy blue walls. A single black leather couch is pushed up against the wall to my left, and I imagine this is where all unwelcome or untrusted guests are vetted before they’re allowed into their home.

“You have two minutes to explain what the hell you want,” Ryker says. “Well, fuck, no pressure, right?” I widen my stance and cross my arms,

appearing at ease. “Long story short, my girl was kidnapped by the Society.

Sold off into the skin trade.”

“You’re Z, and can’t find her?” Kace challenges.

I keep my face blank as I meet his stare. His blue eyes are ice cold and

unflinching, unconcerned with questioning my skills.

“I’m capable of a lot of things, Kace,” I say quietly, unleashing a little

bit of the darkness that’s been festering inside my body. “Including finding exactly where your twin sister stays. Claremont Drive, right? Her twin girls, Kacey and Karla, are getting so big already. Eleven years old, am I right?”

He snarls and takes a step towards me, the first sign of emotion sparking

in his eyes. Ryker’s hand snaps out and lands on his chest, stopping him from advancing.

I forge on before any threats can leave their mouths. I have no interest in

Kace’s family.

“Her name is Adeline Reilly. She was taken to Dr. Garrison’s place to be

treated for injuries from a car accident—one that they caused. The doctor had a penchant for taking his patients to his room and having his way with them, except with Addie, he tried to kidnap her. He was killed by one of her kidnappers, Rio Sanchez, and when they left, they shut down the entire grid. The last thing I am is incapable, but I am also aware that the more people I have searching for her, the faster I am to find her.

“I am a patient man, but not when it comes to getting my girl back.” They’re quiet for a few beats, their brains churning. “What do you need us for?” Ryker asks finally. “You trade in human organs,” I answer. “Do you not?” Ryker tilts his head to the side, contemplating my question. “If you know that, why would you want people who are in the market for

people like your girlfriend to help you?”

I shrug casually. “You’re not going to hurt her, and I’m willing to look

the other way in the meantime.”

If I find out they are getting people killed so they can profit off of their

organs, then all bets are off. Though, I have a very strong feeling the rumors were true, and that’s not the case.

Kace shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You have extensive knowledge of the inner workings of the skin trade.

I’m sure you know exactly how to track down product if it’s being auctioned or traded,” I continue.

“What’s in it for us?” I widen my arms, the shit-eating grin back on my face. I’m empty on the

inside—nothing but white noise takes up residence, but I’ve grown accustomed to arranging my face into expressions just as easily as I can wipe my face clean of them.

“I’m a man of many talents. I’ll write an IOU on a piece of paper, and

you can tuck that in your pocket for when you need it. One-time admission.

Can’t be reused. Like a coupon.”

Kace narrows his eyes, staring at me as if I’m a little sibling begging to

play with him and his friends.

“What makes you think we’d have any use for you?” he questions dryly.

My ego—it hurts. “Crazier shit has happened,” I retort, dropping my arms.

Another pregnant pause, and I make sure to meet both of their gazes, not

the least bit bothered by their intimidation tactics.

Ryker jerks his head towards the door, grumbling, “Follow me.” Kace stares at his brother, communicating something with his eyes that I

don’t care to interpret. Whatever silent conversation passes between them lasts all of three seconds before Kace gives in and follows after Ryker without argument.

But not before throwing a suspicious look over his shoulder.

Who hurt you, bro?

I don’t care to find that out, either.

A fingerprint scanner is built into the door handle, the machine chirping

when Ryker’s print is recognized.

I follow them through the door, and my brows shoot up my forehead.

I’ve walked into a bachelor’s wet dream.

The room is gigantic and completely open, with the ceiling scaling up at

least a hundred feet. The entire area is washed in browns and blacks and

made up of only four walls. A staircase on the far right leads to a balcony that completely circles the building, housing dozens of doors and a black elevator on the back left side. The upper four floors have their own floating balconies, too, and I wonder what the fuck do they need all this space for.

Scratch that—I don’t care.

Oh, but I might care about that. A massive vault is straight ahead, the

door painted black. My curiosity piques, wondering what’s beyond it.

I whistle, impressed and maybe even a tad jealous of their get-up. “Human organs pay well, don’t they?” I muse. “Shut up,” Kace bites out, heading for one of the black leather couches

where a shirtless Daire lounges casually, knees spread wide.

I do a double take when I see a chain coiled around his hand, leading

directly to a collar fastened around a girl’s throat, who is currently kneeling at his feet. Only a black band covers her tits, the rest of her body is fully exposed. Her head is bowed, and her hands rest neatly on her pale thighs. A curtain of black hair obscures her face from view, and I can’t tell if that’s intentional or not.

I think Addie would sooner rip my balls off before she’d ever kneel at

my feet. Lucky for her, I’d gladly kneel at hers. Kiss her little toes while I’m at it, too. Eventually, my mouth would lead up between her legs, but I don’t think she’d mind that part.

Daire grins at me, the piercings above his brow glinting from the

crackling flames in the fireplace next to him. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered by my presence, though that doesn’t erase the spark of challenge in his eyes.

Slade sits on the opposite side, his dark blond head turning to glare at me

over the top of the couch.

Such hostility. “I’ve agreed to help him,” Ryker announces, taking a seat beside Daire.

He doesn’t even glance at the girl, and I assume he’s used to Daire’s sexual habits by now.

“Yeah? What’s he doing for us?” Slade asks, his question directed at his

brother, yet his dark eyes stay glued to me.

“Oh,” I say, holding up a finger for them to hang on. I twist around until

I find a piece of paper and pen on an end table, write the letters I, O, U on it, and hand it to him.

He looks at the paper with bewilderment, turning his glare back up to

me.

“First off, don't write on people’s shit. Secondly, you’re fucking kidding

me, right? We don’t need you.”

I grin. Is he nervous that I might find hemorrhoid cream on his receipts,

too? He should know I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me what Slade spends his money on.

“You can act like my skills wouldn’t benefit the business you four are

conducting, but that won’t get you very far.”

He crumples the paper and throws it in the fire, and I can’t help but

chuckle in response. Their attitudes don’t bother me—it’s expected when a stranger comes busting into their lives making demands.

But they will fucking help me, whether they want to or not. “You’ll have to let me know the source of these rumors,” Ryker cuts in.

“The last thing we want is word getting out.”

“I’ll point you to the forums they’re posted on. You can handle it from

there, yeah?”

Ryker nods. “They’re dangerous.” “Because they’re true,” I finish, already understanding the ramifications

that can have. They have a process, and it’s built off their reputation.

“You trust him?” Slade asks, raising a brow.

Ryker shrugs, unconcerned. “There’s one of him, and four of us.” My top lip pulls over my teeth, just as unconcerned. I settle into the

couch next to Slade, earning a glare that I dutifully ignore. Not hard when it’s like a chihuahua growling at you.

“So, if you’re not bad guys, how the hell do you traffic in organs…

politely?”

“We handle the extraction process of the organs before selling them. If

they’re already deceased, we purchase the body for an inflated price, remove the valuable organs and discard the rest. Then sell the organs in the market. If they’re alive, we send them home.”

He pauses, waiting for a reaction he’s not going to receive. I keep quiet,

and after another beat, he continues.

“Daire is the one who understands the trading system best. Locates the

product and keeps track of what’s going in and out of the market,” Ryker

informs me. Oddly, I’m surprised by that. Daire winks at me, the corner of his lips still curled up.

“Slade is our negotiator and accountant. Sets up the deals, negotiates

prices, and handles the money. Kace removes and preserves the organs. And I conduct the deals once terms have been agreed to. Our priority is to intercept humans who are being sacrificed for their organs and get them back home.”

“But you do sell people’s organs?” I clarify. “Absolutely, but who we sell to provides a service to families in

desperate need. People who have been on waiting lists for transplants or those who can’t properly afford it with our current healthcare system.

Doesn’t matter if it’s underground, they still go to good people who deserve it. The black market is full of evil, but not all of us are. It’s only necessary we appear that way.”

“If you’re only extracting organs from the dead, are you saying you only

sell bone and skin? Doesn’t seem like a profitable business.”

Ryker and Slade glance at each other, a short conversation trading

between them. I arch a brow, waiting for their decision.

Slade turns to me. “Kace used to be a mortician. He’s not a doctor, which

is why we went to Dr. Garrison for serious injuries, but outside of his mortuary knowledge, he’s well-versed on how to painlessly put someone to sleep.”

“For good,” I say, filling in what he didn’t say. “Yes.” I glance between Ryker and Slade, narrowing my eyes as I figure out

what exactly they’re trying to say. Daire is now petting the girl’s hair, zoned out of our conversation.

“You assist in suicides.” Slade’s stare turns grave. “Consensually. These are people who have a

low quality of life. Whether they’re terminally ill, old and tired, or suffering from other mental illnesses. Whatever their reason, it’s their choice, and they agree to donate their organs. Kace puts them in a deep sleep, extracts the organs, and then they pass. Completely painless.”

I nod my head slowly, turning that information over in my head. People

often only care about life when it’s inside of a woman’s stomach but stop

caring once that life is born. Makes me wonder if people choose this route because they couldn't get the help they needed.

I purse my lips, then state, “Oregon is a state that passed the Death with

Dignity Act.”

“The people who come to us are not from the states who have passed

that law. In order to qualify for a physician-assisted death, you have to prove your residency,” Slade explains.

“And the money you get for their organs—where does it go?” “Depends on their wishes. Sometimes they ask it to go to the family, and

we honor that. But in most cases, whether it’s because they are not on good terms with their family or they don’t have any at all, they don’t care what we do with it, as long as it’s helping someone.”

Ryker cuts in, “It’s a stable income, and they pass with dignity when

they otherwise would not be able to. It also allows us to maintain our secrecy. As much as we want to be like the big, bad Z and go around killing all the evil guys, they’re the ones who deliver the victims directly into our hands so we can save them.”

I cock my head. “The little girl that was shot. How did that happen?” Shadows fall over Ryker’s eyes, darkening them to a moss green. “That’s

how one of the traders brought her to us. He didn’t say how it happened, just that she was now useless and that we could sell her organs since she was going to die, anyway.”

In this corner of the world, even the dead are valuable. “If you killed them, that’s one less person capable of stealing innocent

people from their lives. One less child getting shot and sold for their organs.”

Ryker leans forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees. “We do, when we’re able to, which is why our reputation as ruthless,

murderous assholes is important. But if every single tradesman in the black market were killed, it would raise suspicions. The second that happens, we’re out. We don’t have a worldwide organization like you, we’re only four men. This means if people catch on to us, that’s thousands of lives we don’t save. You know as well as I do that they’re parasites and breed like rabbits. Snuffing out a few doesn’t even put a dent in the cesspool of sick fucks. We save more lives this way, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have our fair share of blood on our hands.”

I nod, pursing my lips. “Fair enough,” I concede. “Good thing you have

a mass organization at your disposal now. Maybe hold on to the next IOU paper, yeah? You can even sell it on eBay after—those are valuable.”

Slade tightens his lips and looks away. “Fuck off, smartass.”

Chapter 17

The Diamond

If it weren’t for the collar wrapped around my throat, I’d consider

swiping one of the guest’s pocketknives and slipping out the back door, disappearing into the night. I’d cut the tracking device out of my neck, and take off, uncaring if I’m wearing nothing to protect me from the elements.

I’d rather die alone in the middle of the woods than at the hands of a sex trafficker.

And Francesca knows that. She knows all of us would risk that. That’s

why simple black metal collars with a ruby pendant in the middle are currently dressing our throats. Something she made very clear houses another tracking device—one that can’t be removed without a key.

The house is engulfed in distraction and glamor. So many men, dressed

to the nines with hundreds of thousands of dollars dripping from their icy wrists. So many opportunities to slip away unnoticed while eyes are turned.

I never understood why the sickest of humanity go out of their way to

appear the prettiest. You can throw glitter on a snake, but the bitch still bites.

“You look beautiful,” a deep voice whispers in my ear from behind me. I

startle, turning to find Xavier, a salacious grin on his face.

Francesca ordered us to mingle with the men, so I’ve been camping out

in the living room. Even with all the cleaning we did, the house still reeks of despair. Too much horror is caked into the crevices, and no amount of scrubbing will ever free this place of it.

I force a smile, stepping away from him an inch and dipping my chin.

Heat washes throughout my body, but not the kind that feels good. It feels like when you’ve got a stomach bug and are stuck in a car—the cold sweat is sickening.

“Thank you,” I say, loosening my voice. His stare is intense as he sweeps

my curves slowly, taking his time. Naturally, I want to dropkick him in the balls and run. I can only stand there and take it, though. Straight and tall, refusing to curl in on myself like he wants. It’s the only defiance I can

muster other than grabbing the champagne flute in his hand and breaking it across his face.

Relax, little mouse.

He didn’t catch me tonight, so he doesn’t get to punish me. However, I

have a dreadful feeling that Francesca will gladly allow this man to touch me, regardless.

Which means I need to play nice. “You were incredible today, despite the little distraction that vile girl

caused,” he says pleasantly. I can tell that he’s trying to insert warmth into his presence, but it feels like sticking my hand into a fireplace that hasn’t been used in centuries.

“Though I must admit, the Culling always seemed counterproductive to

me,” he continues. “Even if it is fun.”

Clearing my throat softly, I ask, “May I ask why?” He grins as if he sees straight through the thin façade. “It teaches you

how to run away from us. It’s been a tradition for centuries, but if you ask me, I’d prefer my women to be incapable of getting away.”

I nod my head slowly. “That makes sense,” I admit.

And really, it does.

The Culling is designed to test our endurance. I get that. If we’re too

weak and broken, we’ll be lifeless little things, resulting in them constantly having to replace us. It’s designed to break us mentally—spiritually. Induce terror and hope of escape, just to be dragged back again.

Nonetheless, Xavier is right, too. It does teach us how to run.

He takes a step closer to me, his woodsy cologne burning my sinuses as

he invades my space. I want to tell him to get the fuck out of my no-no square, but I can’t imagine that going over well.

Try as I might, I can’t stop my limbs from stiffening, and my shoulders

from hiking up an inch. My fingers twitch with the need to curl into fists, but I refrain.

“Tell me, Adeline, would you run from me if I made you mine?” God, yes. I’d run until my feet were worn down to the bone. Even then,

I’d still run.

“Of course not,” I answer, keeping my voice quiet.

He chuckles, a mixture of amusement and condescension. Hot breath

fans across the side of my face as he leans in close, his coarse beard

scraping against the shell of my ear.

“You wouldn’t be able to, even if you wanted to,” he whispers. “You

wouldn’t be able to stand. Your legs would be shaking too badly from how hard I fuck you.”

A hand drifting across my backside accompanies his words. I close my

eyes, searching for the strength to not tremble beneath his touch. To not run the hell away from him and pray to the She-Devil above that he never finds me.

“Does that sound good, diamond? Do you think you’d even remember Z

after I’m done with you?”

My eyes snap open, and red clouds my vision. This time, I do tremble,

but only from rage.

God? I need you right now. I need you to bestow whatever voodoo shit

you got up your sleeve, so I don't fucking murder this man.

He leans back, his cold gaze searching my face for a reaction. I look

away, incapable of keeping the fire from my eyes, and firmly keep my mouth shut.

What the fuck does he expect me to say to that? Yes, pedo master, I

would forget all about Zade and only think of you and your small, puny cock.

Fuck out of here, dickhead.

He grunts out another sound of amusement, and I bite the inside of my

cheek until the taste of copper fills my mouth. And then I bite harder.

"Answer me," he clips. "No," I whisper, casting my gaze down to conceal the lie. "I think it

would be very difficult to think of anything else but you."

And how much I want to kill you. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice hitching with excitement. "Yeah," I squeak, right as his hand roughly grips my ass, jerking me

deeper into his broad chest. My muscles tighten impossibly further, feeling his length digging into my stomach. Revulsion twists my insides, and I swear it'll be some form of justice if I just allow the vomit to spew right in his face.

He rolls his hips into me, and just as I'm reaching my snapping point,

someone clears their throat loudly from behind me.

Xavier releases me, and I take a few steps away, immediately correcting

my disheveled dress from his groping. When I risk a glance up, I find Rio standing beside me, hands linked behind his back and a neutral expression on his face.

"Excuse my intrusion," he says, bowing his head for a moment. "I'm

required to change the dressings on her back before the event. It's also time for you to head into the red room," he informs, his tone clinical but pleasant.

Xavier straightens his jacket, casting me a look I refuse to meet. It burns

the side of my face as he dips his chin in acknowledgment, before taking off. Flicking my eyes to Rio again, he nods his head towards the kitchen entryway, which leads back toward a bathroom.

Still shaking, I follow in step, hoping I'm not too unsteady and roll my

ankles in these heels. Francesca would probably reopen my stitches herself from a stupid mistake like that.

Even after we enter the bathroom, we keep quiet, and he shuts the door

behind us. My shoulders relax a smidge now that we’re alone.

I wonder when Rio started feeling safe.

But I'll admit, I'm grateful. He's not an ally by any means, but he's the

least of my enemies in this fucking house.

“What the hell is the red room?” I question.

Rio glances at me. “A room in the back of the house full of tarp and

torture devices. I’m sure you can conclude why they’ve dubbed it the red room,” he answers dryly.

I swallow. “Are they… taking Phoebe and Bethany back there?” I ask. “Yes. It’s only used for those who fail the Culling.” My chest clenches and my stomach twists. They’re doing unspeakable

things to them right now, and that makes me fucking sick.

“Turn around,” he demands.

I narrow my eyes, not appreciating the way he’s ordering me around.

Noting the look on my face, he sighs, and says, “Por favor.”

Flattening my lips, I turn. "Why did you save me anyway?" I ask quietly, peeking over my

shoulder to watch him dig out the first aid kit from beneath the sink and set it on the yellowed countertop. I'm sure they were white back in their heyday.

"What makes you think I saved you?" he counters, glancing at me as he

digs out bandages and Neosporin. "You're going to have to lift up your dress."

I sigh, doing as he asks. I know the drill with him, and this isn't the first

time I’ve had to expose my body so he can change the bandages. I hike the dress up underneath my armpits, and it makes me sad how desensitized I’ve become to baring myself to men.

I’m wearing a thong, but that might as well be nothing with how scrappy

it is. Slowly, he unlaces the corset, and with each loop undone, I can breathe a little easier. When it falls from my torso, I suck in a deep breath, the bliss almost painful. My stomach is red and indented from how tightly Francesca laced it.

“You have to re-lace that, you know,” I tell him.

He grunts. “Then you better be nice. I can make that tighter than she

did.”

A shiver rolls down my spine when his fingers brush against me, picking

at the tape until he catches the edge and peels the old bandages from my skin.

"So, you're going to act like needing to change these wasn't intentional?"

I prod. "You just changed them before the party." Which was only two hours ago.

"Would you like me to leave you next time?" he volleys back, his tone

tight and a tad impatient.

"No," I whisper. "Then accept it for what it is and shut the fuck up about it." I snap my mouth closed. This time, I have no problem listening to his

demands. Regardless of him wanting to admit it, he saw Xavier getting handsy, and stepped in. Something that is very unlike a human trafficker to do. I'd rather just be grateful for the intrusion than question him, and then he never does it again.

Lord fucking knows this won't be the last time a man will get too handsy.

And that knowledge makes my skin crawl.

Rio is the reason I'm in this situation to begin with. Or at least one of the

reasons. He played a massive role in it, and that's something I'll never forget. But I also won’t forget the little bits of kindness he showed me when he'll soon be facing the barrel of Zade's gun.

I don’t know if I can spare his life, but I'll try to make sure his death is

quick.

Clearing my throat, I wet my dry lips. “Are you going to help Phoebe

and Bethany, too?”

He sighs. “I can’t help them.” I snarl. “So, that’s it? You’re going to stand by and do nothing while two

innocent girls are being raped and tortured?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and it seems I’ve managed to strike a

nerve.

“That’s who I am, baby. A bad, bad man with no remorse.” Liar. If he felt no remorse, we wouldn’t be in this bathroom right now,

cleaning a wound that didn’t need it.

“Why do you do it?” I ask in a whisper, hissing when the alcohol hits a

sore spot. “Is it for the money?”

He scoffs. “I don’t give a shit about money. Can’t take it with me when

I’m dead, so what good is it to me?”

“Then, why?” I push. He sighs, ripping open a fresh package of gauze. “You’re not the only one who’s enslaved to powerful people,” he clips

shortly, his tone signaling the end of this conversation. But I don’t listen.

“Zade is going to kill you, and you know this. So, if you know you’re

going to die anyway, then why continue?”

He slaps a strip of tape on me a bit harshly, growing frustrated with my

needling.

“Puñeta. How about you use that pretty little head of yours, and figure it

out,” he snaps, his accent deepening with anger. “If someone doesn’t stay for their own life, what else could make them stay?”

My face drops as realization dawns. “They’re using someone against

you,” I breathe. “Family?”

“My little sister,” he grumbles. “As long as I’m a good boy, she won’t be

sold.”

A knot forms between my brows. “Why not just take off with her and

run?”

“Because I can’t take her. They have her and I can’t get to her,

comprende? You done playing twenty questions, or should I tell you about how I lost my virginity, too?”

I clamp my mouth shut. He’s given me more than enough. It’s not fair of

me to keep pushing.

Rio finishes up, placing fresh gauze over my stitches. "These are about ready to come out," he says, stepping back to discard

the trash and put away the kit. Then, he bends and grabs the corset, fashioning it back around my waist and quickly tying it up, leaving it considerably looser than Francesca did.

Once he’s finished, I release my dress, fixing it as an awkward silence

compresses the air around us.

"Thank you," I say quickly, the words burning my tongue on the way

out.

He glances at me. "Don't thank me yet, princesa." He opens the door and exits the bathroom without another word, leaving

me to my own devices. My heart pounds, not liking how fucking ominous that sounded. Then, his excuse to Xavier smacks me over the side of the head.

I need to change her dressings before the event.

What fucking event? Didn't we already have one? Isn't this the afterparty

to the event?

Dread replaces the marrow in my bones, and as I walk out of the

bathroom and back toward the living room, I realize the Culling was only a preliminary event. A few men linger in the corners of the living room, drinking and laughing, looking every bit unconcerned with life. And the girls are gathered in the center, shoulders high and eyes cast down.

With the exception of Sydney, of course. She wears her defiance on her

sleeves. Directly meeting the gazes of all the onlookers and even going as far as to smile at them.

I stand beside Jillian and keep my voice as low as possible as I ask,

"What's happening?"

Her eyes flicker to me, and I note how ashen her skin is. "The worst part of the entire night," she whispers back. Anxiety mingles

with the dread, merging in my system until I'm nothing but a ball of frayed nerves. Is this what she was trying to tell me to prepare for in the woods?

Just as I open my mouth to ask more questions, loud screaming reaches

my ears. My teeth click and then grind when the sound gradually increases.

My heart pounds and my palms slicken. That's Phoebe and Bethany, and whatever is about to happen, it's bad.

Really fucking bad.

I grow nervous and fidgety, confused about what's happening, but still

desperate to never find out.

Yet their screeching heads straight for us, almost painful to the ears. Two

men are dragging them in by their hair, completely naked and bloodied beyond recognition. Since Ben is dead, the one handling Phoebe has thick black hair and a beard, appearing just as ruthless as his partners. And the one handling Bethany is a skinny, older man with thin lips and glasses.

I barely manage to stifle a gasp, incapable of feeling anything outside of

horror and panic. Jillian and Gloria shift uncomfortably, both on the verge of tears. Sydney watches them with cool detachment, even as they're tossed at our feet.

Phoebe and Bethany lay there, nearly lifeless. Vomit climbs further up

my throat, glimpsing the mutilation they've suffered. I have to look away, physically unable to stomach it. Limbs and skin are missing. Pieces of their body have been cut and completely removed. Blood steadily pools beneath them, the puddle growing larger until it begins to seep beneath our feet.

"They're all yours, girls!" the black-haired man announces proudly,

heaving from the exertion and excitement. Blood paints their clothing, and while everyone’s eyes are alit with excitement, these two, in particular, look like they’re riding a high. Most likely from torturing two young girls.

Their slacks are still undone, shirts unbuttoned, and hair ruffled. Sweat

drips from the tip of the black-haired man’s nose, while the other has pit stains marring his white shirt.

I take in all these details with wide eyes, my brain slow to process what's

going on.

Francesca walks in a moment later, staring down at the girls with her lip

curled. Then she trains her gaze on us, appearing calm and collected. She's seen so much—done so much. Does nothing faze her anymore?

"Thank you, gentlemen, for bringing them in here," Francesca says

kindly.

Gloria breaks first, turning and slapping a hand over her mouth. Tears

stream from her eyes as she gags beneath her palm. A fire lights in Francesca's eyes, her head whipping towards the mousy girl.

"Don't you dare vomit on my floor, little girl. I will cut your tongue from

your mouth," she hisses, her makeup cracking from the tension in her face.

Gloria nods her head, though her face is green and she's still on the

precipice of losing it altogether. All I can do is chant to myself over and over not to puke and completely lose my shit.

Francesca approaches, making sure to keep her precious heels out of the

blood. She stares at us with an unreadable expression.

“You will take them outside, and you will put them out of their misery.” My eyes widen, and Sydney giggles from beside me. It takes effort not

to whip my hand out and slap her in the mouth.

“What do you mean?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I

feel instant regret when all eyes turn to me.

“It means,” Francesca snarls through gritted teeth, “that you will end

their miserable existence. And then you will dig their graves and hope to God that you aren’t next.”

Chapter 18

The Diamond

My thoughts are running through mud. I’m slow to process her words,

even as Rocco and one of his friends break through the crowd of guests and scoop up the girls in their arms, before heading for the door.

My mouth is hanging open, speechless and horrified as I watch the other

girls slowly begin to follow after them.

This isn’t real.

This can’t be real.

But when I meet Francesca’s golden-brown eyes, blank and dull, I

realize that there’s no escaping this nightmare.

“Go,” she mouths. Blinking, my body follows her command and heads

toward the door. But I can’t feel it. It’s an out-of-body experience—I’m only capable of watching myself go through the motions. My feet carry me down the porch steps and to the back of the house where the bonfire still rages, the flames licking the frigid air. Flickers of orange light lash across the night sky, clouds of smoke curling up from the orange glow.

Guests pour out of the house behind me, their excitable chattering rising

above the crickets. The air has a pulse to it, thrumming with anticipation and glee, but that’s all wrong.

Two girls are dying tonight, yet all that coats my tongue is the rapture of

their glorious deaths.

Phoebe and Bethany are thrown to the ground, their wails heightening

from the impact. Tension lines the muscles in my legs, weighing me down and making it nearly impossible to line up with the other three girls in formation.

We stand before them, various emotions clogging the space between us.

Resignation and enthusiasm from Jillian and Sydney respectively, but Gloria and I look at each other, absolutely petrified for what’s to come.

Francesca stands on the other side of the bonfire, deep shadows, and

bright red accentuating her features. A demon risen from Hell.

“These girls were deemed unworthy in the Culling,” Francesca

announces loudly. The men quieten, and I imagine it’s the only time they’ve been inclined to shut up and listen to a woman speak.

“For centuries, we’ve carried on this tradition. In our world, only the

strongest can survive. Only those who can endure and persevere no matter what we throw their way. These girls standing before you—they are worthy of you. And they will prove their worth to you by snuffing out those that were not good enough.”

Francesca’s dark eyes turn to us expectantly, but all I can do is stare.

I see Rocco advance towards us, large stones in his hands. Sydney grabs

for hers quickly, nearly vibrating with delight.

He stares down at me with expectation, a delighted look on his face.

Reluctantly, I grab a rock, surprised by how heavy it is.

Jillian and Gloria grab for theirs, quivering hands curling over hard

stone. A tear drips down Gloria’s cherub cheeks.

Noticing it, Rocco leans down, grabs her by the cheeks, and licks her

tears; his disgusting tongue sliding up the entirety of her face. She squeals in response, and Rocco snickers darkly.

“Show me one more tear, little girl. I’ll be happy to throw you down next

to them.”

“Don’t make me do this,” she pleads quietly, barely above a whisper. Her

entire body is quaking in his palms.

“Do you prefer to be the one throwing the stone or to be the one beneath

it? Choose now.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head, accepting her fate silently.

Pleased, Rocco forcefully pushes her away and stands beside Francesca,

chest puffed, and hands clasped behind his back. As if he’s a soldier honoring the death of his comrade.

A black hole swirls in my chest, eating up anything good left inside of

me. I glare at the duo, the fire in my eyes fiercer and brighter than the one before me.

I can’t decide which I’m more eager to kill. Him, or his sister.

A collective silence ensues, the energy thick and heavy. Not even a

cricket chirps, as if the wildlife can feel the tension, too.

Sydney breaks first, cocking her arm and hitting Phoebe with the rock on

her shoulder, directly over one of her wounds, a savage cackle echoing in

the air.

I wince, my horror growing as she swings mindlessly. Phoebe’s cries

reach my ears mere seconds later, and finally, I react on instinct. I push Sydney to the side, ignoring her outraged wail when she lands awkwardly on her hand holding the rock.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jillian and Gloria kneel, raising their

hands and bringing the rock down on Bethany’s head—attempting to give her a quick death.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and my heart races. I quickly roll

Phoebe to her side, blurring out her extensive injuries.

Sydney clambers to her knees, rushing toward the both of us with

murder in her eyes. Growling, I whip my rock directly at her head, ignoring Francesca’s sharp gasp as the rock strikes true, knocking the crazy bitch out cold.

Turning my attention back to Phoebe, I carefully gather her in my arms,

cradling her head in the juncture of my shoulder and curling myself over her.

“I will not let you suffer,” I whisper in her ear, desperately and rushed. A

hot tear breaks free, burning a path down my cheek. “You saved me, Phoebe. You were so fucking strong and brave, and you will always be my hero. Do you hear me?”

“I… I h-hear you,” she chokes, sobs racking her chest. Inhaling deeply, I

lunge for a branch in the pit, barely feeling the flames licking at my flesh.

Rocco rushes towards me, but it’s too late. I’m jabbing the sharp tip of

the branch deep into her jugular. Phoebe convulses beneath me, blood pouring from her neck in rivulets. I hold on to her tightly, but I cannot say the same for my shattering soul.

A sob bursts from my throat, and I press my forehead against hers,

hardly feeling the blood soaking my skin.

Tears of sorrow and rage track down my cheeks, and all I can do is just

squeeze her harder, rocking us back and forth as she dies in my arms.

“Sleep, Phoebe,” I whisper against her, my voice cracking. “Go to sleep

now.”

Nearly as quickly as it began, she stills. But I can’t let her go. I weep

into her lifeless body, battling with relief that she’s no longer suffering, and despair that she had to die at all.

Someone’s daughter died today.

And all I can hope is that whoever loved her, will forgive me for being

the one to take her from them.

Two Months Later

I twirl the tube of red lipstick until it’s completely exposed. Carefully, I

apply it to the bow of my top lip, taking great care to stay within the lines.

Then, I move to my bottom lip before rubbing them together and

popping them.

I stare at my reflection, hardly recognizing the person staring back at me.

Black circles rim the underside of my eyes, and I remind myself to put extra concealer there before I meet with Xavier tonight. He only likes to see how exhausted I am after he fucks me.

I haven’t been placed up for auction yet. Francesca says I’m almost

ready and that when the time comes, Xavier will ensure he is the highest bidder.

It’s unofficially official that he will be my master. Because of this,

Francesca has allowed him to visit me once a week for the past month.

Tonight will be the fourth night that we spend together. Afterwards, I’ll

curl up into a ball while Rio cleans me up. Xavier gets off on drawing blood, and now that I’m essentially spoken for, he’s allowed to mark me.

Within reason, Francesca says, but honestly—what’s reasonable about any of this?

I hold the lipstick up and wonder if it’s the color of my blood that excites

Xavier or the feel of his knife breaking past that weak barrier of skin.

I drop my hand and meet my caramel eyes in the mirror.

When’s the last time I genuinely smiled? The last night I was with Zade,

I think. How long ago was that? I believe it's January now, and the last time I saw him was not too long after Satan’s Affair. I’ve missed my first holidays with him. Thanksgiving and Christmas, and maybe his birthday,

although I don’t even know when that is. My New Year’s kiss was Xavier’s dick down my throat, and if I didn’t have a desire to kill myself before, I did then.

What had Zade said to make me grin? He had said something ridiculous,

but I can’t recall what it was anymore. I do remember him laughing when I struggled for a response. And I remember my traitorous lips tipping up, as much as I tried not to.

I wish I never suppressed my smiles with him. Because now I don’t

know if I’m capable of one anymore.

The muscles in my face twitch as I force the corners of my mouth up,

stretching it wide and baring all of my teeth. Despite how hard I try, it doesn’t reach my dead eyes. It’s unnatural. Awkward.

Terrifying.

I smooth out my face, contemplating how I can smile again. “Duh, Addie,” I whisper. “You know how to do it.” I lift the lipstick and place it on the corner of my lip and draw it out

across my cheek, curving it up towards my eyes. Then the other side, until a big red smile is painted across my face.

The Joker had the right idea, I decide.

Feeling slightly better, I cap the tube and let it roll across the floor.

Heavy footsteps travel down the hallway and toward my room.

My heart speeds up, and I wonder if Francesca will let me keep my

smile. Just for a night.

But the second she walks up behind me and spots what I did, her eyes

widen. Her hand flies out and smacks into the side of my head, sending me toppling over.

“What is wrong with you?” she hisses.

I brush the strands of my hair out of my face, looking up at her outraged

expression.

“I’m sorry, Francesca,” I say quietly. “I just wanted to smile.” She huffs. “You need to keep it together. I don’t need another fucking

Sydney on my hands. You are mere weeks away from being sold off, diamond. Don’t you dare ruin this for me.”

I frown and nod my head, apologizing again. It looks funny with my face

painted the opposite.

“Wipe that shit off and get ready. Xavier will be here in ten minutes.”

Sad. No smiles for me tonight.

A deep shuddering breath fans across my face, his excitement growing as

the sharp bite of metal digs into my stomach. He hasn’t broken skin yet, though my pain receptors are screaming at me like he has.

“I want to see you covered in red, diamond,” Xavier whispers from

above me, his hard length poised at my entrance.

I am covered in red. He’s made so many cuts around my body that I’ve

turned the white bedsheets scarlet.

It’s never enough for him.

A whimper falls past my lips when I feel him push inside of me, and my

gag reflex threatens to spew bile all over him. There’s nothing in my stomach. Francesca doesn’t allow me to eat much on the days he visits— she says that she doesn’t want me to get bloated.

“You like feeling me don’t you, baby?” I screw my eyes shut and nod, though it’s the furthest from the truth.

He invades my body like a parasite would, an unwelcome tenant that

leeches from my life force to feed his own.

The sharp point of his knife finally breaks skin, and his blade glides

across my stomach, drawing out a sharp yelp. Blood bubbles from the wound, and he moves his hips faster in response.

“Fuck, that’s so pretty,” he groans breathlessly.

A tear slips past my eye, and I pray he’s too distracted to notice. He only

cuts me deeper when I cry.

He wants me to writhe beneath the piercing metal and get off on the pain

as he does. He wants me to enjoy this, and when he sees that I’m not, it makes him angry. He says I just need to get used to it—I just need to adjust.

But I don’t know how anyone could get used to being sliced open like a fucking pig.

Another cry leaves my lips when he finds a new spot and starts applying

pressure—slowly—as if he’s giving me time to get accustomed.

I’d rather he just get it the fuck over with but I think he knows that.

He thrusts harder, causing his knife to slip and cut me deep. Pinching my

eyes shut, I inhale sharply. Xavier shudders while my soul cracks.

I don’t think Xavier plans to keep me for long. How could he when I will

eventually bleed out?

“Once I take you home with me,” he pants, “I’m going to drink that

fucking blood. Dine on it at all hours of the day.”

My stomach revolts and I nearly gag again. The picture he’s painting in

my head is vile and disturbing. He might as well declare himself as a cannibal or an aspiring-vampire.

Noting the abhorrence twisted into my features, he snarls and moves his

blade to my throat.

“This vein right here? One little slice, and I could drink from you until

you’re nothing more than a wilted corpse. Do you want that?”

Yes. God, please, let me die. Here and now, and I’ll be fucking happy. “No,” I choke out, my voice tight with pain. I wouldn’t dare tell him to

do it because then he won’t. Xavier would never go as far as to give me what I actually fucking want. Especially because he knows it isn’t him.

“Then tell me you want me,” he demands, as if hearing my thoughts. “I want you,” I immediately echo, though it rings hollow. He wants to

claim a place in my heart, but that place is a vacuum of emptiness that he will never be capable of filling.

He snarls, hearing the vacancy in my voice, and buries himself inside

me. Though if he thinks he’s deep, I’d hate for him to see the size of Zade.

The only reason his cock will ever cause me pain is purely because it’s

attached to him.

Working to swallow, I suck my trembling lip between my teeth.

Maliciousness sprouts in his blue eyes, and it’s like watching him pull a black coat over them, the bright color shrouded beneath the darkness.

His hand travels down the planes of my stomach, pausing to dig his

thumb into a wound and wring a cry from my throat, before continuing down. He swirls his fingers over my flesh in a taunting manner, an evil smirk curling his lips.

There’s a little sponge in my windpipe, collecting hatred like water and

swelling until my throat is hermetically sealed.

Lightly, he brushes across my center, his eyes sparkling as his fingers

find that spot that has my muscles tensing.

“Oh, God,” I breathe, more tears burning the backs of my eyes. I hate

that spot—yet another thing he’s aware of.

His eyes blaze, excitement radiating from him. “Tell me again,” he orders, his voice dipped in sin. I close my eyes,

imagining a scarred face with devilish yin-yang eyes, grinning at me from beneath his hood.

Working to swallow, I rasp out, “I want you.” It takes effort not to crack when I hear him groan. It’s all wrong. He

sounds wrong, he feels wrong, he’s just… fucking wrong. He smiles when he hears it and rubs harder.

“Say my name, diamond,” he demands.

I set my jaw in response.

I’ll never say it. Never.

He’s been trying since he started visiting, and every effort has been

wasted.

When I keep my mouth firmly glued shut, he starts thrusting again while

continuing to stimulate me. My body tenses, a traitorous feeling congregating in the pit of my stomach. Still, I keep silent, refusing to relinquish more than I already have.

Xavier thinks I’ve given him nothing, but that’s not true. I’ve given him

everything—he just finds no value in what he’s taken from me.

The smooth, unmarked skin he mutilates.

The fragments of my sanity that chip away with every brush of his skin,

and every whispered omen of the day I will be his.

My ability to touch and be touched without wanting to slit my throat

open.

My dignity, self-esteem, and the comfort within my body.

My fucking worth.

All meaningless.

Because what he really wants is every broken piece of my soul, and for

me to cherish every broken piece of his.

But my soul is already spoken for—already claimed by a wicked man

with every intention to keep it to himself. And I suppose he’s given me his in return.

I’m just not sure what the fuck to do with it now.

“You’ll say it one day, diamond. You have the rest of your life with me,”

he promises.

My legs clench around his hips as he fucks me harder, bending down to

drag his tongue across my nipple. I grit my teeth, the bile rising in my throat.

“This is mine,” he groans. “All of this is mine.” His teeth close over the abused peak, biting until my vision blackens

with agony, and a scream is tearing from my throat. Even then, he doesn’t relent. Not until blood leaks through the cracks of his teeth, and I’m begging for the knife instead.

What a tragedy.

Finally, he releases me, a smear of crimson staining his bottom lip. His

eyes are dilated as he pumps his hips faster, his ministrations on my clit quickening.

Gradually, it pulls me away from the fire lancing through the peak of my

breast. I inhale sharply—a staccato breath full of sorrow.

The orgasm ravages my body, and oh look—there it goes. Another piece

of my sanity.

“I’m getting really tired of looking at fucking Neosporin,” Rio says from

behind me.

Xavier just left for the night. He was particularly brutal, slicing over the

healed scars on my back and all across my breasts and stomach. He pushes it a little farther every time.

They said the Culling is designed to weed out those who have endurance

—who can survive anything. But I’m not sure I’ll survive another night with him.

“Sorry,” I mumble, too exhausted to snap at him. My eyes are pinned on

the dozens of tally marks carved into the nightstand, and it’s only depressing me more.

“You’re giving up, princesa,” he sighs, dropping the first aid kit on the

bed. He started calling me that after the Culling, now sounding more like an

endearment than an insult.

Francesca never did relieve him of taking care of me, and neither of us

have bothered to stop it. It will never be said aloud, but I think we both find solace in one another.

“What do you care?” I grouse, training my eyes on the wall. He grabs a

few paper towels and lightly pads the wounds on my back, soaking up the blood. They just started to scab over from the last time.

Turns out, Francesca didn’t need to be worried about my scars from the

car accident. I got lucky enough to find someone who happens to enjoy the sight of them, and then some.

I’m still completely nude, but I’ve grown accustomed to being naked in

front of men considering it happens all the fucking time now. All because I live with a psycho bitch.

Sydney was particularly pissed about me knocking her out the night of

the Culling, so she attempted to cut off my hair with scissors in retaliation.

Luckily, Jillian stepped in, and she only earned herself a punishment.

Since then, she has made it her personal mission to frame me for the

stupidest shit any chance she gets—drawing on the walls like a toddler, breaking dishes, dropping food, and ruining clothing in the beauty room.

Most of the time, I think Francesca knows it wasn’t me, but she’s grown

tired of the incessant squabbling and takes it out on both of us now. Sydney is happy to accept her fate as long as I’m suffering, too.

I’ve accepted the punishments, though—which always result in a night

with Rocco and his friends. I tried to defend myself at first, but it never made a difference.

“Lucky for you, these have to heal, so no more nights with him until he’s

officially paid for you.”

I glance at him, surprised by that. Francesca hadn’t told me, but I’m

relieved anyway. Sometimes he gives me information he’s not supposed to.

I’ve never questioned why, too scared he’ll stop if I do. After he told me about his sister, we’ve fallen into an easy camaraderie. Both of us chained to our woes and accepting that neither of us can help one another get out of the metal confines wrapped around our wrists.

I shrug. “Doesn’t make a difference. The others will still have their fun.

Want to take a crack at me next?” I ask dryly.

Normally, I’d be horrified by saying that to someone, but I feel nothing.

Rio chortles. “I have no interest in you.” “No? Not any of the others, either?” I remember Sydney attempting to get a rise out of me, claiming Rio was

sneaking into her bedroom at night. I hadn’t cared then, and I wouldn’t care now. Regardless, I’m almost positive she was lying.

Rio has had every opportunity to fuck me or one of the other girls. Yet,

I’ve never seen him lay a finger on anyone outside of what was necessary.

In the beginning, he deliberately made me uncomfortable, but he hasn’t even done that since he first kidnapped me. Now, he acts as if I don't exist when in the company of others.

One day, I had asked him why—why the initial cruelty and the silence

around people, and then be so different when we're alone? He stared dead into my eyes and said, "The men in this house search for weaknesses. I never want to be yours."

He presses particularly hard on a cut, drawing a hiss from between my

teeth.

“No. Now, shut up, or I’ll leave your wounds to fester.” I snort but leave him alone. His threats run hollow now, and we both

know I’m not scared of him anymore. And I think we both know he doesn’t want me to be, either.

“Francesca said weeks until I’m his. How many?” I ask, my voice still

hoarse from my time with the man in question.

“Three.” I close my eyes and nod my head, gritting my teeth when he cleans

another sore spot.

“New girls are coming in next week,” Rio continues. “How many?” I whisper. “Three. Plenty of room now that it's just you and the loco one.” My heart pangs from the reminder. Gloria and Jillian were sent off to

auction a week ago, leaving Sydney and me alone with each other. After the night we were forced to end Phoebe and Bethany’s lives, our training became more intense.

Just because we were considered worthy, doesn’t mean there still wasn’t

an opportunity for us to fail. Francesca put us through grueling etiquette classes. How to address our masters, how to speak, eat, and sexually service them.

They’re specifically designed to break us mentally. We were whipped,

raped, and starved if we made mistakes. And just like the night of the Culling, we were forced to punish each other. By the time those two girls were auctioned, we could barely stand one another.

Even after Jillian and Gloria were successfully sold, the grueling lessons

haven’t let up. The bruises have faded, and the stitches have been removed, leaving two large white lines marring my back, yet Francesca wouldn’t allow for me and Sydney to be auctioned. And still, I have no idea why.

Although I’m spoken for, Francesca is still required to follow protocol. I

have to stand on a stage, and others will be given a chance to bid on me. It’s just guaranteed that Xavier will win.

He’s one of the richest men in the world, he claims. Not even sure what

he does for a living, or if he’s even a citizen of the country, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Despite what Rio thinks, I am never going to give up. I have no plans of

skipping off into the sunset with Xavier, but I do plan on letting him take me out of here.

They’ve made it their mission to keep me exhausted, compliant, and

ignorant. I haven’t been outside these walls since the Culling. Haven’t felt the sun warming my cheeks or the snow on my tongue. They’re scared of Zade and what he can do, so the safest bet is to keep me holed up, never to see the light of day.

Three weeks. That’s when Xavier will have no choice but to take me out

of this house and risk Zade finding me. And that’s when I will do everything in my power to make sure he does.

Rio finishes bandaging my back before rolling me over and moving on

to the wound on my stomach next, keeping his eyes fixed on his task. Not even a peek at a nipple.

“Try not to miss me when I’m gone,” I murmur, staring up sightlessly at

the ceiling.

I feel him glance up at me before focusing back on a particularly deep

wound. He'll need a butterfly bandage for that one.

“I’ll pray your life is short,” he responds finally. I smile, the first real one

in months. Turns out I didn’t need that red lipstick after all.

That was sweet of him to say.

Francesca’s footsteps pound down the hallway, but Rio and I don’t

bother moving considering he still has a few wounds to clean.

I meet her stare when she breaches the doorway. For a brief moment, she

glances down at my body, an unreadable emotion in her eyes.

Do I look pretty, Francesca? “Finish cleaning her up quickly, Rio.” He stops and tips his chin over his

shoulder to look at her, her face cast in a severe expression. “Claire’s here, and she wants to speak with her.”

Chapter 19

The Hunter

One Week Ago

Rubies and emeralds drip from the woman’s body, clasped around her

curves with thin metal chains. Aside from the jewels, she’s bared completely, open to the males’ demeaning gaze.

“Going bid, two hundred thousand dollars,” the woman’s voice

announces through the speaker built into my leather chair. Her voice sounds just as hollow as the woman spinning around on the stage looks.

These auctions are luxurious. The bidding area is one massive pinwheel

made up of fifteen glass cubicles surrounding a small stage in the center, providing each bidder with privacy while they fight over stolen women. The glass is heavily tinted, allowing bidders to see the stage clearly, while still keeping us hidden from those looking in. Jay and I have found that the tint on them is adjustable and can allow each bidder a clear view of one another.

I plan to utilize that feature later.

Inhaling my cigarette, smoke unfurls in the confined space as I press the

button, placing my bid.

“Going bid, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” the woman drones

directly after I hit the button.

Someone else bids, and before the speaker can finish, I click the button

again, prompting her to announce the bid as three hundred thousand dollars.

She will be the fifth girl I bought tonight. She’s also the fifth girl that has

been auctioned. Every single girl—they will be leaving with me.

The payment is wired out of my account with each confirmed sale, but

everyone will be dead by the end of the night, and Jay will have transferred it right back to me. Not that I’m hard up for it, but my money will never line the pockets of the Society.

My finger presses that button three more times before getting the

confirmed sale. I inhale again, a low buzz vibrating beneath my skin as

another girl is pushed onto the stage. She stumbles but manages to catch herself in the five-inch heels before she face-plants.

She's a mousy girl with big doe eyes and glasses that cover half her face.

The others will fight over her purely because she appears young and childish. Just like the last five, she’s draped in fine jewels that cost more than what these men are willing to pay for the body beneath them.

Click. “Going bid, fifty thousand dollars.” “Three more girls after this one,” Jay tells me, his voice soft in my ear.

I don’t speak. These rooms are bugged, and I want their deaths to be a

surprise.

Click. “I don’t think Addie is here, man.” I knew that already, but Jay—sweet Jay—was hoping for the best. I’m

not here because I thought Addie was going to scamper on this stage where I can buy her and whisk her away from all this evil.

She’s never going to be auctioned. Claire would never risk it—not with

me watching. She’s very aware I have the means to track down victims within human trafficking, so it defeats the purpose to sell Addie into a trade that I’m very well acquainted with, just for me to rescue her anyway.

She’s going to be handled differently—that I’m sure of.

It’s been over two months since Addie’s been gone. Each day that passes,

the black circles under my eyes deepen and the angrier I grow.

I’ve lost my mind. My patience. My strength. Everything. The only thing

puppeteering my body is sheer will and desperation.

Wherever she’s being held, it’s off-grid, and she hasn’t been moved,

most likely because they know I’d find her if she were. When girls are stationary in an undisclosed location, it’s almost impossible to find them in the skin trade. If they’re not being handled through proper channels where they’re being transported or sold, then there’s nothing to fucking track. She hasn’t even been taken into town. No cameras on this entire fucking planet have seen Addie’s face since she left that hospital.

Nor have they seen Rio or Rick—two of the three people that could lead

me to her. I assume her kidnappers are wherever Addie is, but Claire… she knows how to move under the radar. The few times I’ve been able to locate her, an army surrounds her, and infiltrating takes planning, which is

impossible to do when she disappears again. She’s a red herring, moving in a way that’s designed to distract me. I have every intention of taking out Claire but using her to get to Addie has only proven to waste my time and resources.

And that… that just isn’t going to work.

Which is why I’m here tonight, intent on destroying yet another facet of

the shadow government. More importantly, I’m hoping one of these girls has seen Addie. Jay has identified each of the girls being auctioned tonight, and several of them are native to Oregon. Which means if Addie is still in this state—one of them could’ve come from the same household as her.

Click. “Going bid, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Sold.

I buy the next three girls, too, and though I can’t hear or see the outrage

from other bidders, I can tell from the increasingly competitive bidding wars as each girl is sold. They all fold eventually, most likely with the intent to buy a girl from a different auction.

Moments after the last girl steps down from the stage, there’s a soft

knock at the door.

“Jay, lock all the doors in the building and barricade the exits. No one

gets out except me,” I tell him quickly before calling out louder, “Enter.”

“Got it,” Jay responds, just as Lee Morrison enters the room. While he’s

not the owner of this auction house, he keeps this well-oiled machine running. His job is to escort the bidders to their rooms, make sure their accommodations are satisfactory, and oversee the women coming in and out, ensuring the auction runs smoothly and without a hitch.

“Shut the door, please,” I instruct, keeping my back turned to him.

Seconds later, I hear it click shut.

“Sir, where would you like us to transport your winnings?” Lee asks, his

voice respectful, yet timid. He’s uncomfortable.

Good. “My winnings,” I repeat. “You do know they are human beings, correct?

Just as you are?”

Lee clears his throat. “I apologize, sir. Where would you like us to

transport your girls?”

“There’s a limousine pulled up to the back entrance. Make sure none of

them are hurt from here on out.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Tell them now,” I demand softly. “On your radio. Tell them that now.” He stammers, caught off guard from my odd request, but ultimately, does

as I say. He radios for my winnings to be transported into the limo unharmed, and once he receives the confirmation, he clears his throat again.

“Will that be all, sir?” “In that regard, yes.” Assuming I’m done with him entirely, I hear his feet pivot on the thin

black carpet and his hand jiggles the doorknob when he grips it.

“Before you go,” I assert, stopping him in his tracks. “Have you ever

bought any girls for yourself?”

Lee stutters. “Well, not here, no.” “But elsewhere?” After a beat, he says, “Yes, of course.” I hum noncommittally, though his answer has my body tightening with

rage.

“Sir, may I ask why—” His question comes to a crashing halt when I

stand and turn to face him. I’m not sure if it’s my scars, or the look of cold murderous rage in my eyes, but something about my face has his words fading and his eyes widening.

Blindly, his hand reaches behind him, searching desperately for the door

handle as I approach him.

As quick as a whip, my hands grip him by his throat, cutting off his

shout. I lift him to my height level while he kicks and claws for me to release him, and I stare into his dilated eyes.

All I see is my own monstrous reflection.

I had told him those girls were human beings, but I never said that I was.

Pulling my top lip over my teeth, I snarl at him. “How many women

have you thrown onto that stage, just to be carted off to a life of misery and suffering? How many have you taken for yourself and did unspeakable things to them?”

His face turns purple and his mouth flops like a fish, but no sound

escapes from his constricted throat. I only squeeze tighter, relishing in the

way his veins pop from his forehead. I wonder if I can make them burst open.

“Come on, Lee, I know you have a wife and children. How do you face

them every night, knowing that you’ve condemned people just like them to a sickening fate?”

Just before he goes unconscious, I release him. He sucks in a huge breath

while I force him into the chair that I’ve been occupying for the last two hours. Purchasing women that he proudly presented to me and fourteen other men.

I deliver one punch to his face, nearly knocking him out cold. It provides

me enough time to grab the black bag I had brought in with me, full of rope and tape. Of course, the two bouncers, Beavis and Butt-Head, checked my bag before allowing me to enter the building, but they had only smiled— assuming the items were for the girls I planned to buy.

I had smiled back because they’re idiots, and because they were going to

die.

Quickly, I dig out the roll of duct tape and bind his hands and feet. He

pleads with me relentlessly, and when that fails, he flops around like a worm on a hook, but I can’t imagine what he thinks that’ll accomplish.

Next, I fish out my can of lighter fluid and squirt some all over his body.

His eyes widen, and he struggles harder, attempting to break through the tape like he’s the Incredible Hulk.

“Jay? Send them in,” I order. “On it.” Leaving Lee to struggle for a bit, I step out to find several of my men

pouring into the building, engaging in a shoot-out, and taking down security in a matter of minutes. No one is making it out of this auction alive.

While they take care of the employees and guards, I meticulously make

my way into each cubicle. Jay unlocks each door for me one at a time, and I walk in, incapacitate the grimy rapist inside, then tie them up just like Lee.

By the time I make my way through all fifteen cubicles, a sheen of sweat

is coating my skin. Most of them were old, but there were a few younger ones who put up a fight. A very pathetic fight—but one all the same.

Rolling my neck, I release some of the tension in my shoulders. “All the girls safely in the limo?” “Yep, and everyone else is dead,” Jay reports.

“Have Michael set up the camera on the stage,” I command, while

sliding out a cigarette and lighting it.

I’m still in the fifteenth cubicle, which is, of course, on the other side of

Lee. The man bound in the leather chair is squirming, begging for me to release him. Makes me wonder how many children or women have asked the same of him.

Michael saunters on the stage with a tripod and camera in his hand.

While he sets it up, I ask Jay, “Did you figure out how to turn the glass transparent?”

“Obviously,” he sasses. “Let’s see it then, genius.” Seconds later, the glass walls gradually lighten until all fifteen cubicles

are transparent, and I’m surrounded by men strapped in leather chairs, fighting like hell to get free and failing.

Jay whistles. “Damn, dude.” It seems all at once, the fifteen men freeze, confused, and petrified as

they take in the sight of fourteen others in the same situation as them. Even Michael pauses on the stage, taking in the scene around him with a grin on his face. Eventually, I watch all their heads turn toward me.

“You see this?” I ask the man next to me. “How exciting. You get to

show them their fate.”

“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee.” I cock a brow and patiently wait as he prays for a salvation he’ll never

receive.

“Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,

Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Do you think you’ve been saved?” I ask. “Yes,” he says with conviction.

I smile. “Nine more Hail Marys to go. I want to hear you say them even

as you burn.”

He starts shaking his head vigorously, restarting his prayers as tears fall

down his cheeks.

“Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…” I inhale one last time, then flick my lit cigarette onto the chanting man.

Just like the others, he’s covered in lighter fluid, and instantly bursts into

flames.

His prayer bleeds into screams, and I’m disappointed that he couldn’t

even make it through his second Hail Mary before he succumbed to the agony.

He’s a god-fearing man, but I’m confident the devil will take good care

of him.

Leaving the sick fuck to burn, I make my way next door to Lee. “Miss me?” I ask, pulling out my matchbook and lighting one up. “Pleasepleaseplease, I’ll do anything! Please don’t do this!” “Anything?” “Yes! Whatever you want!” I bend at the waist, and pin him with a devilish look. “You know what I

want, Lee? I want you to feel the same pain I feel every day. I want you to fucking suffer. Can you do that for me?”

He loudly protests but it’s no match for the wails of agony that tear from

his throat when I throw the match onto him, his body engulfed in flames within seconds.

Once more, I make my way into each of the rooms and set every single

one of them aflame. Just as the last body catches fire, I signal Michael to start recording through the glass.

He presses play, and the camera slowly begins to rotate on the tripod,

while Michael and I make our way out of the building.

The camera will spin in circles, broadcasting fifteen men burning alive

on the dark web. There for all the traffickers’ and pedophilic assholes’ viewing pleasure. And there for Claire’s viewing pleasure as well.

The bitch is going to burn, too. Mark my fucking words.

“I have to admit, ladies, I’ve been in a limousine full of women before,

and this… is not how it went down,” Michael announces loudly.

Ruby berates him while I smack him upside the head, which wrings out a

snort from the girl sitting next to me.

Michael and I hitched a ride with the eight girls who were auctioned off

tonight. Luckily, I had the foresight to bring a shit ton of extra clothing.

While I was busy catching a bunch of pedos on fire, Ruby was in the

limo with the girls, reassuring them that they were safe and going home.

Still, as men, mine and Michael’s presence cause them a bit of discomfort; the poor girls wary of our intentions.

Certainly doesn’t help with Michael acting like an ass. “I actually appreciate the humor,” the girl next to me says in a heavy

Russian accent. “Makes me feel less broken when people don’t treat me like glass.”

“See?” Michael mutters indignantly, still rubbing the back of his head. “Fair enough,” I concede. “He still deserved it.” “Did you kill them?” she asks, peering up at me. She’s a pretty girl, with

long brown hair and hazel eyes that remind me of Jay’s. I remember her standing on the stage while I bid, her chin tipped high and posture ramrod straight.

She’s not one to cower, that much is clear.

I arch a brow. “You mean the people bidding on you?” “Aside from you? Yes.” “I did,” I confirm.

She pauses for a beat, then looks away. “Good.” I turn my gaze away, too, relieving her of my probing stare. “Anyone

else you want me to kill?”

She sniffs. “I can think of a few.” “How about we trade, then. I’ll kill whoever you want me to if you can

tell me if you’ve seen someone for me.”

I feel her stare once more, so I meet it. “Show me her,” she whispers. Pulling out my phone, I bring up Addie’s

author photo. My chest clenches painfully, and I turn the screen towards the Russian girl.

“Her name is—” “Addie,” she murmurs, and my heart stops. “You know her?” “She was in the house with me. Still there, last time I checked.” “Where?” I snap, incapable of minding my tone. “I don’t know,” she answers, her voice hardening. “Are we in Oregon?”

“Yes. We’re in Jacksonville.” “Then she is close. I was blindfolded on the way to and from the house,

so I’ve no idea where it is, but I counted the minutes, and we were in the car no more than an hour. All I can tell you is that the owner’s name is Francesca, she runs the place with her brother, and it’s somewhere in the middle of the woods.”

I take a deep breath, briefly meeting Michael’s wide stare. Hearing that

Addie could only be an hour away has my heart racing. Out the window goes my patience and discipline. My fingers are itching to search nearby towns and go house-to-house, kicking in their doors until I fucking find her.

Part of the reason I came here tonight was in the hope that someone

would have seen her. But truth be told, I didn’t think I’d get this lucky.

“What’s your name?” I ask, voice strained. “Jillian.” “Can you tell me… fuck, is she—” “She’s alive,” Jillian cuts in, understanding my need to ask how she is

but knowing the answer is obviously not good. “She’s had a hard time with one of the girls in the house—Sydney. They’re at each other’s throats, and it gets them punished a lot.”

Low tremors radiate through my limbs, gradually increasing as Jillian

goes on.

“And she has a buyer already, last I heard. He’s been visiting her.” I clench my jaw so hard, the muscle nearly bursts from the pressure. “His name?” I ask through gritted teeth.

She’s quiet, seemingly struggling to remember. Then a mousy voice

pipes up, answering the question for her.

“Xavier Delano,” she says. Jillian and I turn to the girl with short brown

hair and round glasses.

“That’s his name,” she reaffirms. “I-I was in the house with Addie, too.” “Thank you…” “Gloria,” she supplies when I trail off. “Thank you, Gloria. You need me to kill any assholes, too?” She smiles and shakes her head no. “I have enough blood on my hands.” Funny, I feel the opposite. I’ll never have enough on mine.

Chapter 20

The Diamond

Present

“Shit,” Rio mutters after Francesca leaves, his movements quickening.

My brows plunge, and my heart picks up speed from his obvious

concern. “Claire?” Who’s Claire?”

He glances at me, and I watch him visibly shut down, like pulling a

string and the blinds slamming over his eyes. Whoever Claire is, she’s to be feared.

Ignoring me, Rio finishes bandaging me up, and then grabs my arm and

forces me into an upright position. He walks to my dresser and opens the drawers, throwing random articles of clothes at me.

“What—Rio, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap, a shirt smacking

me directly in the face.

“Claire is the one who put the target on your head,” he says, keeping his

voice an octave above a whisper. Then, he walks to me and helps me slip into my clothing like I’m a toddler, but I’m too scatter-brained to stop him.

My heart thuds heavily, panic circulating throughout my system.

I’ve no idea who the fuck this woman is, but it’s clear she has some type

of connection with Zade. That’s the only reason a random woman would put a target on my head, right?

However, I swear I’ve met a Claire before… but my brain is too

muddled to recall where and what she looked like. Or her significance to me or Zade.

He grabs me by the shoulders, his face severe. “Be very careful with that

mouth of yours, princesa. Matter of fact, keep it shut.”

I tighten my lips and nod my head. Lately, I’ve been too tired—too weak

—to fight back. I walked into this house with my fire lit, and within two months, the proverbial fingers have pinched the flame, leaving only a trail of smoke behind.

All I need is a spark, and maybe… maybe it can be reignited.

My stomach twists with anxiety as I follow Rio down the hallway. A dull

ache throbs between my thighs, reminding me with every step of what I’m desperately trying to forget. Something Xavier aims explicitly for. It’s also a reminder that Zade may not want me anymore—something I’ve come to terms with already. I never thought I’d want to lose his obsession… but how could I not? I’m filthy now.

Rio walks ahead of me without a glance, tightening the knot forming in

my stomach. There’s an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as solid as the tension in his shoulders. It feels as if he’s distancing himself from me because I’m about to be sent off to war, and he’s never going to see me again.

Some days, I still hate him for what he’s done to me, but I won’t lie to

myself and say that we haven’t built a bond, either. He’s been an emotional crutch for me these last two months, and I’ve begun to figure him out by now. If he’s acting this way, it’s for a reason.

And that makes me really fucking nervous.

I pad down the stairs, quiet voices rising from the living room. Rocco

stands in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and staring at me with his beady little eyes.

I keep my head down, watching my bare feet travel across the dirty floor.

I just cleaned it two days ago, but Rocco and his friends act like there’s glass on the floor and insist on wearing their muddy boots around the house.

My eyes focus on a perfect set of footprints that trail into the living

room, leading right to two sets of heels. The new incomer has mud caked on her shoes, too. How fucking rude.

A throat softly clears, and I finally lift my stare. Immediately, I regret it.

The shock of who I’m looking at nearly knocks me right onto the dirty footprints.

Claire… I’ve definitely met her before. She’s Mark’s wife. The senator

who had tried to abduct me before, and the one Zade viciously murdered the night of Satan’s Affair.

I remember meeting her the night Mark invited us to a charity event at

his house. She was frail, subdued, and seemed so nice.

Why did she put a target on my head? Out of revenge for her husband?

That has to be it. Zade murdered Mark, so now she’s taking her anger out

on him by getting me kidnapped and sold.

But Jesus, what’s there to be mad about? The man obviously abused her. “Hello, Adeline,” Claire greets, smiling at me behind her red lipstick.

She looks significantly different than the first time I met her. Not because of her appearance—she still has bright red hair curled perfectly around her face and a beautiful, albeit aging, appearance.

It’s because she looks… happy. Like she’s thriving. She doesn’t look

upset or distraught over the death of her husband.

I’m muddled with surprise and confusion, so it takes me a moment to

say, “Hi, Claire.”

She clasps her black-gloved hands together and takes a step towards me. “I know you’re probably very confused, my dear,” she starts. “And I’m

terribly sorry you were brought into the middle of all this.” She waves a hand, indicating ‘all this’ as the house I’m currently being held captive in.

Let’s not pretend that I wouldn’t have been taken anyway.

But I keep quiet, not sure how exactly I’m supposed to respond to that.

Wave a hand and say aw, shucks, it’s all right. I’m having the time of my

life.

“It’s very unfortunate you got involved with someone such as Z. He

came in and wrecked your life like a bull in a china shop, didn’t he?”

Yes. Yes, he did. “I suppose so,” I admit. “He’s caused a lot of trouble for me as of late. Most recently,

gratuitously murdering several important buyers at an auction house, then stealing the girls.”

My heart drops into my stomach, sending the butterflies inside

scattering. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them down. Hearing about Zade, and the havoc he’s wreaking is… God, it’s almost comforting.

In a way, the people in my life before I was taken have begun to feel like ghosts rather than real, living people. Zade, Daya, my mom… none of them feel absolute anymore.

But Claire telling me about the trouble Zade is causing makes him feel

real again. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that.

“He took Jillian and Gloria?” I ask, my voice raspy with unshed tears.

My chest is cracking wide open with countless emotions, and at the forefront of it all is relief.

“That he did. And I’m not going to allow that to happen with you.

There’s been a change in plans, so I figured I’d take this opportunity to see the precious diamond in the flesh once more before you’re shipped off.

Whatever luck Jillian and Gloria have on their side—is not on yours.”

My throat dries. “I’m not being auctioned off?” “Of course not, dear. You were never going to be.” Did Francesca know this? Since I arrived, she’s been telling me that I’d

be auctioned, yet she doesn’t appear surprised by the news.

When I just stare at Claire blankly, she continues, “A very intelligent and

resourceful man has attached himself to you. Which means that he will have the capabilities to find you once you step foot outside of this property.”

That knowledge kicks my heart up a notch, swirling with a burst of

excitement. Obviously, Zade knows how to find people. I assume it’s only taken him this long because I’ve been locked inside a house in the middle of nowhere for over two months. Finding a lead on me is probably next to impossible, but the second they take me out of here, they’ll no longer have that advantage.

“Francesca has informed me that a very high-profile buyer has set his

eyes on you. So, in order to keep you hidden, we will be conducting a direct sale.”

My mouth parts, and I’m honestly unsure of how to feel. A direct sale

will give them plenty of opportunity to conceal me, but I’ve never had any intention of hiding.

Heart thudding, I nod my head. “Okay,” I say.

She smiles condescendingly, as if I’m a child agreeing to go to bed when

I never really had a choice anyway. I suppose that wouldn’t be wrong.

“Xavier has already paid for you and will collect you in three days.

Francesca will continue to prepare you for your new life, providing you with all the knowledge you need to ensure you and Xavier live happy lives together.”

Ah. Claire is just as psychotic as Mark.

Maybe she’s a byproduct of Mark’s abuse, maybe not. Regardless, she’s

no better than her husband. Her pain does not justify inflicting pain on others. Not like this.

“Francesca and I will go over the details. Nothing for you to concern

yourself with. I just wanted to deliver the good news to you myself,” she

goes on, her eyes glittering with delight. They are what stars look like when they die. No life left in them yet blazing with a light that ensures everything in its path will die, too.

I had hoped with being auctioned that I’d be able to make a run for it, or

ensure my face was seen on a camera, at the very least. Maybe steal a phone and send a text—anything to give Zade a location. Those options won’t be as easy now, but still not impossible.

I lick my dry, cracked lips and meet the twin dead stars in her skull.

“Can I ask one thing?” I ask softly.

Her red lips flatten, but she nods her head. “Can I ask why?” Francesca hisses, but Claire holds up a hand, silencing her. That alone is

satisfying to watch. She takes a few steps toward me.

“When someone as beautiful as you catches our attention, it’s hard to

look away. Normally, I prefer to plant someone in your life. A boyfriend, if you will. Someone you would fall in love with and trust. They would’ve handled you, and you would’ve been able to have some sort of freedom, while also bringing in money. However, you got someone else’s attention first, and suddenly, you became so much more valuable.”

My brows knit, and it’s hard to swallow. It’s not hard to conclude that

Claire is just like Mark. Someone who finds women and children and brings them to the Society. But the way she speaks…

“This trade, this world—I own it. I own it all,” Claire supplies. “I am the

Society, dear. Me and my two associates. Mark thought he was the man in our marriage, but he never knew that I was the one pulling the strings all along. Zade did me a favor by getting rid of that scumbag, despite how fun it was to hang my husband by the balls. I’m not angry because your boyfriend killed my husband. I’m angry because he’s attempting to ruin what I’ve worked hard to build. The sad, little lives you all live are my empire. I’ll be damned if Z tries to take that from me.” She spits out his name like it’s a bug that flew into her mouth, ire and disgust twisting her features.

All I can do is stare at her in utter disbelief. Confounded that Claire is

the ultimate puppeteer. The president—shit, all of the world leaders— they’re guppies compared to her.

Taking advantage of my speechlessness, she turns to Francesca. “Let’s

have a chat, Franny. We have some things to discuss.”

Francesca smiles graciously at Claire. “Of course!” She turns to me, her

smile dropping long enough to say, “Go back to your room and don’t come out until dinner.” And then she’s back to smiling at Claire again.

Her face must hurt from all that exercise it’s getting.

Nodding, I pivot on my heels and hurry towards the stairs. Rio stands at

the doorway to the kitchen, hands threaded behind his back. Briefly, we make eye contact, but for the life of me, I can’t decipher the emotion swirling in his dark irises. He stays behind, but I’m glad for it. Being confined to my room is exactly what I need right now so I can adequately plan my escape.

Xavier was right about one thing—the Culling is a double-edged sword.

It taught me how to run, and that’s precisely what I plan on doing.

Hot breath fans across my face, disturbing the deep sleep I’ve fallen into.

I twitch, feeling strands of hair tickle my nose.

It takes me several seconds to pull myself out of the weird dream I was

having. With reality setting in, so does a sense of animosity and danger, and it takes another few seconds to realize someone is breathing in my face.

Immediately, my instincts blare on red alert, adrenaline and fear flooding

my system.

Slowly, I crack open my eyes, then choke on a startled scream, my eyes

rounding into discs when I see Sydney standing above me, her face mere inches away from mine.

Her eyes are wide, a psychotic glimmer in them as she stares down at me

with a crazed smile. She’s breathing heavily, little sounds of excitement bubbling out of her throat with each exhale.

I press myself deeper into the bed, my heart tearing through my chest as

I struggle to find my breath.

“What the fuck, Sydney?” I gasp, attempting to keep my voice down but

failing.

I’m seconds away from releasing my bladder all over the bed, my horror

growing as she climbs on top of me, her blonde strands brushing across my face and blocking my vision.

My body moves on instinct, I kick my feet on the bed, attempting to gain

traction and slide myself upright, but her hands wrap around my throat, holding me in place. She’s not cutting off my air supply yet, but I panic anyway, all of those moves I learned from Zade evading me.

“I know what you’re going to do,” she whispers. I almost miss what she

says, with my heart thudding loudly in my ears.

“You’re going to try to escape, and I’m going to tell them,” she breathes,

giggling maniacally when I flail against her. “And hopefully they fucking kill you for it.”

Her hands begin to tighten further, and finally—fucking finally—my

training kicks in. I shoot my arm up between hers and twist my body with all my strength, sending her flying off the side of the bed.

The impact is loud, and we both freeze, waiting to hear if anyone woke.

Francesca stays on the bottom floor on the opposite side of the house, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be heard.

There are also always two or three men standing guard outside of the

house, ensuring none of us try to run.

Sydney’s eyes narrow, and I know she’s about to attack again. My legs

are tangled in the blankets, so I react first, freeing my legs and then diving towards the end of the bed.

She charges at me, wrapping a hand around my ankle and attempting to

drag me back. I kick out hard, and her grip loosens enough for me to break free and scramble off the other side of the bed.

Slowly, she stands, her chin dipped low as she stares up at me with pure

evil as we face off on either side of the bed.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I whisper-shout. “I know what you have planned, and I’m not going to let it happen.” It takes effort to keep my eyes from widening, and the stricken look off

my face.

“I don’t have anything planned,” I vehemently deny.

She ignores me. “You don’t get to be treated better than the rest of us,

then escape your fate,” she growls.

“Treated better?” I echo on a bewildered laugh. “You’ve been getting me

in trouble since I got here!”

“And yet she still loves you more,” she hisses back. I shake my head,

absolutely astonished that she believes that. Francesca sees me as a dollar sign—a substantial one. She doesn’t love anyone more than herself.

“Maybe she would love you if you didn’t act like a fucking psycho

bitch,” I clip, growing angry. She begins to circle the bed toward me, and I realize belatedly that I’m cornered.

“I’m telling Francesca about your plans,” she says, ignoring my jab. “What plans?” I ask, playing stupid and hoping she doesn’t actually

know a damn thing. For the past two months, I’ve been working out different ways to escape once I’m taken out of here, and after Claire blindsided me last night, I came up with a few ideas that could work now that I’m no longer being auctioned. But Sydney is about to fucking ruin them.

She points to my floor, and my face drops in horror. My head snaps back

to her in shock.

“How did you know about that?” She shrugs, a joyous grin curling her lips. Gradually, a sick realization

sets in.

She was the person standing inside the wall, watching me sleep that

night. She must’ve hid when I spotted her, then resumed watching me when I found the journal.

Jesus, how long has she been reading it? And how often has she watched

me fucking sleep?

“How did you get behind the wall?” She shrugs, grinning wildly. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know

about this house, diamond. I know everyone’s secrets, including Francesca’s. Why do you think she’s allowed me to stay for so long?”

“What secrets?” “Like I’d ever tell you,” she scoffs.

I’ve no idea what she could possibly have on Francesca, but I don’t care.

What I do know is that one of us is not walking out of this room alive tonight.

If Francesca finds out I’m planning to escape and how, they’ll do

everything in their power to make sure I never get away

Not going to fucking happen.

They’ll have to lock me in a submarine in the middle of the goddamn

ocean to keep me away from Zade.

I stand in the corner of the room, while she lingers at the edge of my bed,

possibly sensing the conclusion I’ve come to. Whether it’s because she notes the determination that must be etched into my expression, or the fact that I’m not leaping over the bed to escape.

Time slows for a few seconds, both of us still. And then we’re springing

into action simultaneously. She charges for me while I dart toward my nightstand. I hoarded a couple of pens in the drawer in the case I ran out of ink, and now, they’re the only things that may save my life. Not from Sydney—but from Xavier.

She grabs ahold of my hair just as I rip open the drawer and locate one of

them, my fingers curling around it while she swings me towards the wall. I crash into it painfully, the back of my fist swinging out sightlessly to dislodge her from my hair.

Teeth sink into my shoulder, clamping down with all her strength. A

high-pitched yelp escapes past my lips. I bite back the scream threatening to rip from my throat, feeling blood spurting from around her teeth.

Blinded with pain, I raise my hand and stab the pen anywhere I can

reach, feeling the pen sink past flesh and sinew. She releases me with a strangled yelp, but before she can move away, I grab ahold of her and send us both careening to the ground, no longer caring if we’re caught.

Fuck this bitch.

We roll for a few seconds, fighting for control. I manage to gain

purchase and twist on top of her, using one hand to slap away her claws, and the other to plunge the pen into her neck. My hand slips, the pen slick from her blood as I impale it into flesh.

Her nails rake across my face, leaving stinging trails, but they fade into

the background as I keep stabbing her blindly, managing to hold on to the slippery pen only by sheer determination. Over and over, I stab her, exhaustion sinking into my bones quickly, but pure adrenaline and panic keep me going. Finally, she goes limp, blood pooling around us.

I’m panting heavily, soaked in blood, and delirious from the adrenaline.

My body is going into shock, and all five of my senses are on lockdown, nothing penetrating past the shroud of numbness.

I just gaze down at her body, now riddled with holes. She stares

sightlessly up at the ceiling, and I find that her eyes don’t look any different than when she was alive.

My door creaks open, and Rio rushes in. He stops in his tracks when he

sees Sydney on the ground and me straddling her, painted in crimson. It’s… warm. I think I feel warm.

“Fuck, princesa. What did you do?” I barely hear him, only interpreting his words from the way his lips

move. I point at her, and croak, “I killed her.”

He quietly steps in and shuts the door, but not before peeking out to see

if anyone else is coming.

The soft click is inaudible to the typhoon raging in my ears. He keeps his

steps light as he comes around the other side of the bed to get a better look.

His lips form a circle, and he must whistle, but I don’t hear that either.

All I can do is stare. “Come here,” he mouths, waving me towards him. Blinking, I stand on

quaking knees and manage a single step before slipping on the blood, barely catching myself on the bed. Rio’s hand grips my arm and pulls me up and away from the growing pool.

He grips my face in his palms, his dark eyes searching mine. And then he

slaps me hard enough to knock my head to the side. The white noise bleeds into a sharp ring, and then all my senses come rushing back in. I hear, see, feel, taste, and smell everything.

Copper. That’s the first thing my senses notice. And then Rio is gripping

my face again, forcing my concentration back to him.

“Look at me, mamá. What the fuck are you going to do now, huh?” I open my mouth, at a loss for words. Finally, I just say, “Escape.” He shakes his head, drops his hands, and steps away. He stares at me, but

as usual, I can’t decipher the emotion churning in his irises.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I whisper, realization dawning that he’s not

going to let me. Fuck. The situation catches up to me all at once, and I enter into panic mode.

I killed Sydney because she was going to out my escape plan, and now

I’m going to be locked in a submarine somewhere, forced to live out my life alongside the fish.

With Rio catching me in the act—any chance of escape just went to

complete shit and now I’m never going to get the fuck out of here. Rio isn’t going to let me go. There’s no fucking way. His sister is on the line.

“Shit,” I mutter, uncaring of my bloody hands and sliding them through

my hair, pulling tight as I try to come to terms with being caught before I’ve even stepped foot out of the fucking house. “I can’t live with the fish, Rio. I don’t like sharks.”

Rio’s brows plunge. “The fuck are you talking about?” “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck—” Muttering something Spanish beneath his breath, he grabs my arms and

brings me in close.

“As much as I appreciate the vocabulary lesson, I’m going to need you

to shut the hell up,” he cuts in. “Look at me.”

I do, but my thoughts are elsewhere. “You need to tell me how the hell you would even escape. Your two

options are acres of forest that you will get lost and probably die in or walk a road that you can be easily found on.”

I drop my hands and clench them into fists in an attempt to abate the

shaking. The volcano has fucking erupted, and I’m still vibrating from the aftershocks.

“There’s an abandoned train somewhere out there. I found it the night of

the Culling. I was going to follow that out,” I say. In the back of my brain, my logical side is screaming at me to stop telling him my plans in case he betrays me. But the larger side of me wants to trust Rio. So fucking badly, just this once.

“And the guards outside?” he questions, voice low.

I shake my head, a tear wiggling free. “I don’t know,” I cry. “I don’t—

there’s no way—"

“Shut up, stúpido,” he barks again, keeping his voice quiet. “I’m going

to go downstairs, and I’ll take care of the guards. I’ll leave the front door unlocked. Whatever you decide to do, and wherever you go, that’s your decision.”

A knot forms between my brow, and it takes several seconds to wrangle

my scattered thoughts back into one direction.

“Rio, you can’t,” I protest. “You can’t risk your sister’s life for me.”

The muscle in his jaw pulsates, and his dark eyes bore into mine. I’ve no

idea what the hell he’s thinking.

He swallows. “I’ll figure something out with her. I think I know where

she is.”

Then, it clicks. “Let’s make a deal,” I rush out. “You help me get out of here, Z will save

your sister. Tell me her name and where she is, and he will get her out.”

His mouth opens and closes, and for the first time, I’ve made Rio

speechless.

“You have yourself a deal.” “Wait, my tracking device. I-I can’t leave with it in me.” “Turn around,” he demands, swirling his finger. Biting my lip, I do as he

says, shivering when he roughly sweeps my hair to the side.

“How are—” A sharp gasp cuts off my question when I feel something

sharp slice and dig into the back of my neck.

“Jesus, a fucking warning next time,” I spit, cringing as the tip of the

blade digs into my skin.

“He’s not here, mamá, but I am. And I need you to stop wiggling.” I huff, feeling warm liquid trailing down my back from the wound, and

after several painful seconds, the metal pops out. He flicks the device onto my bed and then leans in, his breath brushing across the shell of my ear.

“Katerina Sanchez, she’s fifteen years old. I believe she’s with a groomer

by the name of Lillian Berez. Last time I saw a picture of her was three months ago, and she was standing in front of a sunflower field.”

He releases me, and steps away while I turn to face him. “Thank you,” I

say quietly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

He gives me a look that tells me he’ll figure out a way to haunt me if I

don’t. Maybe he’ll come to Parsons and join the rest of the ghosts in my house.

“One of Rocco’s friends is sleeping on the couch. Be quiet, and it should

be fine. He’s out cold from the drugs.”

“Okay,” I nod, feeling a burst of gratitude that I’ve no idea how the fuck

to express. He’ll probably smack me if I try. Rio hates any type of appreciation as much as he does attention. And maybe that’s more because he hates himself.

“Tell your man to give me a head start, yeah?” he says, backing away.

I frown. “Run fast.” Slowly, his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and his gaze drifts over

me one last time as if committing me to memory.

“Bye, princesa.” “Bye, Rio,” I whisper.

And then he leaves, his footsteps silent.

I don’t waste another second. I rush over to my dresser—which happens

to be right by Sydney’s body—slipping and sliding in the blood coating my feet. I tear through the drawers and hastily pull on a long-sleeved shirt and then a sweatshirt. I grab a pair of socks next, round the bed, and start wiping the bottoms of my feet as best as I can on the thin blanket.

I pull my socks and shoes on next, grab my journal from the floorboard,

and quietly make my way down the steps.

Fear has kept me in my bedroom at night. It prevented me from going

down the steps and out the front door, knowing that there was going to be someone outside waiting for me.

It’s controlled me for over two months, kept me compliant, and now I no

longer have that option. I’ve killed someone, and if I don’t leave, I’ll be next. No, I’ll be praying for it, but I know they wouldn’t let death embrace me so easily.

I snag a grocery bag under the sink, cringing every time it crinkles.

Then, I find a few bottles of water in the cabinet and a box of granola bars.

It’ll have to be enough. I can’t afford any more weight than that. Next, I slide open the drawer and grab two large knives for protection.

My plan is to make it to the tracks and then follow them out of here.

Hopefully, I’ll find shelter in one of the trailers when I need to take a break.

I’m anticipating that they’ll assume I took the road and focus their search party in that direction when they find me missing.

They see me as a diamond because I have Zade’s love, but they fail to

remember that’s what forged me into a stone so unbreakable. He’s taught me a lot about myself and who I really am. But most importantly, he’s taught me how to persevere.

Just as I’m leaving the kitchen, I hear a loud snore, and I pause, my heart

picking up speed. Rocco’s friends tend to stay the night when they get too fucked up, and I imagine it’d take a stampede of elephants to wake them.

But I can’t be too sure—it just depends on the amount of drugs that are running through their systems.

Peeking around past the entryway, I see a grungy man laid out on the

couch, mouth half-open. It’s Jerry. He’s one of the regulars here and also one of the more vindictive ones when Sydney and I receive punishments.

There’s a small part of me tempted to walk over and stab one of my

knives into his throat, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Despite how badly I want to murder every single person in this house, I’m not a ruthless killer like Zade.

At least, I didn’t use to be. I guess I’m not so sure anymore.

Heart in my throat, I slowly and silently make my way towards the door,

jumping when one of his snores is particularly loud and obnoxious.

I’m halfway through the room when I hear my plastic bag give out, and

one of the water bottles breaks right through, loudly smacking off the floor and rolling several feet.

Just barely, I bite back a gasp, trapping it on the tip of my tongue right

alongside my erratic heartbeat. My wide eyes snap to Jerry. His snores have cut off, but he appears to be sleeping still.

A dangerous amount of adrenaline is coursing through my bloodstream,

and my vision goes spotty from how hard my heart is pounding.

I cup the bottom of the bag and tiptoe to the water bottle, cringing when

the sack crinkles in my hand. Then I crouch down and grab the water bottle, keeping my movements slow.

Screwing my eyes shut, it takes several seconds to try and calm my

heartbeat. My hands are clammy, and sweat is breaking out alongside my hairline and lower back. I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking terrified, and I’m too consumed in it to feel any type of thrill. It’s just that… pure terror.

Breathing out softly, I stand again and try to recover the bottom of the

bag, but before I can, another water bottle slips through, once more crashing to the floor.

I choke, and as if moving through molasses, I lift my head to look at

Jerry.

His eyes are wide open and pinned directly on me.

For several beats, we just stare at one another, suspended in time.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, sitting up and swinging his

legs over the edge of the couch.

I can barely hear past the thrum of my pulse, and my vision tunnels, on

the verge of blacking out from the fear. If he calls out for Rocco or Francesca, I’m done for. Rio’s done for if they find out he was involved.

Then, his sister will be sold, and I’ll never get out of here—

Focus, little mouse.

Swallowing, I straighten, deciding that keeping my mouth shut for now

is the best option. I have no explanation.

“You trying to escape, diamond?” I shake my head, eyes widening further as he stands, and starts walking

toward me. Instinctively, I take a step back, kicking the fallen water bottle.

“Then you want to explain what the fuck you’re doing?” Once more, I shake my head. The only excuse that comes to mind is that

I was bringing snacks to the guards. Which is honestly laughable, and the last thing I want this man to do is fucking laugh. He certainly wouldn’t be quiet about it considering he’s always been the loudest one in the group.

He pauses, scanning over my form, and the moment I see the spark in his

dark eyes, I know precisely what the fucker has planned. A slow, insidious smile grows on his face.

“Come here,” he directs.

All I can do is shake my head again, like a broken toy that can only

perform one trick.

He snarls, snapping his hand out and seizing me by the arm. I wince as

he tugs me into him, my senses overwhelmed by body odor, stale cigarettes, and rank breath.

“You fucking listen to what I tell you to do, diamond, or I’ll have Rocco

come out and join in on the fun. Which do you prefer, huh? Me, or both of us?” he spits harshly, though keeping his tone hushed. It would seem he wants me to himself, so he’ll stay quiet for now.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I nod my head quickly, hoping to

assuage him. The drugs tend to get them riled up, and their tempers are unpredictable.

“Good girl,” he croons, loosening his grip. “I want you to turn around,

push down those pants, and touch your toes. I want to fuck you from behind.”

My mind races as I pivot, keeping my movements slow as I try to figure

out what the hell I’m going to do. There’s no way I’m just going to let this asshole rape me again.

He nudges me firmly, “Hurry up.” “Let me set my bag down first,” I whisper, voice shaky. He harrumphs

but doesn’t protest, so I bend down, deftly grab the knife and slide it out, hoping my body is concealing what I’m doing.

“Fucking slow-ass bitch,” he curses, growing impatient and tugging at

my waistband, attempting to slide them down for me.

I straighten, which allows him to get them halfway down my ass before

I’m twisting at the waist and slashing out my knife. The blade cuts through his throat, and his eyes widen, nearly silent from the shock.

And I spring into action, pulling up my pants, quickly grabbing the sack,

the stupid fucking water bottles, and booking it out of the door, leaving Jerry to choke on his blood.

The muscle in my chest pounds so hard that it hurts as I skitter across the

porch and down the rickety steps, barely pausing when I spot the two dead bodies piled next to the stairs. The guards—their throats are slit open.

Panting, I round the house towards the back. Rio is nowhere to be found,

and I pray to god he got the hell away already.

Because he may be the only one to get out of here alive.

Chapter 21

The Hunter

“Motherfucker, I will fuck you up,” Daire snaps from his computer chair,

his chin tipped over his shoulder as he glares at me.

I roll my eyes. “You say that every time and never do.” I wouldn’t mind if he tried. These men are trained killers just as I am,

and a good old-fashioned fistfight might serve to release some of the tension crammed in my muscles. The weight of carrying frustration, anger, and anxiety in my bones is taking a toll. I’ve gone out on a few missions to take down rings in Oregon to relieve some stress, but it’s never enough.

I push away and pace the floor behind him. His office is inside the vault,

but you wouldn’t be able to tell if it wasn’t for the door. They hollowed out the room and transformed it into a basement. Right at the round entrance is a staircase that leads you down to the bottom, which has been expanded to run beneath the ground floor, where Kace’s work area is. Just like the rest of the bank, it’s washed in browns, creams, and blacks; all of it screams money.

So of course, his get-up is a computer nerd’s wet dream. His desk takes

up an entire wall, filled with monitors and TV screens hanging above. LED lights flash colorfully around the room, highlighting the sharp edges of Daire’s face as he searches through his channels again, checking to see if Addie was tagged in any locations.

“You’re looming over me. I can feel your breath on the back of my

fucking neck.”

I exhale extra heavily, prompting him to whip around and send a fist

flying towards my dick. I easily avoid it, but he manages to surprise me and stomp on my foot with his, forcing me to step back.

Touché. “You hover worse than a wife checking over her cheating husband’s

shoulder,” he snips.

“I would say the scorned wife and I both have valid reasons.”

He grumbles something under his breath, leaning his face farther into the

computer as he checks over the grid. His pet kneels beside us, head cast down, but I catch the hint of a smile on her face.

“Did you find out where Jillian and Gloria came from?” I ask.

Daire shakes his head. “Not yet. I can easily trace the ones kept in a

holding facility—like the ones you take down—because those are checkpoints for girls to be transported to and from. But many of the victims are taken to groomers before they’re auctioned, and those are usually residential houses and oftentimes off-grid to protect the homeowners.

Whoever Francesca is, she’s obviously a groomer and a well-hidden one.”

He has an entire map of transportation routes and checkpoints and insists

that he would know if Addie were put up for sale or transported. There are minimal places to list girls for sale on the dark web, even for those who are selling their own children for profit, and Daire has access to every one of those channels. There is also an entire network for the auctions, moving girls to and from holding facilities, and other events where high-profile people can buy women and children, which Daire also has access to.

But Addie is too high-risk to be put through those standard processes.

Claire is smarter than that. So, we’ve shifted our focus to tracking down this Francesca woman, but there are no homes in the state of Oregon owned by her.

“What was their last known location before they disappeared?” I ask.

We’ve been narrowing our search down to surrounding towns within an hour’s drive from Jacksonville—where the auction was held—but unless they have cameras within or outside of the house, we have no way to confirm if Addie is inside any of them.

“Prior to being auctioned, Gloria was last seen getting into a vehicle in

Grants Pass, and Jillian was picked up in Portland. She has records for prostitution, so she most likely was being trafficked beforehand that way.”

“Those cars are dead ends?” “Yep,” he confirms. “Drove somewhere with no cameras and never seen

again from there.”

“Fuck,” I curse, beginning to pace again. It’s the same ordeal with

Xavier Delano. We were able to track his flight to Portland, Oregon, and a town car that drove him to the outskirts, but he fucking disappears again

after that. They’ve taken every fucking precaution to make sure there is no trail leading to this house.

Daire clicks through a map as he says, “There are hundreds of thousands

of homes in our targeted areas. Addie has to be in one of them, but narrowing down where is—” He cuts himself off, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he murmurs, “Interesting.”

“What?” “There’s an old train system that used to operate in transporting girls

near Grants Pass. It says it’s still active, even though this railroad line has been closed for decades.”

He goes onto Google Maps and tags the coordinates of the railroad, and

then zooms in until it shows us a 3D view of it. The train is left abandoned on the railroad, the trailers corroded with nature and rust.

It’s in the middle of woods, with nothing but trees surrounding it.

Another decade and most of the wildlife will have taken over completely.

“It’s just odd that it’s still considered an active channel,” Daire says, his

brows pinching and a frown tugging down his lips.

“Are there any residential homes nearby?” “Doesn’t hurt to look,” he replies. He looks up at me. “Keep in mind,

there’s no way to legitimately confirm that they’re holding girls in them unless you storm the place. My advice? Don’t do that.”

I arch a brow in response. He rolls his eyes and turns back to his

computer, realizing he’s talking to a person that just barged into Mama T’s house unannounced to get to them. What’s stopping me from doing it to anyone else?

The answer is nothing. “I’m going to need a long session with my pet after dealing with you,”

he mumbles.

“You’re welcome.” He smirks but focuses on the screen as he navigates through the forest.

For a long while, he doesn’t find anything. Long enough that I start pacing a hole in the floor behind him.

“Found something,” Daire announces about twenty minutes later,

drawing my attention back to him. I come up behind him and lean down to get a better view.

If the fucker says I’m hovering again, I’ll steal his pet and drop her off

somewhere random just to inconvenience him. Asshole is fucking blessed to have me so close.

A massive run-down house emerges from the trees. It looks like its prime

was in the early 1900s. Still, it’s livable, big, and definitely well-hidden.

My heart picks up speed, and for the first time, I feel an inkling of

excitement.

“Where is it located?” “Merlin, Oregon. Only about fifteen minutes from Grants Pass, give or

take.” He pauses. “And about an hour from Jacksonville.”

By the time he finishes his sentence, I’m nearly vibrating.

When the satellite picture was taken, only a rusted red pickup truck was

parked outside of the house. I snatch my laptop, quickly searching the license plate to find the owner.

“Rocco Bellucci,” I mumble, immediately digging into his background.

“Got a few charges for public intoxication, domestic violence, and battery.”

Daire shrugs. “Pretty standard charges for ninety percent of the male

population.”

Next, I check to see who owns the house, Rocco’s name appearing once

more. I rap my fingers on the laptop, anxiousness buzzing through my nerve endings. This house is suspicious, but nothing about it indicates this is a grooming house.

It’s not registered under a name I recognize, and there isn’t any physical

evidence that girls are being held here.

Digging my phone out of my pocket, I pull up Jillian’s number. After

promising she’d help any way she could if I had more questions about Addie, I had Ruby get her a burner phone.

It rings for several long seconds before her bored, accented voice comes

through, “Yeah?”

What a fluffy, warm person she is. “You mentioned before that Francesca had a brother,” I state. “Yeah, he’s one of the people I’d love for you to murder,” she answers. “Well, what’s his fucking name?” “Rocco. Don’t know his last name.” My world tilts on its axis. The possibility that we just found Addie is

almost too much.

“Helloooo?” her voice rings out. “Were you kept in a three-story colonial home?” I name off a few more

attributes of the property that might be recognizable, and when she doesn’t answer right away, I almost crack the phone in half.

“That’s it,” she says finally.

Fuck. “Jillian?” “Yeah?” “I’m going to murder so many fucking people for you.” The last thing I hear is her snorting before I hang up the phone, and I

look up to meet Daire’s rounded eyes.

“We found her?” “We fucking found her,” I confirm, immediately pulling up directions to

the house.

It’ll take about four hours to get to Merlin from Portland, but I’ll need to

prepare first. I won’t know how many people will be occupying the house beforehand, so it’ll be necessary to have Jay in my ear and Michael and Ruby with me in case there are more girls being held there. I’ll have several more mercenaries following close behind if I need backup.

“Z?” I look up. “What if she isn’t there anymore?” My eye twitches from the mere thought. The possibility is high, but at

least I’ll have the people in my hands that can lead me straight to her.

I meet his stare, and for just a moment, I unleash the darkness. “Then a lot of people are going to die.”

“I have news,” Jay says through the car speaker. It’s six o’clock in the

morning and still pitch-black, the sun not even broaching the horizon yet.

Dense fog is shrouding the roads, making it hard to see.

I’m five minutes away from Francesca and Rocco Belluccis’ house,

Daya in the passenger seat next to me, while Michael and Ruby are driving behind me. It’s only about ten minutes from the Rogue River, so acres and acres of National Forest surround the property.

Last night, I managed to hack into a few of the satellites. The

government likes to tell people that satellites aren’t interested in your house, but that doesn’t mean they don’t intermittently take images.

Jay’s flipping through them now, but he hasn’t seen any sightings of

Addie.

“What?” “I sent a drone over the house,” he starts. “And the entire property is in

an absolute upheaval. There are about thirty men currently searching around the property. Half are in the woods behind the house, and the other half are walking the road.”

Right when he finishes, two black SUVs fly past me, and I spot several

men on foot up ahead.

“Shit,” I mutter, slowing down until I come to a stop right beside a man.

“Jay, let Michael know what’s going on and keep a drone on us.”

I roll down my passenger window, and the guy bends at the waist, eyeing

Daya and me with impatience.

“Everything okay, sir?” I ask. “Everything’s fine, nothing you need to worry about.” “Looks like you’re having a search party. Do you need help?” I push. “Nah, just looking for my dog.” I arch a brow, and Daya gives him a look. “You must really care about

this dog,” she remarks.

“Yeah, the bitch is priceless,” he retorts. “Now keep it movin’, you got

cars behind you, dickhead.”

But I’m already rolling my window up and pressing hard on the gas. “Hear that, Jay?” I ask, my chest tightening. “Yep. Do you think it’s Addie?” I shake my head, my thoughts racing faster than my car. “Jillian mentioned other girls in the house, so it could be any one of

them, but there’s a really good fucking chance. I don’t think they’d have a massive search party like this for a regular girl.”

“It sounds like Addie. She’s brave.” I bite my lip, a plethora of emotions rising in my chest—excitement,

fear, and pride.

I make a quick decision to head towards the train. I have no idea what

direction she’s gone in, but I know she’s too smart to take the road. Too

many possibilities to get caught and brought right back to the house. But there’s a chance she found that train, and is using it as a guide out of the woods. Or seeking refuge in it.

Daya’s phone buzzes for the millionth time, and she sighs as she taps on

it.

“Her mother again?” “Yeah,” she says softly. “She’s been a wreck since Addie went missing,

and I think she’s told every police officer in the state about themselves and their momma because they haven’t found her yet.”

“She knows we might get her today?” She nods, “Yeah, I probably should’ve waited, but I’ve just never seen

Serena like this before, and I guess I just wanted to give her a little bit of hope, ya know? It’s been over two months, and I think she was all but convinced Addie’s dead.”

I flick my gaze to Daya. “She’s going to get her daughter back today.

Call me psycho, but my girl is close. I can feel it.”

Before Daya can respond, Jay’s voice cuts in. “Oh, shit.” “What?” I snap. “About two months ago, there are a couple satellite images of a massive

gathering at the house. I looked to see if there was an influx of flights and hotel bookings, and sure as shit, there was. I mean, dozens and dozens of high-profile men from all around the world flew in and stayed in surrounding hotels. One of them was Xavier Delano; he has booked into a hotel forty-five minutes away every week for the past month.”

Just like Jillian had said—he’s been visiting her often. “Fucker,” Daya mutters.

White-hot fury builds in my chest, an ever-present volcano ready to

erupt at any second. And it has, many times. Resulting in a lot of traffickers dying and a couple of buildings burnt down. I try to concentrate, otherwise I’ll go blind with rage again, and my car will go careening off the side of the road.

I come up to a dead end, my only option being to turn left or right. “Jay, is the railroad line up ahead?” “Yep, a few hundred feet,” he confirms a moment later. “We’re going to search on foot, but I have a few men on standby, and I

want you to send them to the house just in case. I don’t want anyone to

leave.”

“Got it.” I turn left and drive for a few seconds before coming across a hiking

trail. There’s a small lot, so I quickly whip into a parking space.

“Put your Bluetooth in,” I tell Daya, sticking my own in my ear. Michael

has pulled in the spot beside me, and the four of us exit the cars.

“Is it Addie?” Michael asks immediately. “We don’t know for sure, but I think it is, and she can’t be far.” Ruby gasps and puts a hand over her heart, always one to be theatrical.

“Oh! We best hurry then. She’s probably so scared, poor girl.”

Michael nods, a small hopeful smile tipping up his lips. “Help direct us to the railroad line,” I tell Jay after calling him on the

Bluetooth while pulling out a cigarette from the pack.

“Those will kill you,” Jay complains. I look up, noting the drone

stationed fifty feet above my head. I raise my hand and give it the finger.

Jay chuckles through my Bluetooth and tells us where to head.

It takes us about five minutes of speed-walking to find the train. “How long is the train?” “This one is larger than most. Stretches about two miles. You’ve got

about a half-mile to your right, and the rest to your left.”

I turn to Michael, “You and Ruby go right, and Daya and I will go left.” He nods, already taking off in the direction. “See you soon,” he says,

waving a hand, Ruby quickly following after him.

“Ruby!” I call. “You got a gun, right?” “You’re damn right I do,” she shouts back, not even glancing behind her.

Smiling in approval, I head in the other direction, my bones rattling with anticipation.

I’m coming home with my little mouse tonight. And then?

We’re going to burn down the world together.

Chapter 22

The Diamond

The tip of my toe catches on a rock, and I stumble forward, managing to

right myself before I eat dirt. The cold has settled deep in my bones, and all feeling in my hands and feet have depleted.

I don’t know how long I’ve been running now, but I’ve counted the

trailers I’ve passed.

Twelve. Only twelve.

It’s pitch-black outside still, and an owl is hooting somewhere in the

distance, easily drowned out by my namesake.

“Diiiamond!” I heard Rocco’s friends calling for me right as I reached the train, and

I’m seconds away from bending over and puking, which would lead them straight to me. If not by the sound of my retching, then by the puddle of vomit I would be leaving behind.

It took me a while to find the train again, being so unfamiliar with these

woods. I’ve only run through them twice, and both times was through a large maze filled with traps. Considering I’m not thinking clearly at the moment, I didn’t want to risk tripping over a wire, so I went around it.

“Diiiiiiamoonddd!” a man calls again, and I gag, the adrenaline too

powerful.

Their voices are still relatively far off, but I haven’t covered any of my

tracks. Haven’t had the time to. I’ve no idea if they know how to follow them—probably not—but it doesn’t matter. Francesca will, since she hunted me when we practiced for the Culling.

I’m on the twentieth trailer when I stumble again, and this time, I’m

unable to catch myself. I topple forward, landing awkwardly on my hands and knees, agony flaring from the impact. My bag goes flying, and another fucking water bottle tumbles out. Dropping my head low between my shoulders, I work on breathing.

In, and out. In—fuck, I can’t breathe.

My numb face contorts, and a sob crawls up my throat like the itsy-bitsy

spider.

Keep fighting, baby. Keep fighting.

I don’t know how to anymore, Zade. I don’t fucking know how.

I shake my head, sucking in sharply, working on getting it fucking

together. Another inhale, and I force myself up, bits of rock, leaves, and sticks embedded into my palms.

Brushing them off, I scan my eyes over the trailer next to me. It doesn’t

look much different than the others—white, rusted, and corroded—but there is a ladder anchored to the side of it.

If I stay out much longer, they’ll find me, so I need to find a place to

hide and regain my strength. I’m still deep in shock, and my body is beginning to shut down from it and the adrenaline.

Wiping the snot from my nose, I gather my meager belongings again,

cradle them in one arm and grab onto the cold metal with the other, and start climbing.

“The itsy-bitsy spider climbs up the waterspout,” I croak, missing a rung

and slipping again. My knee hits the metal, sending waves of pain up my leg. Hissing, I finish my climb and clamber toward the middle of the trailer.

Once I reach the hatch door, I turn the lever and yank it open, the last threads of my energy expended.

“Down came the rain and washed the spider out.” I peek into the trailer,

seeing nothing but plant life snaking through the crevices. I may very well be climbing into my grave, but I’d much rather die here.

Yeah, I think this is a good place to die.

I awake to the feeling of something skittering across my leg. I’m

instantly gripped in panic and shoot forward, a sharp yelp on the tip of my tongue.

For a moment, I’m convinced I’m back in that house, straddling Sydney

with that pen in my hand.

It takes several moments of taking deep breaths for the panic to subside,

and my surroundings to bleed back into my vision.

Panting, I look down, noting that my hands are still covered in blood. It’s

soaked through my clothing on my arms and legs, too. My skin is itchy and irritated, and I can feel it flaking off me.

Groggy, freezing, and uncomfortable, I look around the inside of the

trailer I’m in. Vines grow up through the cracks, and it’s dirty and stifling in here but otherwise empty. I left the top hatch cracked, and a strand of morning light filters in, providing enough illumination to see clearly.

A groan rumbles from my throat, my back aching from my stiff position.

Just as I readjust, I pause, noticing a brown squirrel sitting several feet away, sniffing the ground and keeping a close eye on me.

“Hey, cutie,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with sleep. I titter, and with

absolute fascination, watch it slowly come closer until it’s within inches from me. It darts out of the way when I try to pet it, so I back off.

“What’s your name?” I whisper, smiling when it hops on my leg, its tiny

claws digging past the fabric of my joggers.

For several minutes, the curious squirrel and I observe each other, and

for the first time in months, I feel a little lighter. This little creature is so small and insignificant to most, yet watching it clean its little face has my eyes filling with tears. I’ve been surrounded by hollow corpses for so long that it’s shocking to see something so alive.

I sniffle, wiping away the wet trails from my cheeks, only for them to be

replaced with more.

“My Nana loved watching the squirrels from the bay window, ya know?”

I say aloud. “So, I’m going to call you May. Her birthday was in May, and I think she’d love you.”

The squirrel titters, crawling down my leg towards my foot. I laugh

when it nibbles at the tip of my shoe, tugging on the material slightly.

I gasp when I see another squirrel come rushing toward us out of the

corner of my eye.

“Oh my God, there’s two of you!” I squeak, keeping my voice quiet.

May hops off my leg and meets up with her companion. The couple chases after each other, pulling another laugh from my chest. Several vines cling up the side of the trailer, directly up towards the hatch.

With both fondness and sadness, I watch the couple climb up the vines

and squeeze their fluffy little bodies out of the crack.

“Bye, May,” I whisper, loneliness settling in.

Instead of letting it sink its claws into me too deep, I force myself to

stand, my back and legs aching painfully.

I don’t remember much after dropping down in the trailer except that I

nearly twisted my ankle, but I must’ve fallen asleep soon after. Considering there’s a blue tint to the light peeking through, it’s still early morning, and no more than a few hours could’ve passed.

There’s no doubt that they’re still looking for me, and I battle with the

decision of whether I should keep moving or wait it out and hope they give up on searching the forest. I’m terrified to reach the point where I no longer have the protection of the abandoned train.

After that, I’ll be out in the open, with only two kitchen knives to keep

me safe.

Deciding to forge ahead, I take a moment to gobble down a granola bar

and chug half a bottle of water, determined to eat and drink sparingly. I want to throw these stupid water bottles for nearly getting me caught, but I have no idea how long I’m going to be stranded for, so I need them.

When I dropped in here, I hadn’t really given much consideration on

how I was going to get out. And now, I really regret that decision.

I look around, hoping to find something that will give me a boost, but

there’s nothing in here.

Shit.

God? Can we barter or something? If you help me get out of here, you

have my permission to knock off ten years of my life. That’ll leave me with like five years left with all this stress, and I’m content with that.

Now that my head is clearer, I can say with absolute certainty that I

don’t, in fact, want to die here.

But it looks like I’m going to.

Another bout of tears floods my eyes, and my throat tightens.

Just as I’m about to start hyperventilating, I hear voices outside of the

trailer. Inhaling sharply, I’m paralyzed with terror as I listen to two people speaking.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I do hear the distinct noise of a

radio.

Oh, my fuck, that’s them.

Hyperventilating commence.

I slap a hand over my mouth, suddenly paranoid that they can hear me

breathe through thick steel. Glancing up at the hatch door, my heart drops when I hear a muffled voice say, “The hatch looks open.”

Absolute terror consumes me, and the only thing I can think to do is

quietly grab both of my knives, fisting one in each hand, and head towards the far corner of the trailer where most of the shadows are converged.

Obviously, that’s going to accomplish absolutely nothing when they

open the door and look inside, but there’s literally nothing else I can do. Not until they come down here.

The sound of someone jumping on the side of the trailer reverberates

throughout the metal and along my body, sending my heart flying into my throat.

I grip the knives tightly, shaking violently as I hear the man crawl up the

trailer.

“Hey!” a voice calls loudly. The man pauses, and with him much closer

to the door, I can hear him better.

“Who the fuck are you?” I can’t hear what the person’s response is, but whatever it is, the guy

doesn’t like it.

“The fuck did you just say, asshole? You have no business being here.” The other person is closer now, though I still can’t make out what they’re

saying.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s not private property. Who the fuck are you to

question me?”

Confused and relieved, I hear the man climb back down the trailer,

assumingly standing off with the intruder.

I try to listen past the loud heartbeat in my ears, but I can’t make out a

damn word.

Their shouting increases, though most of it seems to derive from the man

who came very close to finding me.

Just when it seems it’s about to get physical, it goes deadly silent for a

beat, followed by a sharp sound of metal pinging off of metal. A bullet? I didn’t hear a gunshot, but it’s so hard to hear past my roaring heartbeat.

It sounds like a man says, “Fucker,” though I can’t be sure.

Eyes wide, I stare up at the hatch, my nerves in tatters as I hear someone

jump back up on the ladder of the trailer.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no.

He’s back.

A sob rackets up my throat, muffled by my hand as I hear the man loudly

approach the hatch.

If he wants me to come out, he’s going to have to come get me, and

there’s no way I’m going without a fight.

I would sooner slit my throat than go back to that house. Go back to

Xavier.

The hatch creaks open, and vomit rises up my throat. I’m on the verge of

fainting, until I see his face.

My eyes widen further, the fear quickly replaced with disbelief.

One blue eye so light, it’s nearly white, with a wicked scar slashing

straight down through it. And one brown eye so dark, it appears obsidian. I can still see his features clearly, even with the black hood drawn over his head. And right now, utter relief is staring right back at me.

“Zade?” “Fuck, baby, stay right there. Don’t you fucking move.” “She’s in there?” a female calls out urgently, her footsteps climbing the

trailer now as well. But I’m too blinded by shock to pay attention. Zade drops down into the trailer a second later, his weight reverberating throughout the heavy metal.

A whimper bursts from my throat, nearly choking on relief as I stumble

towards him, colliding in a tangle of limbs.

He immediately lifts me into his arms, my legs circling his waist before

he collapses to his knees, holding me so tightly that I can hardly draw in a breath.

Total disbelief has me in a chokehold and I’m heaving around the sobs

pouring from my throat. They rack my body so profoundly that my bones rattle from the force.

“I’m here, little mouse, I’m here,” he chants. “Fuck, you’re so cold.” His

voice breaks, and he rocks us both, vibrations rolling through him as he fights to keep it together.

Piece by piece, we both crumble, the chips falling around us in a

waterfall of anguish. And I just know that when Zade picks up our scattered pieces and stitches us back together, we’ll be forever entwined.

He places soft but urgent kisses on any surface of my body within range.

My head, cheeks, neck, and across my shoulders, while his hands roam mindlessly, heating my chilled skin, though it feels more like he’s worshiping.

I don’t know how long we stay there, but eventually, my weeping dies

down, yet Zade never stops holding me.

“Addie?” a voice calls softly. My eyes widen, and my head snaps up,

seeing Daya’s face peering down in the hatch. Her smooth dark brown skin is wet with tears, and her sage green eyes are flooded.

“Oh my God, Daya,” I croak, once more overcome with disbelief. “Let’s get you up, baby,” Zade urges. “It’s cold, and the place is still

swarming with people looking for you.”

I sniff, wipe my nose, and nod. He boosts me up, and Daya grabs onto

my hands, helping me out of the trailer. When I climb out, she immediately embraces me in a hug; her hold is nearly as tight as Zade’s.

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” she cries, voice shaky and tight. I nod,

on the verge of breaking down all over again.

But then a woman screeches from behind us, erupting in jumbled words

that sound a lot like oh my God, you found her, she must be freezing. Or something like that.

Daya and I pull apart to watch a red-headed woman and another man I

don’t recognize rush toward us. A moment later, Zade jumps up, dangling onto the hatch and lifting himself up with ease.

“You found her!” the woman shouts again. “Jesus, Ruby, don’t announce it to the world. There are still people

around searching for her,” Zade snaps.

She waves a hand, unconcerned. “You’ll get ‘em.” And he will. On the ground are two dead bodies, bleeding from what

looks like their chests.

“How did you…?” “Literally took two steps to the side and shot them both through the chest

with one damn bullet,” Daya answers for him, glancing at me with a look that says, he’s fucking crazy but also kind of cool.

Approaching the trailer, Ruby pinches her hands, indicating for me to

climb down to her. “Come on, honey. I’ll get you warmed up.”

I just stare at her, my brain submerged in a pool of gelatin, slow to

process what’s happening. After Daya softly nudges me, I shakily descend the ladder, my feet nearly slipping on the rungs. The woman, who must be Ruby, wraps an arm around me the moment my feet hit the dirt.

“You’re safe now, honey,” she croons, rubbing my bicep to warm me up

as she walks me along the abandoned train.

I glance over my shoulder and spot Zade a few feet behind; his eyes

laser-focused on me as if he’s convinced I’ll disappear if he looks away for even a second.

I’m safe now. Yet it still feels like I’m in Hell.

PART II

Chapter 23

The Hunter

“No good news?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.

Jay’s lips tighten, and he shakes his head. Francesca and Rocco Bellucci

were nowhere to be found when my men arrived at their house. In fact, the entire house was vacant, except for a dead man in the living room with his throat slit open, and a couple men piled outside of the porch steps. Which means Rio and Rick fled, too. I suspect they all left the moment they found Addie missing, high-tailing it out of there before I could get to them.

The worms are slippery, but they won’t be able to hide from me for long. “How is Addie doing?” Jay asks, concern etched into the lines of his

face. He glances over my shoulder as if he can see her from the front door.

It’s the first time he’s been in Parsons Manor, and his body language

suggests he’s ready to get the fuck out. He took one step in, and the front door shut on its own behind him. Since Addie’s been home, the activity has increased. Her energy has been dark, and the manor never had any warmth to begin with.

I wanted to take her back to my place, but Addie refused—stating she’s

been holed up in one prison for long enough and doesn’t want to find herself in another. So I stationed heavy security around the property, using advanced—and illegal—technology to ensure nothing gets by without my knowledge. Whatever Claire has up her sleeve next, she knows there’s no chance of touching Parsons.

After I found her, I took her straight to trusted old friends of mine, Teddy

Angler, and his son, Tanner. Teddy is a retired surgeon but has been working for Z since I built the organization, taking in any survivors that need care. His son is a nurse, and often assists Teddy now that he’s getting older.

We stayed with him for a week so he could treat the lacerations all over

her body, the open wound on the back of her neck, and pump her with fluids. She was dehydrated, malnourished, and ravaged by the abuse.

I refused to turn away from what was done to her, though all I wanted to

do was walk right back out of his door and shred anyone who inhabited that house with my bare fucking teeth.

I’m not sure if she even recalls much of her time with Teddy. She was

catatonic the entire stay.

It’s been a month since she's been home, and in the beginning, we were

swarmed with police officers and media outlets. Law enforcement were requesting her statement, and wanted information on her kidnapping. And of course, because Addie’s a popular author, it got media attention. I’m not ashamed that I’ve lost count on how many paparazzi I’ve threatened bodily harm to due to them trying to sneak onto the property.

I would’ve loved to make a fucking example of one of them. String them

up at the end of the driveway as a friendly reminder of what will happen if even their toe touches the goddamn property line.

The chaos has died down, but it sent Addie further into herself, and she’s

been confined to her bedroom and cocooned under her black silk sheets as if she’s allergic to the outside air. For the first couple weeks after her rescue, she would hardly speak at all.

Addie often flipped between complete desolation, where she stared

blankly and gave no reaction, to crying and inconsolable. I’ve had a therapist, Dr. Maybell, come in to talk to her a few times to help draw her out, and it has helped.

Seeing her like this breaks my fucking heart, and all I want is to hand her

the pieces and give her something to hold on to.

But she won’t hold on to anything. Won’t even let me come near. If I get

within a foot of her, she flips out. She absolutely refuses to let me touch her, and it’s fucking killing me because that’s all I want to do.

Daya and Serena have both visited frequently, as Addie is far more

comfortable with their embrace than she is with mine.

“Alive,” I answer, though I’m not entirely sure that’s the truth. She’s

breathing, but she’s not living. “And slowly getting better. She’s talking now and will smile and laugh sometimes. She’ll be up, down, and sideways for a long time.”

I glance down at the deep gouges in my hands, still bright red from last

night.

Every night, she thrashes in the bed, screams tearing from her throat and

body flailing. I’ve learned to be careful when I wake her. Some nights she goes into full attack mode. Sightless as she scratches at me, convinced I’m one of the demons haunting her nightmares.

During the day, she’s back to being a ghost. Though that doesn’t seem

right, either—the ghosts in Parsons Manor are more active than she is.

And to be frank, I’m growing frustrated. Not because she’s lost in her

trauma, but because I have no fucking idea how to bring her out of it.

Helplessness is a feeling I’ve become intimate with. I can’t save every

girl, but I’ll be damned if I can’t save Addie, even if it’s from herself.

“She’s going to get through it, Z,” Jay assures, seeming to note the

distress darkening the underside of my eyes.

“I know she will. She’s the strongest woman I know,” I agree.

Jay nods, and hands over a bouquet of red roses. “I don’t want to bother

her right now, so give these to her for me, yeah?”

“Of course, thanks, man,” I say, grabbing the bundle from his hand. His

nails are painted neon pink today, and they’re chipping already.

“Have you checked in on Katerina?” Jay nods. “Yeah, she’s kind of like Addie right now. Doesn't speak much

and her emotions are unstable. She’s so young and has been through a lot.”

Once Addie had gotten in my car, she had given me two names, along

with a plea to save one of them from a sunflower field. Rio’s sister, Katerina Sanchez, and her groomer, Lillian Berez.

I don’t know why Addie had asked me to rescue Rio’s sister, only that it

was important to her that I do. Katerina is a fifteen-year-old girl who was enslaved to a wicked woman. Regardless of who her brother is—and how badly I want to kill him—she’s not responsible for her brother’s sins and needed saving.

Caught up with Addie and getting her settled, I sent Michael and another

one of my mercenaries to take care of it. If it wasn’t for Addie insisting Katerina was by a sunflower field, it might’ve taken a lot longer to find her, but they were able to track her down within a couple of days and get her out of there. Unlike Addie, they didn't go through great lengths to keep her hidden.

Now, she’s in one of my safe houses, getting treatment for her extensive

trauma.

“Her brother still attempting to hide?” Jay gives me a look. “You know he is. He's still in Arizona.” When I

nod, he hikes a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I’m going to head out.

Let her know I’m thinking about her.”

He casts another glance at the living room, sweeping his eyes over every

nook and cranny as if a spirit is going to be standing there staring at him.

I can feel the eyes on my back, but whoever they are, they aren’t making

themselves known. Jay turns and softly shuts the door behind him, while a cold draft brushes across the back of my neck.

Ignoring the phantom, I head upstairs to check on my girl. Her mother

left only an hour ago, and she tends to take naps after those visits.

The first time meeting Serena Reilly was… interesting. Addie never told

her about me—which I had expected, considering their relationship was in shambles long before I came along. And regardless of the fact that I found her daughter, her spidey senses are tingling, and she is sensing just how dangerous I am.

She’s not wrong.

Cracking open the door, I peer inside, finding Addie sitting up, balancing

her journal on her knee as she scribbles in it like she can’t get the words out fast enough. A shot of relief floods my system. Today seems to be a good day for her—as good as it’s capable of being.

She doesn’t acknowledge me, so I lean against the doorframe, content

with watching her write. The balcony doors are cracked open, letting in the cool, fresh air. It’s freezing in here, but it doesn’t seem like she notices.

Over the last few days, she’s been writing in that journal more often. I’m

not sure where it came from, but it’s her lifeline, and it seems to be helping her. Dr. Maybell recommends journaling and shit all the time with the girls I rescue. Better than bottling up all those emotions and letting them fester and eat away at them slowly.

After a few more minutes, she grabs a tube of lipstick, blindly applies it

to her plump lips, then smacks a kiss on the journal. Glancing at me, she snaps the journal shut, sets it on the nightstand, and grabs a tissue to wipe off the crimson stain on her mouth, finally meeting my eyes.

“I see you’re still creepy,” she comments dryly, crumbling the tissue up

and tossing it on the table beside her.

I grin and slowly approach her. She visibly tenses, so I sit at the end of

the bed and give her space.

I’m all for pushing Addie’s boundaries, but this isn’t one I’m willing to.

Despite my less than honorable methods with her in the past, the last thing I want to do is worsen her trauma. She’s been through enough; she doesn’t need another self-serving man taking something from her that she’s not willing to give.

When she’s ready to accept me again, I can’t promise I won’t push her

past her comfort zone and work to reawaken a part of her I’m sure she feels is lost.

But that takes time and trust.

And I’m a very patient man. “Forever and always, baby,” I murmur, shooting her a roguish grin. It

feels like my heart explodes when she offers a small smile in return.

That small gesture feels like she just handed me the entire fucking world

in her tiny palms.

“Jay got you roses,” I tell her, handing her the bouquet. Her hand curls

around the stems, and she sniffs the petals.

“That was sweet of him. I probably should’ve met him… He’s your

friend, and he helped save both of our lives. I need to thank him personally,” she says, her brows knitted with guilt.

I had given her a brief rundown of what happened the night of the ritual

—how Jay realized the Society set me up and came to warn me. He was stationed in a van a block away in case shit went awry and we needed a quick escape, but by the time he got to me, the bomb had already gone off.

But I haven't told her who the Society is yet, and she hasn’t seemed inclined to get into it.

I shrug. “Jay isn’t going anywhere, and he understands that you’re not

ready for people yet.”

She snorts dryly. “People-ing sounds exhausting. And speaking of

exhausting tasks… I need to shower,” she admits, wrinkling her nose.

“You do stink,” I say, my grin widening when she shoots me a glare.

More often, I’ve been seeing her old self poke through. Sometimes it’s a

jab at something I said, other times it’s a little smile, and then there are moments like now—where she looks like she wants to give me the one-two to my eyeballs.

I eat it all up. “You’re supposed to say I smell like flowers.” “Baby, there are flowers out there that smell like straight ass. So sure,

you smell like those flowers.”

She stares at me for a beat, and then her face cracks, and a full-blown

grin stretches her lips.

Fuck.

I’m so in love with her. “Fine, I guess I can’t really argue with that anyway.” She glances at the

door leading to her personal bathroom. “There are no cameras in there, right?”

I arch a brow, enjoying the way her lips part. “I haven’t taken them out.” She glowers. “Why not?” I hold her gaze, ensuring she can see how serious I am. “I’m not going to

watch you, Addie. But the second you give me a reason to, I will.”

Her brow lowers, picking up on my meaning. “I’m not going to hurt

myself.”

“Okay,” I say, taking her word for it. “I’ll change out the sheets, and

they’ll be fresh by the time you’re done.”

Slowly, she drags herself out of bed, and the burst of pride is

uncontainable. I’m pulling up the corner of the silk sheet when she pauses at the door leading to her bathroom, peeking over her shoulder at me.

“Hey, Zade?” “Yeah, baby?” “Thank you.”

“Your mom is coming here tomorrow, just to remind you.” It’s only been a few days since Serena visited last, but she’s been trying

hard to reconnect with her daughter. Something I’m actually glad for, despite how exhausting she can be.

Addie rolls over to face me, once more a little burrito in her bed. She’s

intent on wasting away for now, but I plan on channeling her trauma into

better, more healthy avenues when she’s ready.

Her sweet caramel pools peer up at me, a slight frown on her face.

Shadows stain the underside of her eyes, so dark that some of her freckles are lost.

“Does she have to?” I shrug a shoulder. “No. Say the word, and I’ll lock the doors.” She drops her gaze, but not quick enough to hide the guilt. “That was

rude of me to say,” she admits. “She’s still my mom.”

I settle in deeper next to her, slumping against the stone wall, careful not

to touch her, though my body is vibrating with the need to.

We haven’t touched since I found her in the train, and each second feels

like a stab in the chest. Fiending for Adeline Reilly is a feeling I’m old friends with, but this is the first time I refuse to act on it.

“Tell me about her,” I say. “Tell me everything about you.” She raises an eyebrow, and I smile because it’s cute. “You mean you

don’t know everything about me already?”

“Of course, I don’t, baby. Not the things that matter. I may know what

high school you graduated from or where you went to college before you dropped out, but that doesn’t mean I know how happy you were. If you were lonely or sad. Or if a boy cornered you in a library and made you scared.” I pause, that particular scenario angering me. “If that happened, I just need a name, that’s all.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

Addie resisted pillow talk before she was abducted, intent on hating me.

And when she stopped hating me, we only had a couple of nights together before she was taken.

She wiggles deeper into the sheets, glancing at me through thick lashes.

My heart clenches painfully, and I have an uncontrollable urge to kiss every single freckle dotting her cheeks and nose.

“My mom hates me,” she starts. “Or maybe she doesn’t hate me, but

she’s never liked me. I think it’s because she never understood me. My mom is all about being prim, proper, and classy. Enter beauty pageants, marry a rich man, and live lavishly. I think she just wanted me to have the life she couldn’t have, and when I did the opposite, she resented me for it.”

“At least you’ll end up marrying a rich man,” I comment. She pins me

with a dry look.

“Now I can never marry you. It’s my life’s purpose to disappoint her in

every decision I make.”

I arch a brow. “Don’t underestimate me, Addie. I’ll become a poor man

for you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t even know your last name. Or your

birthday.”

I grin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize those things were so important.” She glares at me, conjuring all the sass from the fellow women around

the world and inserting it into that single look. It only makes me smile wider.

“Aren’t we having a heart-to-heart? Plus, you keep threatening me with

marriage. Shouldn’t I know your last name?”

“Does this mean you’re actually going to take my threats seriously and

marry me?”

She sighs, waltzing right into that one. She knows it, too. “It’s a simple question. The kind of question anyone would ask on the

first date. Or even before the first date just in case the man ends up being an obsessive stalker who murders people.”

I tip my head back, a deep laugh pouring from my throat. “My birthday is September 7th,” I tell her. “Doesn’t surprise me that you’re a Virgo. Next,” she prompts sassily,

waiting for my next answer. I bite my lip, tempted to spank her ass and give her a reason to be sassy.

“Meadows, baby. Our last name is Meadows.” “Yours. Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll be expected to beg.” There’s no stopping the savage grin from gracing my lips. “I love to

beg.”

“Whatever, creep. We were talking about my mom, not marriage.” I get comfortable, fully facing her and propping my head on my hand.

Her eyes flutter when I notch my finger under her chin, demanding her full attention. Gently, she pulls away, but I don’t let it bother me. It’s a start.

“Your mom doesn’t hate you, Addie. She hates herself. And she doesn’t

resent you because you’re not living the life she wanted for herself, she resents you because you were living the life you wanted, and she wasn’t.”

She stares at me, seeming to contemplate that.

“The best thing you can do is keep living that life, little mouse. Continue

being a successful author who loves horror movies and haunted fairs. Who loves her Nana and the gothic mansion she inherited and finds a thrill out of the ghosts that walk the halls. You’ve always been unapologetically you.”

She wrinkles her nose as if she’s disgusted. “So, you’re wise and shit,

too?” She scoffs, a sound of abhorrence, though there’s a faint glimmer in her eye. “Despicable. What are you bad at?”

My smile turns salacious, enjoying the way red tints her cheeks. “I’m

very bad at lots of things. And I hear that practice makes perfect.”

She groans and shoves me, and I laugh when she flips over, turning her

back to me. We both know she’s laughing, too, but she just isn’t ready to admit it yet.

That’s okay. I’ve got nothing but time.

Chapter 24

The Diamond

“I have an awkward question,” I start, and I almost immediately regret

saying anything at all when Zade grins slyly at me. He probably thinks I’m going to ask him to do something weird.

This will be the first time I’m planning on leaving the property since I’ve

been home, and my anxiety is high. It’s been a little over a week since I had talked about my mom with Zade, and it made me feel… better. Enough to get up every day, shower, take walks to the cliff, get some fresh air, and just… live.

I think I’ve reached the point where I need to feel human again, but

there’s been one nagging concern in my head that’s keeping me from feeling that.

“Can… Would you mind driving me to the clinic?” Usually, I’d drive myself, but the thought of getting behind the wheel

again makes me break out in hives. My car was totaled in the accident, and even though Zade bought me a new one, I can hardly get in it without having an anxiety attack. Plus, it’s missing the ketchup stain on the roof, and I miss that stain. I still don’t remember where it came from, but I’m pretty sure it was from a fly-away French fry after I hit a speed bump too hard.

So anyway, I decided Zade taking me would cause more annoyance, but

less panic.

His face relaxes, and I think he knows what I’m asking. “Sure, baby,” he agrees, nodding toward the door. “I’ll be in the car.” He stands, then pauses and looks at me. “And by the way, nothing is

awkward between us. If you need me to pluck a butthole hair, I’ll do it.” He shrugs, “Or you know, pop an ingrown hair on your vagina.”

My mouth drops open, but then my eyes narrow, and I cross my arms. “How much shit did you watch me do when you were being a little

creep?”

His grin only widens in response before he walks out of the door.

I swear I hate him.

But I’m thankful that he’s not asking questions. How does one say, hey, I

want to get tested for STDs because I had a bunch of dicks in me without at least one person feeling uncomfortable? Doesn’t really come out right, no matter how you word it.

I will forever be thankful for Francesca forcing Rocco and his friends to

use condoms, aside from the first time Rocco assaulted me. She said we would be worthless if they gave us diseases. But it was useless anyway— they certainly didn’t use condoms when they forced us to perform oral. I think it just made Francesca feel like she was being responsible.

According to Rio, there was an incident long before I arrived, where one

of the guys gave all the girls syphilis. Since then, Francesca has been diligent about them getting tested if they wanted to partake in our ‘lessons,’ but I wouldn’t trust any of them to actually keep their dicks clean.

Xavier used condoms, too, but there was one occurrence when the

condom broke. I bite my lip, anxiety flaring just thinking about that minuscule chance that I got knocked up anyway, despite that I have the IUD. It’s improbable, but not impossible.

My heart drops, picturing the disgusted look on Zade’s face when

finding out that I’m pregnant with another man’s baby.

I know him well enough by now that I’m confident he wouldn’t actually

give me that look, but that image plagues me anyway.

I wouldn’t blame him if he did. That disgust is what I feel every time I

stare in the mirror. Which is why I tend to avoid it at all costs.

I’m getting a pregnancy test, and if I did get that unlucky, I’m throwing

myself off the building next.

I’ve been out of the house for a total of two hours and forty-seven

minutes, and I’m fucking exhausted. I'm still riddled with anxiety, nauseated by the possibility that I’m as filthy as I feel.

“You look like you need ice cream,” Zade announces, his palm flat on

the steering wheel as he makes a left turn. It’s… hot. Watching Zade drive

is foreplay.

Even worse, he’s wearing a leather jacket over his hoodie today, and I

still haven’t been able to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

I blink, the loss of blood making me a little woozy. I told the doctor to

test me for every STD known to man—especially herpes since that’s one of the scarier and mostly silent ones—and I lost count of how many tubes of blood she drew. She stared at the barcode on my wrist almost the entire time, and after the gauze stemmed the bleeding, she slapped a Band-Aid with smiley faces on my arm. I laughed, then cried when the pregnancy test came back negative.

“Ice cream?” I echo dumbly. “Do you like ice cream?” “I—well, yes,” I stutter, my brain slow to catch up with the randomness. “What’s your favorite flavor?” “Mint chocolate,” I answer, watching him make another turn. He’s

heading in the opposite direction of Parsons now, and I think he’s aiming for Lick n’ Crunch a few blocks away—a mom-and-pop shop that sells the best soft-serve ice cream in Seattle.

The thought of getting ice cream with Zade is so normal and mundane

that it feels like the most exciting thing to happen since sliced bread. And watching Zade lick an ice cream cone will probably be just as weird as it will be hot.

“So toothpaste?” I sigh. “Et tu, Brute? It’s not toothpaste. They taste nothing alike.” A grin tips up one side of Zade’s mouth, and his eyes glitter as he pulls

into the parking lot. The bastard of a man is just trying to get a rise out of me.

“It’s toothpaste,” he reaffirms, though I’m not sure if he actually believes

that. He looks too damn mischievous, but I can't help arguing anyway.

I unbuckle and swivel toward him, my eyes thinning. “Mint is a delicacy, and you’re just a simpleton incapable of appreciating

it.”

He laughs outright, putting the car in park. Mint is definitely not a

delicacy—quite the opposite, actually—but I’m sticking with it.

“Are you saying I need to refine my food palette?” “Obviously,” I answer dryly.

He leans in close, the leather groaning beneath his weight, and my breath

hitches, all my senses invaded by the pure intensity that shrouds this man.

His scent envelopes me, causing me to stiffen as his lips scarcely brush the side of my jaw.

“Your pussy is a delicacy, baby, and I could eat it forever and never grow

tired of the taste of you. Is that refined enough?”

A flush crawls up my neck, burning a path to my cheeks, while my

mouth opens in shock. I’m entirely embarrassed by the traitorous squeak that breaks free from my throat, only causing my cheeks to grow hotter. He chuckles, then he’s out of the car in the next blink. I glance around, trying to locate where my heart fell out of my ass.

Surely that’s the only explanation of why I feel so empty now that he’s

gone. Or the asshole took it with him.

I sigh.

That’s definitely what happened.

Daylight savings is approaching, relieving the world of its depressive

claws. Something about the sun setting before five in the afternoon really puts a damper on your day.

It’s still cold outside, yet we’re sitting on a bench outside of Lick n’

Crunch, people-watching and shivering my ass off while I slowly eat my dessert.

Zade got a mint chocolate chip cone for himself, and he smiled wider

than the damn Cheshire Cat when I just stared at him.

“My entire world revolves around you. If you want mint chocolate chip,

then that’s what I want, too,” he had said.

“Do you even like it?” “I like you, does that count?” “No.” He just went and sat down, a satisfied look on his face as he lapped up

the sweet cream. He doesn’t appear disgusted, and I admit that I’ve spent

half of my time trying to figure out if he’s fucking with me or if he truly does like the flavor.

I still haven’t figured that out.

Shooting him a narrow-eyed look when he catches me staring and winks,

I turn away before he can see the smile threatening to curl my lips.

People are bundled up in their coats, bustling down the street and in and

out of shops.

My attention snags on a person walking down the road. They have

masculine features and are dressed in a big poofy purple dress. Then I do smile. My mother would turn her nose up at the eccentrics in Seattle, but I’ve always admired their confidence and ability to be comfortable with who they are.

“I hope they’re happy,” I murmur. When Zade looks at me curiously, I

nod towards the individual in the purple dress. “This world can be so cruel.

So, I hope they’re happy.”

Zade is quiet for a beat. “Happiness is fleeting. All that matters is that

they’re living their life the way they want to.”

“You believe that?” I ask, facing him. “That happiness is fleeting?” He shrugs, tossing the last bite of his cone into his mouth, and chews as

he contemplates something.

“Absolutely,” he says finally. “It’s not something solid you can hold on

to. It’s vapor in the wind, and all you can do is inhale it when it’s near and hope it comes around again when it blows away.”

I nod, having to agree with that.

Shivering, I eat the last of my cone, the icy breeze stirring up my hair,

sending the tendrils dancing. Zade catches them and gathers my hair until it’s lying straight down my back. I can’t help but tense, though I don’t stop him from whatever he’s doing. He removes his leather jacket and wraps it around me, trapping my flyaway hair beneath the heavy warmth.

“Thank you,” I whisper, bundling further into the jacket, overcome with

emotion for a reason I can’t explain. His jacket smells of leather, spice, and a hint of smoke, and as I inhale his comforting scent, tears burn the backs of my eyes.

Maybe because this is the best I’ve felt in so long, and that kind of

makes me want to cry.

He gives me a soft smile, his mismatched orbs bright. Even the scar

slashing down his white eye can’t take away from how at peace he looks right now.

“You’re welcome, baby.” My heart thuds, and I finally recognize why I feel so emotional.

Turning back to watch the city, I lean my head on his shoulder and inhale

deeply.

This happiness may be fleeting, but I’ve never been surer that it’ll be

back

Chapter 25

The Diamond

“Can I take you somewhere?” Zade asks. I’ve just stepped out of the

bathroom from my shower, yanking a brush through my wet, tangled hair. I tear the bristles through a particularly brutal knot, uncaring of the way the strands tear.

“Baby, you’re hurting your hair. Let me brush it.” Feeling defeated, I slump my shoulders, trudge over to him, and sit on

the floor between his spread knees.

He takes the brush from me and gently starts running it through the

sopping tresses, slowly detangling the mop on my head.

It feels nice, but I’m too tired to appreciate it.

Another two weeks have passed, and it’s a constant up and down battle.

Turns out, one of the men did give me chlamydia, and it only cemented that feeling of filth ingrained deep in my bones.

I cried, confessed my diagnosis to Zade, and then cried even harder

when he was nothing but supportive. It’s been treated, but that lingering repulsion lingers, sinking its claws deep into my membrane.

He’s probably used every word in the English language to assure me that

I’m not disgusting or that he doesn’t see me differently, but it didn’t change how I viewed myself.

Zade was right. Happiness is fleeting, however, over the past weeks, he’s

done everything in his power to help me hold on to any semblance of peace.

Finishing with the brush, he sets it down on the bed and gathers my hair

together. I nearly choke when he begins braiding it.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” I ask. I’m tempted to twist

around like a dog chasing its tail, just so I can witness this.

“Ruby taught me,” he answers quietly. “There was a young girl that I

rescued a few years ago, and she wouldn’t let anyone else touch her but me at first. She loved braids in her hair, so I learned how to do them for her.

Got pretty fucking good at it, too.”

My lip trembles, and I’m forced to suck it between my teeth to keep the

sob in.

Bastard of a man.

Just when I think I can’t fall in love with him any more than I already

have, he goes and does this shit.

There’s no denying that he’s going to be a great father one day, and

though the thought scares me, I don’t want anyone else but me to have the privilege of seeing it happen.

“Oh,” I whisper. “Let me see your wrist band,” he says. I raise my arm, and he drags it off

my hand and ties off the braid.

“Thank you,” I murmur, standing and turning to face him. I’m in a weird

internal war where I want to crawl onto his lap, but the thought of actually doing it makes me break out into hives. “Where did you want to take me?”

“I want to show you something—someone, too. But I thought maybe

seeing this would… help you.”

My brows pinch, but I nod, curious about what he thinks could possibly

help me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a lost cause. Hopeless. Helpless. And all the synonyms for those words, too.

During the forty-five-minute drive, Zade tells me all about how he got

suspended in high school and almost didn’t graduate. It was a senior prank —he glitter-bombed the entire school, and they had to spend the rest of the year surrounded by pink sparkles.

One of these days, I'm going to have to make him show me pictures of

his younger self. He says he's always had heterochromia, and I can only imagine how much the ladies loved that.

Eventually, we pull up to a massive gate with several armed guards

standing outside. As soon as they spot Zade’s car, they let him through without hesitation.

We drive down a long dirt driveway that leads to what appears to be a

mini village. There’s a massive, long building in the center with several smaller one’s surrounding it.

There's also an enormous greenhouse, which is where most of the

activity is. People are milling about, carrying baskets of fruits and vegetables. A group of girls walk together, giggling and whispering to one

another as they make their way towards one of the smaller buildings. All of them are kids or women that I can see.

“Where are we?” “This is where the survivors go if they don’t have a safe home to return

to.”

My gaze snaps to him, then quickly turns back to my surroundings,

taking everything in with a whole new perspective.

“Really? How many are here?” “One hundred and thirty-two survivors,” he answers, and the fact that he

knows the exact number does weird shit to my heart. Shit I didn’t consent to.

“How many people do you have room for?” He shrugs casually, parking outside the largest of the buildings.

“However many I need it to. I own hundreds of acres, so if I need to build another dorm, I do.”

I blink. “You really are stupid rich, aren’t you?” “Sure, but it goes back into my organization.” Mouth open in awe, I scan the area, overcome with how… peaceful it

appears.

“Are these the only safe houses you have?” “No, they’re all around the country. Eventually, Z is going to expand to

other countries, and I’ll start building there, too, and offer a safe place for survivors.”

“How do you keep it hidden from Claire?” “I’ve gone through great lengths to make it impossible to trace any of

my assets. Everything is under an alias and doesn’t tie back to me in any way. There’s also an incredible amount of security, and it’s a no-fly zone for aircraft. This is the safest place anyone could be, I’ve made sure of that.”

I shake my head, at a loss for words. I remember him saying before that

he offers a home to those who didn’t have one, but seeing it just cements how incredible Zade truly is. Aside from his psychotic tendencies, he’s doing something that no one has done before.

“Come on, baby. There are a couple of people I want you to meet.” I frown, unsure of who that could be, but follow him out of the car

anyway. As we’re walking down a path, we see Ruby heading toward us, a

group of children running behind her, giggling as they try to keep up. When she spots us, she screams in excitement, quickening her footsteps.

“Oh my goodness, Addie baby, you look so beautiful!” she coos loudly.

She immediately embraces me in a warm hug when she’s close enough, and for a moment, I’m too stunned to react. Eventually, I wrap my arms around her, and embarrassingly enough, I feel a little like crying.

She pulls away, crooning over me some more. “Are you coming here to stay, sweetie?” “Oh no, he was just showing me the place,” I answer. “Well, you’ll have to come visit more often. These little kiddos are good

for the soul.”

I smile, peering down at the three little girls and one boy standing in a

circle and babbling to each other. I think I believe her. They’re adorable, and I can see how a place like this would be comforting.

“I think I will,” I say softly.

Ruby lets us pass after that, and Zade directs me inside the greenhouse.

I pause, losing my breath as I take it all in.

Mist clings to the air, coating the plant life with dew, while bright pops

of color break up the never ending green.

It can only be described as a contained jungle, sans the wild animals.

Though I almost retract that statement when two little boys go zipping past me, laughing wildly with huge turnips in their little fists. A woman chases after them, pleading with them to stop running.

Zade grabs my hand and leads me to where two young women dig at the

soil, planting seeds.

“Katerina Sanchez,” Zade calls out quietly, and my heart stops when one

girl’s head turns to the side, a familiar face staring back at me, though feminine and younger, and one eye is permanently closed.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, paralyzed as the girl’s brows knit, confused on

who we are.

“Yeah?” she says cautiously.

Zade grins. “My name is Zade. I haven’t gotten the chance to introduce

myself yet, but I—” He abruptly cuts off when the girl rips off her gloves and then proceeds to nearly tackle him into a hug. While surprised, he recovers quickly and wraps his long arms around her, gently patting her back.

“You’re the one responsible for getting me out,” she says into his chest,

her words muffled. “Thank you. So much.”

He chuckles. “I think you should be thanking the woman standing

behind you. She’s the one who told me to help you.”

Without hesitation, the girl turns to me and embraces me in a hug next,

squeezing tighter than I expected. Try as I might to hold in the tears, I can’t.

They break loose, and a whimper escapes as I hold her tightly.

“Was it Rio?” she asks softly, her voice watery from her own tears. “Yes,” I rasp. She pulls back enough to get a good look at my face, her

dark brown eye tracing over my features.

“How did you know him?” I glance at Zade, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the conversation, even

though he wants to murder her brother.

“He—he was in the house I was in when I was kidnapped.” I clear my

throat. “He took care of me and helped me get out.”

Her lip trembles. “He’s not a very good person,” she says, and I’m so

surprised, I laugh. “But he’s not a good person because he’s such a great brother. He’s sacrificed a lot for me.”

I nod, wiping my cheeks, although it’s useless when a few more tears

slip free.

“I don’t think people are black and white, Katerina, but I do know that

his love for you is.”

She smiles and nods, accepting that easily. “They took my eye because he tried to escape from Francesca. I was ten

years old, our parents had just died the year before, and he was trapped with that evil woman. He never forgave himself, and even though I haven’t seen him since, I know he’s done everything that’s been asked of him so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“And did you?” I ask. “Did you get hurt again?” She shakes her head, but there’s a darkness swirling in her eyes. “Lillian

wasn’t very nice, but she didn’t hurt me anymore.” Something tells me that even though she wasn’t hurt anymore, other girls were.

She was trapped in that house for at least five years—I can only imagine

the horrors she’s witnessed.

“Katerina, can I ask why they, uh, needed Rio so badly? Enough to use

you as collateral?”

It’s something I’ve been wondering since Rio told me about her. Why

would they go as far as holding his sister over his head just so that he would work for them? They could find plenty of men willing to do their bidding, if offered the right amount of money.

She swallows. “I think… I think he was Francesca’s… favorite.” I frown, not really sure what she’s getting at. “Like favorite guard or—” She shakes her head, her lips tightening. “I’ve heard Lillian say nasty

things about them. About how much Francesca likes the way Rio… tends to her.”

My mouth pops open, realization dawning. “Oh.” Then, my eyes widen, another realization hitting. “Oh.” Francesca was fucking Rio. But I have a feeling it wasn’t mutual. She

was raping him, regardless of his compliance, and it sounds like she was quite attached to him.

My eyes drift to Zade, his expression tight. An overwhelming sadness

washes through me, muddling my feelings toward Rio further. In a way, he became my friend while I was trapped in that house. And for over two months, I was being forced to do things against my will, never realizing Francesca was ordering him to do the same.

There’s a part of me that still clings to that hate, but it’s weakening.

He kidnapped me. Ruthlessly fed me to the wolves and stood by while

faceless men repeatedly broke me. Yet, he picked up the pieces afterward.

Gathered them in his hands and carried them to my room, where he meticulously placed them back together—as janky as it was.

I want to hate him. But I don't know that I do. “Thank you for telling me that,” I say softly.

Her bottom lip trembles. “I know I lost an eye, but I think Rio has lost so

much more than I have. I hope he’s okay, and safe, wherever he is.”

I blink back fresh tears and nod my head. “Me too.” We let Katerina get back to her gardening after promising I’d visit again.

Sensing my inner turmoil, Zade keeps quiet as he leads me to another part of the sanctuary. There are two girls tending to chicken pens, plucking the eggs from underneath them.

I gasp, coming to a halt when one of them turns, and I get a good look at

her features.

“Jillian,” I breathe. She turns at her name, and her eyes bug from her

head.

“Oh my God,” she says, her accent deepening from shock. Then, she’s

hurriedly setting down the basket of eggs and rushing toward me.

We meet in the middle, our arms instantly wrapping around each other in

a fierce hug.

Due to Francesca’s mind games, we could hardly stand to look at each

other when she and Gloria were sold. But all of that immediately bleeds away now that we’re free.

My vision blurs, and when we pull away, I can see tears swimming in

her eyes, too.

“How are you?” I choke out, chuckling when her nose wrinkles. “As good as I can be, which isn’t saying much,” she answers.

I nod, “Same. Kind of feels like a slow death.” Her lips twist, and she shrugs, attempting nonchalance. “I feel that, too.

I’ve been seeing Dr. Maybell, though. And all this—” she twirls her finger, gesturing to this farm— “has helped a lot, as well. Being surrounded by others with similar experiences and having something to keep me busy prevents me from spiraling. I was on the streets before, and part of me didn’t want to be rescued because I’d have to go back to that. So, this… this has really saved me.”

She glances at Zade, clearly uncomfortable with her admission, but she

only straightens her spine instead of hiding. Sharing feelings is… hard.

“Happy to help,” Zade says simply, his face smooth but his orbs glitter

with warmth.

He’s a cold-blooded killer yet easily melts beneath a survivor’s hopeful

gaze. It impacts him as much as it does me because when you’re trapped and terrified, hope is the first thing you lose, and the most devastating. So, getting it back… that’s one of the best gifts we could ask for.

My lip trembles, and I can’t decide if I want to hug her again or turn and

smack a large one right on Zade’s lips. I’m incredibly happy for Jillian, and it feels like some of the cracks in my soul mend just a little more.

We find a spot by one of the pens and talk for a good hour while Zade

helps the other girl with the chickens, leaving us alone. She tells me a little

about her life before she was taken, and I tell her about mine. She made me promise to bring her a signed copy of one of my books, and it honestly tore my heart out as much as it mended it. I miss writing, but I know I’m not ready for that yet.

Eventually, we leave Jillian to her work while Zade shows me around the

rest of the small village. There are classrooms for the children, workshops for the elder kids, and plenty of activities to give them all something to work toward. The adults are also taught skills and trades that will allow them to get jobs, along with teaching life skills and giving them the necessary tools to support themselves.

Of course, no one is required to leave, but the last thing Zade wants to do

is strip people of their independence, so those who want to go out and experience the world and lead normal lives are able to do so.

There’s even a stable with horses, offering equine therapy for the

survivors. And of course, there’s several on-site therapists, Dr. Maybell being one of them.

My memory is a little spotty from when I first came home, but I never

forgot her warmth. The few times she visited, she helped more than I realized. And sometime soon, I plan on seeing her again and more regularly.

We spend hours playing with the children and speaking with other

survivors. I even met Sarah, the little girl who is still very insistent on Zade becoming her daddy. His eyes were a warm gooey mess when they looked over to me while Sarah jumped all over him, and for one insane second, I almost said yes right then and there.

He’s going to make a great father one day, but that day isn’t today. Not

when I’m still learning how to pick up the pieces without cutting myself.

By the time I get back in the car, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. From

getting to see what Zade built and how fucking beautiful it is, to seeing Jillian and hearing about Rio—I’m a damn mess.

“Do you still want to kill him?” I ask, not bothering to clarify. He knows

who I’m talking about.

“Yes,” he admits. “Even after meeting his sister and hearing that he’s suffered, too?” He’s silent for a beat. “One person’s suffering does not justify the pain

they inflict on others.”

“You’re right, but he also didn’t have a choice,” I argue.

Zade sets his jaw, pulling out of the parking space and heading down the

dirt road.

“Baby, there’s no good answer for this. If you want me to forgive him,

that will never fucking happen. He’s directly responsible for nearly killing you in a car accident, kidnapping you, and bringing you into a place where you were repeatedly raped and abused. What do you want me to fucking say? He’s a victim, too, and all’s forgiven?”

I snap my mouth shut. Just like people aren’t black and white, neither are

our emotions toward them. Rio caused me a lot of pain, and regardless of the person I came to know in that house, Zade didn’t experience that. He didn’t get to know Rio like I did, and the only thing he’ll ever see is the man who helped ruin my life. I can’t fault him for that. Especially when I don’t think I’d be so forgiving either if the roles were reversed.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He sighs. “You have nothing to be sorry for, little mouse.” The gates open for us again, and he pulls out onto the road. “Can you take me to one more place?” I ask. “Anywhere,” he answers.

I hold up my arm, showing him the barcode Rio tattooed on my wrist. “I want to get a tattoo.” He smiles. “Of my name?” I snort. “Keep dreaming, buddy.”

Chapter 26

The Diamond

You bleed so pretty, diamond. Like your body was meant to be cut up by

my knife.

I set my trembling hand down, still clutching the knife until my knuckles

turn white. Maybe I don’t need to make this salad.

Fuck, I know it hurts so good, doesn’t it, diamond? Look at all that

blood.

My favorite color has always been red, and my God, do you look

beautiful covered in it.

A hand brushes across my shoulder, and all of those memories come to

life. Xavier is standing behind me, ready to take from me again. And I can’t let it happen. I won’t survive it.

“No!” I scream, whipping around and sending the knife flying straight

toward his face. Does he like the sight of his own blood? I’ll show him how glorious it looks on him, too.

A hand closes around my wrist, halting my progress, but fuck him. He’s

not going to stop me—not this time.

“Little mouse,” he whispers, and that confuses my brain. Enough for

Xavier’s face to fade, only for Zade’s to appear.

Heart racing and vision blurred with tears, my hand flies open, the knife

clattering loudly against the tile.

Fuck me, I almost just stabbed Zade in the face. Eyes widened with

shock; the only thing I’m capable of is to stare, unsure if Zade is an apparition, too. He studies me closely, face carefully blank as he lowers my hand.

“Careful, little mouse, that’s my strongest asset.” Blinking, I finally choke out, "Don't ever tell my mother about this.” Zade's brows pinch, and his mouth opens, then closes, before finally

settling on, "What?"

I extract my wrist from his grip, my blood spiking hot from the lingering

adrenaline, and now embarrassment.

"What just happened was entirely dramatic, and if she ever finds out I'm

just like her, I'll die."

He blinks, amusement filtering in his yin-yang irises. "You'll die, huh?" I nod once, sharply. "In absolute misery." His mouth quirks up. "I wouldn't dream of it then." Sniffing, I nod once more, straighten out my shirt purely just to give my

hands something to do other than stabbing people, and then turn, open a drawer, and pull out another knife.

"Good." He's silent for a beat. "Do you want to talk about the attempted murder

that just occurred?"

"Not really," I answer, chopping off another piece of carrot. "But I do." I sigh, setting the knife down and pivoting to face him again. "Zade, I think I'd rather talk about my mother trying to convince me that

chastity belts were the latest fashion when I was fourteen than talk about trying to stab you."

Another pause. "Okay, so there's a lot to unpack here, and I'm not sure

where to start."

"Exactly, can you believe her? I told her she might as well make the

chastity belt into an electric fence, too, so I don't have to suffer through that."

He arches a brow, fighting a smile. "Yeah, baby, not dramatic at all." I shoot him a droll look. “You’re here. Why are you here? Did you need

something?”

“Just you, little mouse.” Dammit. Why does he have to say all the right things? He knows exactly

what he’s doing, too, and how much I secretly enjoy it.

I narrow my eyes, and he forges on, a slight curl to his lip as he speaks. “While I’m not scared of the Society, we are currently sitting ducks, and

I need to handle a few things with Jay. And there are a few things I need to discuss with you, starting with who put a target on your head.”

“Claire, right?” I ask. Surprise flashes across his face. “How did you know?” “She came to visit me.”

His face smooths into a blank slate, but it’s a mirage. Anger swirls

beneath the surface, bubbling out through his hardened tone. “What did she say?”

“Pretty much just bitch-slapped with the knowledge that she’s been the

big man behind the screen the entire time. She was there because she knew you were looking for me, and I was going to be handled differently to ensure that you wouldn’t find me.”

He nods slowly. “I’m not going to rush you, but eventually, I’ll need to

know if you saw anyth—”

“I want to help,” I cut in. It doesn’t give me anxiety like I thought it

would. Instead, it gives me a sense of relief.

When he took me to the sanctuary a few days ago, it changed something

in me. Seeing all those survivors getting better, working on healing, and seeing them shrouded in all kinds of happy vapors, it shifted something in my chest.

It made me realize that’s what I really need. A goal—something to work

toward that would genuinely make me happy. And now, I know what that is.

“Add—“ “Don’t tell me I’m not capable, or not ready. I’ve had a lot of fucking

time to think. And I don’t want to be this insufferable victim, okay? I don’t want to let them win, and more importantly. I want—no, I need to help.”

He crosses his arms. “Okay. How would you like to help?” I shrug. “I’ll tell you everything I know. And if you go out on missions, I

want to come.”

His brow cocks, and his gaze flickers over me before returning to my

eyes.

“Okay,” he acquiesces again. I’m almost suspicious of how agreeable he

is. I was expecting him to lock me in my proverbial tower like Rapunzel.

Noting the look on my face, he says, “I’ll never treat you like you’re

helpless or incapable. I’ve always known how strong you are. So, if you want to help, fine. I’m more than happy to bring you along for the ride, baby, but that comes with stipulations.”

“What stipulations?” I ask, growing wary. “We start training again. We’ll pick up where we left off, and I’ll teach

you not only how to defend yourself but how to fight, too. You need to learn

how to use a weapon properly, and so help me God, Adeline, you will not do stupid shit when we’re working in the field.”

My mouth opens, offended by his accusation. “What makes you think

I’d do anything stupid?”

His brow jumps up to his forehead again. “You’re going to tell me that

confronting your stalker in the middle of the night wasn’t stupid?”

My teeth click shut. So, maybe he has a point there. “You’re brave. Incredibly brave, and a goddamn survivor, and it’s

admirable as fuck. You have no idea how proud of you I am. But you’re also impulsive, and reactive, and I refuse to lose you again, do you hear me? I won’t. Which means that you have to listen to me, and you cannot go off and do your own thing because you think you’re helping. We’re a team, baby. Got it?”

I chew my lip, mulling that over. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I am

underwhelmingly out of my league when it comes to this corner of the world.

“I understand,” I agree. “I’m not going to pretend like I’m the big bad

wolf… yet.”

His answering smirk suggests that he is the big bad wolf, and honestly,

I’d have to agree.

But I won’t admit it. His head will blow up, and then I will need to jab

that knife in his face just to pop his oversized ego.

“Aim for the jugular, not the ear, baby,” Zade instructs patiently. It

grinds on my nerves anyway, and I’m a hairsbreadth away from turning the knife on him instead. “Adjust your feet—” He gently kicks one of them back. “You’re unbalanced and not holding the knife correctly.”

Since I started training with Zade three weeks ago, I've improved, but it

doesn’t feel like enough. It never does.

Before me is a gelatin mannequin with countless stab marks in it, most

of them far off from where I’m supposed to be hitting.

A reel of people clicks through my head, picturing each one in place of

the mannequin. It helps for the most part, but then I freeze up, remembering Sydney’s lifeless body beneath me, or the feel of my knife cutting through Jerry’s throat.

Claws dipped in guilt have me in a chokehold, and I’m growing

frustrated with myself. With him. I’m not like him. I can’t just kill someone and… get over it.

I whip around, shooting daggers at him with my eyes instead of my

hands.

“You’re so unapologetic for what you’ve done. For how many people

you’ve killed. How are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he challenges, tilting his head with an amused

grin. I’d say he looks like a cute puppy, but that would be a lie. He looks like a vicious beast that’s been locked up too long and is ravenous. For me, in particular.

“I don’t know—morals?” I say, like the answer is obvious. Because it is.

“Guilt? Remorse?”

“The very people you want to kill are the founding fathers of society’s

morals. I killed their expectations of me, and then I sliced open their throats to show them that they would never control me. They will only ever answer for their crimes, and I have no problem being the executioner. If you don’t want to do this, y—"

I slash my hand in the air, cutting him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me

an out.”

“It’s not an out, it’s an option. I want you to do whatever you can handle,

Addie. If that means staying home, I support you. If that means going on a massive murder spree, I’ll be right by your side, baby. You’re still having nightmares about Sydney and Jerry, and carrying around that guilt for protecting yourself. If you can’t learn to accept that, how will you accept taking anyone else’s life? Because believe me when I say, this won’t be self-defense from here on out.”

“I don’t know how to accept it, Zade. I feel like I’m justifying murder.” “Just like I ‘justified’ stalking you?” He puts air quotes around the word

because we both know Zade was well aware of what he was doing and how wrong it was.

“Forcing a gun into that pussy and making you come all over it? Or all

the other times you told me no, and I did it anyway?” he volleys back. The flush in my cheeks deepens, and my face burns from the reminder of that stupid gun. “Did I know it was wrong? Of course, I did. But it clearly didn’t stop me from doing it. You need to figure out your morals, and what you’re okay living with. Not what you’ve been taught, but what you feel in your gut.”

“So, stalking and assaulting me is written in your book of morals?” “No,” he says, his smile widening. “I was obsessed with you from the

moment I saw you. All those dark, twisted emotions I felt were the rawest form of who I am. I made the decision to show you that instead of concealing it. I never claimed to be a good person, little mouse, and that was something I decided I could live with. Just like murdering a bunch of pedophiles and human traffickers.”

“I’m pretty sure the people you kill tell themselves the same thing you

do to help them sleep at night,” I comment dryly.

“I’m sure they do,” he agrees easily, taking a step toward me. My breath

hitches, but I stand my ground, even as his voice deepens sinfully, “And I’m sure there are many who claim to be good and honest, and that they would be willing to kill me for my crimes against you. But that’s the difference. I’ve never made those claims.”

A flush crawls up my face, warming my cheeks beneath his intense stare. “You make it sound so easy to just be… bad.” “I’ve had a lot of practice.” He has, which raises more questions. I roll my lips, my pulse beating

erratically, working up the nerve to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. I’m afraid of what might happen once I do.

I’ve explained to Zade before that it was going to take me time to get

used to some things about him. And now that I’ve been through what I’ve been through… all those old feelings are resurfacing. Not the hate or the desire to get away but accepting and understanding his contradictions and skewed morals.

“So, what’s been stopping you then?” I rush out.

Cocking his head, he waits. “From fucking me,” I say bluntly. “You

didn’t stop before. What’s stopping you now?”

He’s silent for a few beats. “Because I wouldn’t be able to live with

myself,” he murmurs, staring at me thoughtfully. “There would be a very different reaction this time around—you already know that.”

I cross my arms, popping out a hip. “Would there?” “Yes,” he says firmly. “Do you think if I pinned you to the ground, you’d

fight me at first only to end up grinding your pussy into my face because I’ve awakened something in you? Or do you think you’d fight like your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?”

I swallow, the truth tasting like dirt on my tongue. “You will never hear me call myself a good man. Or kind. Or even

honorable. There is very little left of that in me, and the truth is that it was never really there to begin with. I was born with a blackened soul and good intentions. And there is a difference between those who are needlessly evil and those who do bad things hoping that something good will come out of it. I'll let you decide for yourself which one I am.”

He doesn't wait for me to answer—I get the distinct feeling that he wants

me to think about it first.

He steps towards me, and my muscles instantly stiffen. That’s when I

realize I don't need to think about it at all. Trauma has a tight hold on me, but all I want him to do is hold me tighter.

“You want the simple answer, too?” he asks, his voice deepening,

causing my pulse to skyrocket. “It’s because I love you, Adeline Reilly. And I know you love me back. When I’m inside you, you won’t be thinking of anything else but how to get me deeper. The only fear you’ll taste is from a God sending you to heaven too soon.”

My heart skids and comes to a crashing halt against my rib cage, giving

out on me completely. My knees will be next, and that would be fucking embarrassing.

He grins, his gaze turning predatory. “That won’t be the only fear I’ll

instill in you.”

Slowly, he begins to circle me while I stand frozen. His heat presses into

my back, and his breath warms the side of my neck. My fight or flight instincts are kicking in, and my control over it is slipping.

“You will always be the little mouse, and I will always hunt you. I’ll

patiently wait until you’re ready for me to touch you, but make no mistake, Adeline, it’ll still hurt when I do.”

An icy chill washes through me at his ominous words, colder than the

ghosts who haunt this manor. Before, that might have scared me. Even more, after being hunted by the cruelest of humankind, I should be tired of it.

Yet I feel nothing but a small thrill and… comfort. Somehow, Zade has

managed to warp our cat and mouse game. Now, I find solace in the knowledge that he will always find me. And knowing this… despite me not being quite ready for him yet—it makes me want to run.

Just so he can catch me.

With tension polluting the air, he grabs my hand, spins us around, and

points the knife at the mannequin.

“Stop picturing all the people you want to kill and picture the people you

have killed. Recreate that night in your head. Replay it over and over until stabbing that knife in their necks feels liberating.”

It takes too long to pull my headspace away from the predator standing

behind me, but eventually, I manage it.

The moment that night replays in my head, I want to curl in on myself.

Remembering how I plunged that pen into Sydney’s body until the life was snuffed from her eyes. Or slashing my knife across Jerry’s neck and watching his eyes bug from his head.

I was protecting myself. Yet, I still carry their deaths on my shoulders as

if they were innocent.

For the next hour, I continue to struggle. I’m growing frustrated with

myself and picking myself apart to figure out why I feel guilty, particularly over Sydney. Is it because she was a victim too? She was forced into the same things I was, enduring the brutality of sex trafficking that ultimately sent her into a psychotic break.

Over and over, I turn it in my head until it clicks.

Sydney may have been deranged, but she was broken too. She deserved

my sympathy, but that doesn’t excuse her from her actions. It doesn’t give her the right to hurt other people. And it doesn’t mean I was wrong for ending her life.

Though, with Jerry, Claire, Xavier, and all the others who decided I was

nothing more than an object—they don’t deserve anything more from me than what they’ve already stolen. Not my sympathy, remorse, or guilt. It

wasn’t my decision to be raped and brutalized, but it is my decision to slit their throats for it.

As I come up to the second hour, going through the movements with

Zade becomes natural. Sliding the knife into the dummy’s neck feels just as he said it would. Liberating.

Others may believe it is never okay to take a life under any

circumstances. We are not the judge. At one point, I might have even believed that, too. But then I came face-to-face with true evil. People who are not human at all, but vile things that will continue to destroy this world and anything good that inhabits it.

Now, I realize that choosing to look the other way and let God handle it

is a fucking cop-out. It’s allowing evil to continue to live because they believe the afterlife is scarier.

If it’s so scary, then why wait to send them there?

Now, I realize it’s selfish. They’re too fucking scared about making it

into heaven to condone murder, even if it saves innocent women and children's lives.

Doesn’t that make them just as evil?

Condemning those who are capable of being the executioner doesn’t

make them better people. It makes them compliant.

By the time the third hour passes, I’m panting heavily, sweat pours down

my face and back, and I feel invigorated.

When I face Zade again, it feels as if I’m viewing him from a different

set of lenses. I wonder if he sees me differently, too, and if he’ll be able to let go of who I used to be and love the person I’ve become.

“Adeline, I feel as if this house is taxing your mental health,” Mom

announces with finality, brushing off imaginary lint on her Calvin Klein jeans. It's not very often I even see her in anything other than a dress, skirt, or pantsuit.

I feel so special.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, voice monotone and un-fucking-

interested. I’m rocking in Gigi’s chair, staring out at the gloomy landscape.

It’s storming today, and the windows are foggy from the rain. I tilt my head, fairly certain I’m seeing a handprint forming on the window.

Aside from the creepy hand, sitting here brings back a sense of comfort

and nostalgia. Where a different version of myself would stare out the window, my shadow lurking in the darkness and watching me. Where I loathed every second of it, yet I would war with the fact of not knowing if I hated it because I was scared or if I hated it because I enjoyed it.

“Honey, have you seen the circles under your eyes? You can hardly miss

them. They’re very dark. And on your birthday, no less.”

This is my mother being sweet. Caring. Concerned. And frankly, it’s

fucking exhausting. She’s been trying harder to… I don’t know—fix things with me or something—since I’ve come home. Of course, my father has no interest in joining her efforts, but I can’t find it in me to care.

Her daughter getting kidnapped must’ve made her realize a thing or two

about the state of our relationship and how utterly in shambles it was—is.

Whose fault it is, I’m sure she’d have a different response depending on her mood.

But she’s trying. Therefore, it’s only fair that I try not to kick her out of

the house. On my birthday. I’m already exhausted, and it would seem my dark circles are showing now.

Zade woke me up to my bedroom covered in roses and a gorgeous black

knife with purple weaved throughout the handle. I’m getting better at handling them, but it’s a work in progress and his present was a testament to his faith in me.

Then, Daya wanted to do brunch, and now Mom is here and I’m ready

for a nap. People-ing is still tiring.

“Concealer will fix it.” “Maybe you should come stay with me again. Get away from that…

heathen—” I snort, which then turns into a full-out laugh. Something about my mother calling Zade a heathen is just… well, funny. True, but funny.

My mother is gaping at me as if I’ve told her I’m shaving my head bald

and going to live the rest of my life in a van and smoking hookah.

Doesn’t sound so bad, actually. Except maybe the going bald part.

I bite my lip to hold in the laughter, grinning while she only grows more

ruffled.

“I don’t see how shacking up with a criminal is funny,” she mutters,

turning away with an affronted look on her face.

“What if I’m the criminal?” I question.

She sighs. “Adeline, if he has coerced you to do something…” I roll my eyes. “He hasn’t made me do anything, Mother, chill. And I’m

fine. Really. I went through something traumatic—obviously—and sleeping doesn’t always come easy to me.”

She shifts on the leather couch, gearing up to say something else, but I

cut her off. “And I’m good here. In Parsons Manor.”

Her mouth shuts, a frown tugging down her pink-painted lips. I sigh, a

stab of guilt hitting me in the chest.

“Mom, I appreciate your concern, I do. But it’s going to take me a while

to get readjusted and back to normal.” Normal. Saying the word feels like swallowing a handful of rusty nails. I’ll never be normal. I don’t think I ever was.

And if anyone could attest to that, it would be my mother—the woman

who’s called me a freak most of my life.

She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the checkered tile and lost in

whatever hurricane is sifting through her skull and ready to come out of her mouth. I’ve always felt like storms rage through her head since her words were always so fucking destructive.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” she asks quietly. She lifts her head

to look up at me, her crystal blue eyes swirling with hurt. I can’t decide if the sight of it twists the guilt deeper or if it makes me angry.

“Because you’ve never made me feel safe enough to tell you anything,” I

answer bluntly.

Her throat works, swallowing that bitter pill. “Why… why did you need to feel safe to tell me about him, Addie?” she

asks, her sculpted brows pinching. “I mean, if he were… normal, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. If he were someone you met in a bookstore, or at one of your events, or even in a grocery store.” She pauses. “Why did you need to feel safe?”

I roll my lips and turn back towards the window. “Addie, does he hurt you?”

My neck nearly snaps from how quickly I turn back to her. “No,” I say

sternly, though that’s not entirely true.

Did he hurt me? Yes, but not how she’s thinking. He would never lay a

finger on me out of anger. The type of pain Zade delivers is unorthodox, and

while there’s always been a part of me that enjoys it—it still hurts.

Yet, I crave it anyway. “Then why?” I sigh, debating on how much I should say. He kills people for a living?

Too much. He stalked me? Would never live that one down, no matter how guilty she feels.

So, I just settle with the truth. The part that doesn’t announce him as a

psychopath with a bit of an attachment issue.

“He saves women and children from human trafficking, Mom. He’s very

deeply involved in that dark corner of the world.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her spine snapping straight and her eyes

widening with outrage. “Is he the reason you were kidnapped?”

“No,” I snap. “He is not why, and you need to remember that he saved

me. I would not be here—be alive—if it wasn’t for him.”

She shakes her head in confusion, and asks, “Then why were you? If

he’s involved with the same people?”

I shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel. “There were many factors,

but none of them were his doing. That’s all that’s important.”

She sighs, a sound of both frustration and acceptance. “Is he

dangerous?”

“Yes,” I admit. “But not to me. He loves me, and not only that, he loves

me for who I am. He’s never wanted to change me.”

She flinches at the dig but refrains from defending herself this time. “Just because he loves you, that doesn’t mean he’s good for you,” she

says with finality.

I purse my lips, considering that for a moment. “What is good for me

then, Mom? You know best, right? A real stand-up guy that’s a lawyer or doctor?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” she snips. “How about someone like a police officer,

who only carries a gun because they’re—”

“Protecting people,” I cut in. “Because you think they’re protecting

people. You really want to get in that debate right now? And wouldn’t you say Zade is doing the same? By rescuing innocent people from being kidnapped and enslaved?”

She tightens her lips, clearly still in disagreement but not willing to keep

arguing. That’s a first, but I don’t expect it to last.

This time, I’m the one sighing. I throw myself back in the chair. “I don’t want to fight about him with you because it’s not going to

change anything. I know him better than you ever will, and if you want to hate him, fine. But do it where I don’t have to hear about it,” I say tiredly and resolutely.

I’m too exhausted to keep fighting with her. That's all we ever do, and it

got old over a decade ago.

“Fine,” she huffs, irritated and contrite. “Let me take you to a nice dinner

for your birthday, at least. Can we do that? No talk about your boyfriend.”

I stare at her, and the tightness in my chest eases a little. Smiling, I nod

my head.

“That sounds good. Let me get ready.” I stand and head towards the stairs when she calls out, “Don’t forget the

concealer, honey. You need it.”

Chapter 27

The Diamond

The sound of Francesca’s heels rebound against the ceiling, sending my

heart flying into my throat. Daya glances upward, unsettled by the sound but used to Parsons Manor’s shenanigans.

I, on the other hand, am having a silent heart attack. I’ve been hearing

those sharp footsteps since I’ve been home, and though they’re not actually Francesca’s, I think the wicked ghosts in this house know they haunt my nightmares and enjoy bringing them to life.

I curl my hands into tight fists to abate the shaking, racking my brain for

something to distract me.

“Maybe I should just become a nun,” I announce, causing Daya to pause

mid-pour. She’s filling up a glass of red wine, and it feels… weird. Like I shouldn’t be standing here enjoying wine when I’ve murdered people and escaped sex trafficking.

We’re sitting at my kitchen island, and I can’t help but bask in the

nostalgia. I was gone for two and a half months, but it feels like years. It’s weird, but it feels good, too. To be here with her again, drinking like no time has passed at all.

Daya blinks at me, thrown off from my declaration, and slides the glass

over to me. “I love you, but you wouldn’t even last a day.”

“Rude,” I mutter, taking a sip of the wine. I cringe, the bitter taste

invading my taste buds. I like my wine sweet, but it’s what Daya had in her fridge.

“You want to become a nun because you can’t tolerate touch in general,

or touch from a man?”

I pick at a hangnail. “Men, which is proving very difficult with training.

He has to touch me, and every time he does, I fucking panic, then waffle between freezing up and going ballistic.”

After Zade and I agreed to take down the Society together a month ago, I

felt something shift inside my chest. A purpose was born, and it serves to get me out of bed every morning and train.

But it’s not a magical fix-all. I look at Zade, and I feel everything I felt

after giving in to him. The magnetism, the connection, and the love. He’s given me the space I so desperately need, even though I can see that it’s killing him inside. While I feel guilty every time I pull away, I also feel relief.

But now I feel other things—things that I know have nothing to do with

him, but with sex. The thought of it makes me want to vomit, and there’s this fear ingrained in me that every time Zade shows me any affection, that’s what it’s going to lead to.

It played such a huge part in our relationship before I was kidnapped; it’s

difficult to train my brain to think it’s going to be anything else. Zade is a flirt, and while he’s made plenty of sexual remarks, he hasn’t made a single attempt to seduce me.

“And then I get angry,” I continue, frowning into my Merlot. “I lash out

at him and say horrible things, and he just fucking takes it.”

“Baby girl, it’s going to take a while for you to work through your

trauma. You have PTSD, as anyone would. Don’t rush yourself.”

“I think it’d be easier if I wasn’t in love with him,” I admit, circling my

finger around the glass. It creates a soft sound that is soothing to the turmoil in my head.

“I still feel attraction, ya know? Like every time he touches me, I want to

enjoy it. I just can’t. He hasn’t even made any advances. Nothing sexual, but that’s where my head immediately goes, and then I’m right back in that house with Xavier.”

“Did you talk to Zade about him?” I take another gulp of Merlot before responding, “Yes. After we agreed

to work together, we sat down, and I told him everything. Well… not everything. Not the gruesome details. But he knows the CliffsNotes of what I went through, and he explained how he found me. Talked about some brotherhood and told me all about Max.”

A sadness cloaks her sage eyes, and I can tell she’s anxious because she

starts fiddling with her nose ring.

“Yeah, he… saved me, too. From Luke.” I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing tightly. Zade told me what

happened with Daya, but I was waiting for her to bring it up to me first. If there’s anything I understand, it’s not wanting to relive certain things.

We’ve all been suffering in very different ways, yet the source of our

pain is the same.

The Society. Claire.

Daya was the decoy to draw me out of Parsons Manor so Rio and Rick

could kidnap me. Of course, Luke was the one to put her through hell, but none of that would’ve happened if it wasn’t for Claire leading Max to believe that Zade killed his father, and then putting a target on my head.

One that Max immediately jumped on, angry and intent on getting revenge.

“I’m so sorry, Daya. I’m so sorry he did that to you.” My voice cracks by

the last word, an unexpected rush of tears blurring my vision.

Daya covers her face, trying to hold in her own tears. “Goddammit,

Addie,” she snips without heat. “Don’t you dare make me cry.”

But it’s too late, a sob hiccups from her throat by the last word. I scoot

my chair closer to her and pull her into a hug; my own demons be damned.

Her arms circle around my waist, and we both let go.

Grief pours out through the cracks while we hold each other, like two

pillars falling together, both incapable of standing without the other’s support.

By the time we pull apart, snot is running down my splotchy, red face,

and I just know mascara is running down my cheeks. She’s got drool on her cheek and makeup circles around her eyes. With how bloodshot they are, coupled with her dark brown skin, her light green eyes are almost startling.

Regardless, we both look ridiculous, and immediately we burst into

laughter, which fades into another round of tears. In the end, neither one of us can tell if we’re laughing or crying, but it feels good either way.

“My head hurts now,” I croak, wiping my blackened tears away, and then

I grab a tissue and loudly blow my nose.

“Drink more wine, it’ll make it worse, but at least you’ll be buzzed.” I laugh, taking a sip as she also blows her nose. “Where is Zade, by the way?” she asks. “I don’t know, actually. After our training session, he dipped out pretty

quickly, saying he had to take care of something. He didn’t say what it was about, and I was too sweaty and mentally exhausted to care at that moment.”

We both shrug it off. He could’ve realized we ran out of toilet paper and

needed to replenish for all I know. I think if it were anything important, he

would’ve said.

For the next hour, Daya and I finish off the bottle of Merlot and I’m

pleasantly buzzed. I also decide that I’m going to have to be very careful with drinking from now on. It feels a little too nice, and I refuse to use it as a crutch.

I’d rather work through my trauma the healthy way. You know—by

murdering Claire with my bare hands.

We’re in the middle of laughing over a stupid video someone posted on

social media when the front door bangs open, and two voices are snapping at each other.

One is Zade’s. The other is a girl’s.

Sage and caramel eyes meet in a collision of confusion, and what the

fuck.

With a slight wobble, I stand up and make my way toward the front door.

And then turn right back around, rushing for my friend when I see who Zade brought home.

“Daya, there’s a crazy chick in the house. Run.” “What?” she asks, alarm in her tone. “Don’t call me crazy!” the girl screeches from the front, and I grimace.

I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her, and I was okay with living life without that pleasure.

Shoulders hiked up to my ears, I slowly pivot and watch Zade stalk

toward me, appearing exhausted and annoyed. Behind him is the murderous girl who lurked behind the walls in Satan’s Affair.

Sibel. “Baby, we have a guest.” Glancing at the girl, I shift uncomfortably, unsure of how the fuck to

respond.

Clearing my throat, I settle with, “I can see that.” Sibel is staring at Daya and me with a broad smile on her face. The last

time I saw her, she was dressed as a doll with makeup that made it appear like her porcelain face was fissured.

While her chocolate brown hair is still piled high in pigtails, her face is

bare of doll makeup. She would be beautiful if the unhinged look in her eyes wasn’t so distracting. She looks exactly how she did on the TV after she was apprehended for murdering four politicians.

With Zade.

Except he was never caught for those murders. “Ladies, this is Sibby,” Zade introduces tiredly, waving a hand at her

before coming over to my side. I tense as he nears, splitting my attention between watching the space between Zade and me close while keeping an eye on the crazy girl.

The four men she murdered doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of

the number of people she’s killed. For five years, she stayed in that haunted fair and went on a spree. Whoever she deemed as evil was killed in very gruesome ways.

I’ve had enough experience with murderous girls, and I really, really

don’t want any more.

She waves her hand animatedly at us, excitement twinkling in her brown

eyes. Then she turns them to my house, slowly taking in Parsons Manor.

“Wow,” she breathes. “It’s creepy in here. This is so perfect.” Her head

whips back to me, and I’m not proud of the not-so-subtle flinch. “I hope you don’t mind my henchmen and me staying for a bit,” she says.

“There’s more?” I ask Zade, turning to him with pinched brows. He

sighs.

“Some people say they’re not real, but they are,” Sibel explains, not

looking the least bit ashamed of admitting she sees people that others can’t see.

Zade meets my stare, a grin on his face. “Sibby is crazy,” he says.

She stomps her foot, shooting a glare at him. “I’m not crazy, Zade. Just

because you can’t see what I see, doesn’t mean I’m the weird one.”

I cock my head, completely baffled at how she’s even here. Last I heard,

she was locked up in a psych ward awaiting trial.

“She escaped,” Zade supplies, noting the confusion on my face. “Oh,” I say, because I have no idea what the hell else to say. “That’s… good?” Daya chips in, sounding wholly unsure if that is

actually good.

Zade sighs for the millionth time. “Sibby is on the Most Wanted list. She

took matters into her own hands—” Zade pauses to send a scathing look her way— “and broke out of the psych ward. Considering she took the fall for

something we both did, I felt that it was only fair I gave her a place to stay.

Temporarily.”

She nods once, as if Zade summed up her entire life story perfectly. “I’m going to take her back to my place. I’m not expecting you to let her

stay here—”

“But it’s so creepy here!” she exclaims, as if that’s a good reason to stay.

And well… it kind of is.

“—so, I’ll be dropping her off soon. I just wanted you to properly meet

her since I’m…” he trails off, glancing at her. “Stuck with her,” he decides, turning to look back at me. “I’m most definitely stuck with her.”

Sibel frowns, opening her mouth to say something, but Daya cuts in. “Uh, wait a second, took matters into her own hands how?” she

questions, sending Sibel a suspicious look.

“I killed my therapist,” she answers, her smile dropping. “I didn’t want

to kill her. She smelled like pine trees, so she wasn’t a demon. The first and last person I’ve ever hurt who wasn’t deserving, I promise.”

My mouth drops. “Zade,” I whisper, my discomfort growing. Sibel looks

to me, noting my deepening fear.

“Please don’t be scared of me. You smell like the most wonderful

flowers. I would never hurt you.”

“She’s not going to hurt you, baby,” Zade reassures quietly. I look up to

meet his gaze, mismatched eyes full of sincerity.

“I would’ve discussed this with you first, if I had any idea this was going

to happen,” he swears. “I was meeting up with Jay when the news broke that Sibby escaped. She happened to be hiding out in the area. Helicopters and shit everywhere. I went looking for her and found her trying to get into a sewer drain. It was a split-second decision.”

“Okay,” I say, offering a tight smile to let him know I’m not angry.

Despite Sibel’s presence being a little disconcerting, I understand why Zade made that decision.

She took all the blame for what they both did, and she never ratted him

out. That’s something very few people would do, especially when they owe you nothing. And that, I can respect the hell out of.

Sibel holds up a wicked, pink knife. “And he got my knife back! The

police had it as a murder weapon, and Zade got it out for me.”

“She was literally losing her mind over it, and didn’t give me much

choice,” he clarifies dryly.

She shrugs, content with having her knife back regardless of how it

happened.

I stare at her and toss around an idea in my head, a little hesitant but

deciding it’d be easier for Zade to only be in one place. He’s pretty much moved in with me, and it’s been oddly comforting. The selfish part of me doesn’t want to give that up.

“There’s plenty of room here. Sibel can stay.” She yips loudly, bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands like a little

girl. Her reaction makes me feel slightly better, only because it’s a little cute.

“My friends call me Sibby,” she says, and based on the eager look on her

face, it seems like she's hoping I’ll consider her as one.

“Or demon slayer,” Zade cuts in. She pins him with a sassy look in

response.

“Okay, Sibby. Welcome… home.” Her dark eyes snap back to me, pure delight radiating from them. A wide

smile takes over her face, resuming her bouncing once again, and it eases my concern a little more.

“Addie, you don’t have to do that.” I wave a hand. “It’s fine. She said she’s not going to hurt us, and if you

trust her, that’s enough for me.”

He looks like he wants to kiss me, which makes me a little nervous, but

he quickly smooths out his expression and offers me a simple, appreciative smile.

“The second you want her gone, she’s out. No questions asked.” While

Sibby doesn’t look too thrilled to hear that based on how she stops bouncing and glares at him, Zade clearly gives no shits.

I nod, the last of my tension bleeding out. “Sibby is already really good at fighting. Partly because she’s—” “—Not crazy,” she cuts in, narrowing her eyes.

Zade shoots her a look, one that says, yeah, okay, and I’m Jackie Chan.

“Regardless, she can fight. She could help you with training.”

My heart softens, hearing what he’s not saying.

You can’t stand my touch, so here’s someone who can give you what I

can’t.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Now more than ever, I’m frustrated with myself.

I will take him up on that offer because I recognize it won’t change overnight. But I vow to try harder, so I can give Zade what he deserves, too.

All of me.

Zade plops an ice pack on my shoulders, and I groan both from the

freezing temperature and how good it feels. Training has been taking a toll on my body, but also in the best of ways. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been, and that feeling is addictive.

Since Sibby arrived a couple of weeks ago, I’ve only gotten better. She’s

smaller and moves with a quickness even Zade doesn’t quite possess, and she’s far more unpredictable.

We’ve been sitting around my kitchen island for the past several hours,

working out the kinks of drawing Claire out of hiding. Not only did everyone in Francesca’s house disappear, but she did, too. And now that Zade has me, there’s not a damn thing in this world that’s stopping him from finding her.

Zade believes the best way to locate her is through her lawyer, Jimmy

Lynch. He’s been working for Claire and her late husband for twenty-seven years, making him a trusted friend.

He also has a taste for children.

Last week, Zade was able to hack into his phone, noting the copious

amounts of child pornography he has downloaded. So, he started pushing ads on the child porn sites Jimmy uses, waiting for him to take the bait.

Unsurprisingly, he did, both on his phone and laptop over a period of three days.

Of course, Zade designed the virus, so unbeknownst to Jimmy, it was

released on his devices as soon as he clicked on the ad. Within seconds, Zade was able to infiltrate his system and implement spyware on them.

From there, he watched the email interactions between him and Claire.

While he could try to implement a virus onto Claire’s computer through a

phishing email, she’s too intelligent for that, so Zade’s only other option is to manipulate her into putting a drive into her computer, which will contain the virus. And our best way to do that is to create a massive lawsuit against her. It’s common practice for lawyers to transmit information through drives, especially if there’s a mass amount of evidence stacked against them.

Unfortunately for Claire, since she’s gone into hiding, she’s fired a lot of

staff who’ve worked at her estate. Cleaning crew, a couple of chefs, and a groundskeeper. Evidently, she has no plans to return to her mansion—or to keep it.

Zade has spent the last week contacting these staff workers, asking them

about their experiences, and ultimately encouraging them to sue Claire for workplace harassment as well as assault.

In return, Zade will offer his protection and money. Thankfully, they all

agreed. Because honestly, their lack of safety and resources was the only thing keeping any of them silent. Mark sexually assaulted many of his employees and threatened to harm them and their families if they spoke out.

And Claire was physically abusive and prone to getting violent when something didn’t meet her standards.

They've already filed their lawsuits, so tomorrow, we’ll be putting the

second step of the plan into action by replacing Jimmy’s drives with Zade’s.

Once Zade has access to Claire’s laptop, he’s going to take his time

watching her. In the meantime, we’ll be focusing on our other goal.

“Francesca and Rocco are slimy little snakes,” Daya informs us, ire in

her glare as her fingers fly over the keyboard. “And Xavier is a pussy.”

Daya is assisting us with tracking down my former captors—and rapists

—while Jay continues to focus on Claire.

“Satellite image showed a red pickup truck parked in their driveway

under Rocco’s name. That hasn’t been seen anywhere?” Zade asks, adding extra shredded cheddar on the mac ‘n’ cheese before sticking the casserole dish back in the oven to crisp. Seeing him doing something so domestic is… odd.

I never thought I’d see oven mitts on a stalker and professional killer, but

here we are… All he needs is an apron, and I’d be convinced I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and hit my head on a tree root.

Shit, I think I already have because now all I can imagine is Zade in

nothing but an apron. That… shouldn't be enticing, yet it is.

“We found the truck abandoned in Northern California. From there, we

lost track,” Daya answers, unknowingly saving me from traveling down that dangerous road. I have a feeling that fantasy would've only gotten weirder.

“No street cams nearby?” I ask. “Nope,” she replies, popping the P. “They haven’t made it this long by

dumb luck. They know how to avoid cameras. I imagine the car they switched to has also been abandoned by now.”

Zade nods, keeping silent as he processes the information. From here, I

can see his inner gears turning.

“Since we can assume they’re driving, look at cameras in gas stations in

the surrounding area to start with. It’ll take time but check in on anyone you deem suspicious. It’s possible that they will stay hidden in the car and use a decoy to pump and pay. I’ll get a few more of my men on it to help you.

And while they’re probably paying in cash only, it doesn’t hurt to check if they used credit cards as well.”

“Francesca is eventually going to have to use the bathroom,” I chip in. “I

mean, I honestly can’t see her squatting on the side of the road or using a porta-potty. So facial recognition would be valuable.”

“It would,” Zade agrees, shooting me a small smile. I wrestle down the

pride that wants to bloom throughout my body. My inner feminist doesn’t need no man’s approval.

“You can set up a facial recognition bot that’ll alert you if any cameras

spot her. Whether it’s from restaurants, stores, or gas stations. We can’t rely on it, though, because while Francesca is the one most likely to appear in public, she also has the advantage of disguising herself better than men.

Facial recognition is advanced, but it’s not foolproof.”

I tip my head side to side in a you have a point gesture. “If anyone

knows how to use makeup, it’s her,” I concede. She’s had a lot of practice bringing the dead to life—with her own face and with the girls she held captive.

Daya’s hands continue to fly, following Zade’s directions without

hesitation.

Sibby has her chin in one hand and drums her fingers on the table with

the other—clearly bored. Her interests lie more in taking action than the planning aspect.

“I’ll track down Xavier Delano,” Zade says, shooting a loaded glance

my way. “We should be able to find him easily. I have a good feeling he’s not as smart about covering his tracks as the others.”

“That’d be awfully egotistical of him. It’s not like he didn’t know that I

was… uh, with Z… or whatever.” Zade smirks over my stumble. I roll my eyes, intent on ignoring him, but then Daya betrays me and snorts, flicking her gaze at me with amusement.

Assholes.

The lot of them. “Shut up,” I snap. “I don’t know what to label it.” “Fuck buddy?” Daya provides, but that doesn’t sound quite right. The

brow cocked on Zade’s forehead tells me he feels the same.

“Lover!” Sibby chips in cheerfully.

My lip curls in disgust. Hate that label. “Oh, admirer,” Daya says, snapping her fingers as if she hit the nail on

the head.

“One true love,” Sibby sighs wistfully. She glances off to the side,

seeming to listen to something before she rolls her eyes. “Okay, five true loves.”

My eyes pinball between the two idiots as they continue to toss out

words that could define mine and Zade’s relationship.

“How about just stalker,” I cut in dryly. “Come on, baby, that’s not what you were calling me when you were

screa—”

“Shut up, or I’ll start screaming other men’s names and I promise I don’t

need your dick anywhere near me to do it.”

Challenge sparks in his eyes, signaling that this conversation is quickly

taking a nosedive.

“You really want to cause mass extinction for those names? Moan them,

little mouse, I dare you. Whichever ones you choose, not a single man by that name will fucking exist anymore. How about we start with Chad? We can definitely live without the Chads in the world.”

My mouth pops open. “That is so… excessive.”

He shrugs, turning to take the mac ‘n’ cheese out of the oven, “Doesn’t

change a damn thing.”

My wide eyes drift back down to Daya’s, hers equally as rounded as

mine. I give her a look that says, you see what I have to deal with? in which she returns, good luck, Sister Susie.

I look at Sibby and find her staring off into space, whispering to one of

her henchmen about unsanitary ways to use the popsicles in the freezer.

Oh my God. I’m living with nothing but psychopaths.

I knew this but fuck me.

Hey, God? Do ya mind sending down some medication to correct your

gross mishandling of these two demented souls?

Shaking my head, I turn to Zade, who is now serving the mac ‘n’ cheese

on plates for us, alongside the steaks he cooked on the grill. Something I was surprised to learn—Zade can fucking cook.

“How long do you think it’ll take to locate Xavier?” “It depends on how accessible he is. I may find him within an hour, but

if he’s stationed on a remote island with an army surrounding him, it’ll take time to get to him. Keep in mind that this man is stupid rich and has nothing better to spend his money on, so this is entirely possible.”

I tilt my head in curiosity. “Richer than you?” “Absolutely. I have no interest in collecting more than what’s necessary.

Money is an illusion, and a powerful one. It turns men into spineless assholes with no real regard for human life except their own. Xavier will use his money to protect himself. Especially because he’s a little bitch and, well…” he peers up at me with a savage smile. “I’m pretty fucking scary.”

He serves dinner, saving me for last. The hairs on the back of my neck

rise as he approaches me; my body warming as he draws near. He crowds over me when he sets my plate down, the heat radiating from him sinking beneath my skin. Then, he leans down, and my brain short-circuits. I can’t decide if I want to embrace the darkness or run from it.

Hot breath fans across my ear as he whispers, “Not only am I scary,

baby, but I’m really, really angry. And when I’m angry, I’ll make them pray for Hell.”

A shiver rolls down my spine, and goosebumps spread across my body

like the Black Plague. I tip my head towards him, meeting his stare. My

pounding heart climbs into my throat, creating an erratic pulse in my neck, and a palpable tension circulates the space between us.

Against my better judgment, my eyes slide down to his mouth,

thickening the tension. Deliberately, he skates his tongue across his lip, and like a magnet, my gaze latches on to the slow and sinful act.

By the time I force my eyes back up to his, my mouth is parted, and my

lungs are deprived of oxygen.

“I hate to cut into this beautiful moment, but Sibby is taking her clothes

off.”

Daya’s voice snaps me out of whatever trance Zade has pulled me into,

and almost violently, my head whips towards Sibby.

Sure as shit, she’s in the process of slipping off her neon green tights. “Sibby!” I shout exasperatedly. “Stop taking your clothes off, we are not

having a fucking orgy!”

Chapter 28

The Hunter

I pinch the bridge of my nose and wonder how much Tylenol it’s going

to take to kill a Sibby-induced headache.

She’s currently in a fucking argument.

With her goddamn self. “Mortis, I told you, the police are looking for me everywhere. We can’t

go outside for a walk, or to get some alone time—we’re trapped!”

She quietens, listening to whatever her imaginary boyfriend is telling

her.

A disgruntled sound leaves her throat. “I miss those things, too, but this

is the way things have to be. Timmy—stop trying to take my clothes off in front of Zade!”

“If you do that, I will literally lose my shit,” I snap, shooting her a

murderous look. I’m already two seconds away from losing it anyway. Her eyes snap to mine, wide with innocence.

“It’s not my fault!” she screeches. She points her finger to a random spot,

assumingly where she thinks the culprit is. “It’s his.”

Groaning, I rub my hands over my face roughly. The whole argument

started because Sibby wanted to be the one to plant the USB drives in Jimmy Lynch’s office. I simply reminded her she couldn’t be seen, and the conversation took off in a different direction.

Apparently, her henchmen wanted to go to some fucking sex shop a few

blocks from Jimmy’s office. I said no, and here we are.

Seeing her in her element, fully believing that her henchmen are real

despite people telling her they’re not, it’s as fascinating as it is sad.

I know her childhood was horrific—so much so that she created people

to keep her company and get her through something incredibly difficult. A young girl that’s known nothing outside of a diabolical cult, wandering a strange city aimlessly, all alone.

Her brain was protecting itself, and the henchmen were born.

“It’s cold outside today. We can bundle you up in winter clothing, and no

one should notice you,” I reason with her. “But you cannot go anywhere else. No detours. No pit stops. Nothing. Not unless you want to end up in the psych ward again.”

She looks off in the distance. “You hear that, Mortis? So, don’t try to

convince me to be bad. I’ll get locked up again, and you’ll never see me for the rest of your life.”

He must agree with her because she turns to me, a satisfied smile on her

face. “We’re all in agreement. Don’t worry about me, Zade. You can trust me.”

“You know what? I believe you, Sibby.” Her answering grin lights up her entire face. And I realize that Sibby is a

beautiful girl.

I hope to God she finds something real one day.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” I state dryly, looking her over with a

critical eye.

She stares at me like I’ve personally wounded her. “Why?” she asks, dropping her gaze to her outfit.

She looks like a fucking Cheetos puff, but in bright neon pink. She’s

wrapped in several layers of clothing, with a massive puffer jacket three sizes too big, ending at her ankles and barely concealing the yellow polka-dot rain boots. To top it off, she’s been doing her makeup again, however, she has shied away from the broken doll look. I suppose it was too raw of a wound. Thankfully, Addie has been teaching her how to properly apply it, and it wouldn’t be half bad if it weren’t for the monstrosity of a fucking outfit.

I allowed Sibby to do some online shopping soon after she arrived, and it

turns out, she has no idea what size she is nor how to dress herself.

She’s only ever worn the clothes provided to her by her father and the

costumes Satan’s Affair had in their houses. So, she just ordered a bunch of random shit in whatever size, most of it ill-fitting.

Sibby is tiny. Her stature only comes to about five-two, and she has very

little meat on her bones. Addie glances at me, regret on both of our faces for not monitoring her while she shopped.

“Literally, everyone is going to notice you. You’re supposed to blend in,

not stand out like a sore thumb.”

Her brows pinch. “You’re saying I look like someone’s thumb?” Addie bites her lip. “Let’s trade jackets. You can wear mine, Sibby.” Sibby grumbles but ultimately switches with her. Addie slides on the hot

pink puffer and zips it up, the coat not fitting her any better. The grin that slides on my face is nearly slapped off the second Addie spots it.

She points a finger at me, the material swishing from the movement. “I

will fuck you up.”

“It’s cute, baby,” I say, grinning wider when she narrows her eyes, giving

me a look that promises death and destruction.

I’d love to see her try.

I grab a black beanie and slide it over Sibby’s head and then wrap a

thick, black scarf around her neck to help conceal the bottom half of her face, feeling every bit like a father dressing their child.

Despite her wanted status, she’s the least recognizable, aside from Daya.

And as much as I would prefer Addie’s best friend instead, Sibby was very excited about being helpful. She’s been cooped up in the manor for the past month, going even more insane than she already is.

It was vital we get her out of the house before she says fuck it and

openly fucks her imaginary henchmen on the dining room table. She’s already come close to it, and Addie and I were both deeply traumatized by that event.

I hand her a Bluetooth and instruct her on how to use it, sighing when

she asks if her henchmen can have one, too. She claims they’ll get worried if they can’t hear what’s happening.

“You know they can’t all come, right?” I remind her. She twists her lips

and nods.

“Mortis and Jackal are gonna come this time. So only they need one.” I indulge her and hand over two more, which she promptly passes to

empty air, the devices dropping to the ground. I’ll have to pick those up when she’s not looking.

When she smiles, satisfied, I move on to the body cam, hooking it to her

coat and adjusting it to make sure it’s at a good angle.

“Don’t touch this. I need to see everything you’re doing. I’ll be in your

ear guiding you, so listen to everything I say,” I tell her sternly.

She waves a hand, and giggles. “I know. You don’t have to worry, Zade.

I promise I’m not going to run off.”

“Or murder someone,” Addie grumbles from beside me.

Sibby looks to Addie. “If a demon is around, I’ll let that one go. I can

sacrifice one or two if it means taking out the biggest one of them all.”

Good enough for me. As long as she listens.

After she’s set to go, Addie stuffs herself into the passenger seat next to

me, and we drive to Jimmy’s office, forced to park a couple of blocks away.

Sibby will have to walk the rest of the way, and this is the part I’m the most worried about. She’s bundled up and hardly recognizable beneath all the material, but Sibby has a definite… uniqueness to her.

Which she instantly proves when she hops out of the backseat, slams the

door, and starts skipping down the sidewalk like a goddamn buffoon.

I groan, swiveling my laptop towards me and pulling up the live feed

from her body cam. Addie leans into me to get a better view of the screen, enveloping me in her sweet jasmine scent. I inhale deeply, tempted to take a bite out of her just because she smells divine.

Soon. I’ll do that soon.

Her face is twisted into a mixture of amusement and concern.

Concern for the mission or concern for Sibby’s mental state, it’s hard to

tell.

Addie has softened to Sibby, though. While still wary of her—which is

the smartest thing to be—I think she sees Sibby for who she is. A lost girl looking for love and friendship. Even when she’s talking to her henchmen or irrationally angry because I ate the last Pop Tart—Pop Tarts I bought, by the way—she’s sweet, incredibly loyal, and pretty funny.

I still don’t know what the hell we’re going to do with her yet, but I’ll

figure it out after Claire is taken care of.

Sibby is still skipping down 5th Avenue, earning looks ranging from I see

this shit every day to I’m so tired of seeing this shit every day. She’s not the slightest bit perturbed by the negative attention.

I suppose she’s used to it.

Finally, she makes it to the block Jimmy’s office is on. Instead of

continuing straight, she turns right and heads down a side street so she can get to his office from the rear entrance.

There’s not a lot of foot traffic on that side, making it a little less likely

for her to be caught.

When she makes it to the door, she pauses, waiting for my signal. Jimmy

has great alarm systems for an unruly teenager, but for me, it’s like breaking past a saltine cracker. His defense system crumbles beneath my fingers and within ten seconds, I’m giving Sibby the go-ahead.

She bends and starts picking the lock, making quick work of it, and

opening the door moments later.

The office building isn’t very big, and I have the blueprints already

pulled up on my computer.

“Turn left,” I direct when she comes up to a dead end. She does as I ask,

making her way down a short hallway before it opens up to the receptionist area.

The obnoxiously large wooden desk smack-dab in the middle of the

room is empty, Jimmy’s name displayed across the front. In case anyone was lost and wasn’t sure where they were, I guess.

The area is extravagant. Shiny white tile floors, gray walls, and plants

placed around the room to bring life to it.

“Go past the desk. You see that door with Jimmy’s name on the plaque?

That’s his office.”

“Isn’t his name all over the entire building?” she gripes. Addie snorts

from beside me, listening in on the call with her own Bluetooth earpiece.

Sibby jiggles the door but finds that it’s locked, and no keyhole in the

handle.

“Give me a second,” I say, opening my program to check the security

system within the building. He has an automated lock on his door that can only be opened through the app on his phone.

I roll my eyes. Shit like this is so tacky and such a waste of money.

Fancy security systems like these appear advanced, but really, it’s incredibly easy to hack into the app and unlock the door.

Pathetic, but it benefits me nicely. “It’s open,” I confirm.

Quickly, she creeps into the room and shuts the door behind her.

“Is it safe to turn on a light?” she asks, her voice slightly muffled from

the scarf.

“Yes, but use the flashlight I gave you,” I tell her. His office faces the

backside of the building, but you can never be too sure.

He’s currently at a dinner with some colleagues and on his way to

getting toasted on overpriced whiskey. I have Daya keeping an eye on him while I ensure that Sibby has no unexpected surprises. All it takes is an employee showing up because they forgot something.

She flips on her flashlight, displaying Jimmy’s ostentatious office. “Does he seriously have his name engraved into his own desk?” Addie

asks beside me, her tone dry.

“Maybe he’s a proactive boss and has reminders everywhere in case

anyone gets early-onset Alzheimer’s and forgets his name.”

“I think that would be a blessing if I had to work for him.” Sibby travels farther into the office, looking around at the several filing

cabinets.

“Where does he keep the jumpers?” she asks. Another snort from Addie. “Jump drive,” I correct, though I’m not even sure why I bother. I’ve told

her what they’re called a million times, and she still acts like I never told her.

“They could be in his desk. It has his name on it, in case you’re confused

about where it is.”

“I’m not confused, silly,” Sibby giggles.

Addie and I look at each other, grins on our faces. Sarcasm gets lost on

her sometimes.

We watch Sibby approach his desk, the cherry wood gleaming, not a

speck of dust in sight.

Everything has its own place atop it, arranged neatly and positioned in

straight lines. Either Jimmy or his cleaning service has OCD.

She tugs on the top drawer, groaning dramatically when it sticks. “He locks his own drawers?” she whines. “Just pick the lock,” I tell her calmly, praying she doesn’t throw a

tantrum and start stabbing the leather computer chair with the letter opener.

Sighing, she rifles through her jacket pocket before pulling out her kit

and getting to work, grumbling to herself the entire time.

It takes her all of fifteen seconds to get it unlocked, and I’m tempted to

ask her if it was as big of a deal as she made it out to be. But I’d rather not risk her getting angry. There have been quite a few dishes broken over the last month—unnecessarily. She has no idea how to regulate her emotions, but it’s something I’ve been working on with her.

She slides open the door, finds a basket of drives and gets to work by

replacing them with mine while stuffing his in her coat pocket. Later, I’ll pick through them on a spare laptop to see if there’s anything of value.

Next to me, Addie unzips the puffer jacket and nearly rips it off, a sheen

of sweat on her forehead. She glances at me, and then crosses her arms.

“Don’t stop on my account, little mouse.” “I feel like you’re making it super-hot in here on purpose,” she

grumbles, reaching forward to turn down the heat.

“If I wanted your clothes off, I would just remove them myself.” She arches a brow. “You’re saying you currently don’t want them off?”

she challenges.

The tips of my mouth curl, and I make sure to keep my gaze slow and

blazing as I sweep it down her body. If she thinks the car is overheating her, I’ll show her how hot I can make her with one look.

She flushes brightly, red staining her cheeks as she shifts, those thick

thighs clenching. My cock hardens painfully in my jeans, picturing them wrapped around my head instead. She likes to try and suffocate me between them, but I would gladly die between her thighs.

“Quit being inappropriate,” she snaps, her caramel eyes wide.

She’s so goddamn beautiful, it hurts. Especially when she’s angry. “Impossible,” I murmur, but I leave her be for now, turning my attention

back to the screen.

Sibby places the basket of drives back in the drawer, softly shuts it, then

relocks it with her picks. Afterward, she heads for the door.

“Did you need me to get anything else?” she asks. Before I can say

anything, she barks, “Jackal, quit touching things. You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Sibby, focus,” I snap. “Sorry,” she mutters, but not before hissing out another demand to

Jackal. Nothing is actually being touched, but if Sibby believes it is, she might try to fix it and then actually mess something up.

It’s vital that Jimmy doesn’t notice anyone’s been in his office, even

more so with it being so tidy. He might get paranoid and forgo using any of the USB drives.

I’ll completely wipe the cameras, but you can’t wipe physical evidence

so easily.

“You did great, Sibby. Leave the room. Don’t touch anything else.” “It wasn’t me touching things—yes, I’m telling on you, Jackal. You’re

the one acting like an idiot.”

Addie stifles a smile, and I decide that while Sibby is a complete pain in

my ass, she’s good for Addie. She makes us all feel a little more… normal.

Sibby makes her way out of the building without a hitch, up until she

rounds the corner and smacks right into someone’s chest.

The bodycam is knocked off, the camera rolling so only the sidewalk can

be seen.

“Sibby?” I ask, my heart rate kicking up a notch. Her face is plastered all

over the country. News outlets, social media, and so forth. If this person recognizes her, we’re fucked.

“Oh, shit,” the guy says, his voice muted. “Are you okay, miss?” “That really hurt,” Sibby groans. “You smell like a berry tree, though, so

I’ll let it slide.”

“Oh, no,” Addie whispers. “Sibby, you can’t say stuff like that. It’s

known that you associate your victims with smell.”

Sibby quietens, which allows us to hear the man’s response clearly. “What an odd thing to say.” “I am an oddball,” Sibby says in a strained laugh. He must help her up

based on the grunt and ruffling sound.

“Thank you for helping me,” she says, a hint of nervousness in her tone. “Yeah, of course. Guess I should look where I’m going next time,” he