I try to move, but the collar at my neck cuts into my skin as the chains bolted to the floor pull tight. Heavy footsteps echo around my mind, much louder than they should be. Shiny shoes appear in my line of vision, and I slowly lift my gaze. I know this scene, I’ve relived it hundreds of times, but it’s changed. This is not the master. Instead, the man standing before me is the boss of the Sinaloa cartel. His three-piece suit is exactly the same way it was at the police station, the silver streaks in his hair appearing less severe in the darkness of the room.

“How pretty you look like that; naked and on your knees for me.” They are the master’s words, but coming from this man’s mouth. The toe of his shoe nudges the inside of my knee before he shoves my legs apart. “Yes, so pretty.” He smirks, dropping to a crouch in front of me. He drops his face to the floor, and when he looks up again, it’s the face of the master. That sick smile pulls at his lips as he drags his thumb over the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes and silent tears track down my cheeks. “So young. So untouched.” I’m far from untouched. I hear him shift, and then the clink of his belt, the lowering of a zipper. He grips my jaw, squeezing so hard that his fingers sink into my skin. “Open up for me, amado.”

I clench my jaw, fighting against the pain. The thought of him makes my stomach churn with bile. He releases me before his hand collides with my face. I pitch sideways, and the collar cuts into my throat, choking off my air. The taste of blood spills over my tongue, hot and metallic. Gripping my hair, he yanks me upright again, sending a burning sensation over my scalp. “Open, or I’ll break your jaw again.”

I stare up at him, this monster in the form of a man. And then I close my eyes and open my mouth because I have no other choice.

I wake up, and I swear I can taste the faintest hint of blood on my tongue. Moonlight pours through my open balcony doors, cutting across the cream carpet. I know I won’t be able to sleep again, so I get up and leave the room. It’s late, and Lucas is nowhere to be seen. I pad through the house, relishing the quietness that permeates the hallways. There’s the low hum of a voice coming from somewhere down the hall. I follow it, approaching Rafael’s office door and gently pushing it open. His eyes immediately meet mine, as if he expected me. He has a phone pressed to his ear; his eyes narrowed as he listens to whatever the other person says.

“Twenty percent and I can have your shipment delivered next week,” he says in stilted German. Jesus, how far is his reach? As I walk farther into the office, my eyes scan over the bookshelves until I come to that little golden globe he keeps behind him. I spin it around and then place my finger on one spot, somewhere in China. Rafael’s hand lands on my hip before he turns me to face him, pulling me between his knees.

“Why are you awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He turns his chair and takes his cigar from the ashtray, placing it between his lips. He inhales, and the end glows bright, the scent of the smoke wafting up to greet me. “Another nightmare?”

“Who needs sleep anyway?” I glance over his shoulder at the laptop on the desk. “Apparently you’d rather sell drugs to Germans.”

His lips twitch. “I might have been discussing the weather with my German grandma.”

I cock a brow. “Nice try.”

His eyes narrow. “You speak German.”

I turn away; running my fingers over some leather bound books. “What, you thought I was uneducated?

“I did wonder how a slave sold at thirteen years of age came to know Hemingway.”

I nod, taking a book from the shelf and opening it. It’s a poetry book with Latin verses. “Yes, to a man who liked his girls to look young and sound intelligent.” I snap the book closed and turn to face him. “I had the best education money could buy.”

“That’s…”

“Sick? Twisted? Depraved? He was all of those things.” I reach out, smoothing the frown line from between his brows. He snatches my hand and brings it to his lips, brushing them across my knuckles.

“I need to ask you something,” he says.

“Okay.”

He pulls me onto his lap, placing his hand against the small of my back. “Did your family have any ties to the bratva?”

“Uh, I was sold to the bratva.”

“Before that, before the orphanage.”

I frown. “My parents were good, normal people. Why?” He watches me for a beat, and I can see the indecision playing over his features. “Tell me.”

“Nero. I might have something.” I touch his jaw, pulling his troubled gaze to mine. “I think he might have one of the Russian kingpins in his pocket. When he asked me to look after you…” He takes a deep breath. “He said you were collateral. I thought maybe…”

“I might mean something to someone.” I shake my head. “I don’t. I have no one, at least not that I know of.” He looks disappointed. “Why are you doing this? Is Nero paying you?”

He snorts. “No, I don’t need the Italian’s money.”

“Then why?”

“Because I owe him a favor. A big one.”

“What kind of favor?”

He tilts his head back and lets out a long breath. “He killed my father.”

“And…you owe him a favor for that?” I squeak.

He smirks. “I didn’t much like my father.”

“He was the boss before you?” He nods. “And your mother was…”

“A prostitute. Yes. Although when I was conceived, he owned her. Her pregnancy inconvenienced him so he ‘freed’ her. Kicked her out on the street. She ended up a single mother of twins, whoring herself out to feed us. I joined the cartel to make money, but when he heard of some jumped-up street gang selling all this blow for him, he took an interest.” Rafael laughs humorlessly. “He acted like I was the prodigal son returned to him.”

“And you waited.”

“Until the perfect time.”

“And took his cartel from him.” A grin spreads over his face as he nods. I understand the basic drive for revenge—the hunger, the need. “And your mother?”

“She lives in a resort in Cancun.”

Rafael really isn’t like all those men. He’s different, maybe a little broken, like me. Oh, how I wish he could save me the way he saved his mother.

“Rafe, what is Nero going to do with me?” I whisper through my tightening throat.

“I don’t know.” He strokes his fingers down my cheek, the gentleness so at odds with everything else about him. “Tell me, sweet Anna, what would you do if you were to have your freedom?”

My mind hits a wall, and my mouth snaps shut. “I don’t know.”

“You never thought about it?”

“I survived because I refused to hope. So no, I never thought about it.”

He takes a piece of my hair, twirling it around his finger until the gold strands are wrapped tightly around his tanned skin. “Well, maybe you should start thinking about it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I breathe. Being free would mean leaving him, leaving my safe harbor to walk into a world of danger and enemies.

I take his face in both hands and stare into his eyes, my lips hovering barely an inch away from his. I find myself dancing with this sense of curiosity, remembering the way his lips felt on mine. Soft and yet hard. Demanding and yet never forceful. That kind of kiss is something I’ve never experienced, and…I liked it. I liked it with him.

“Take it, Anna,” he breathes. I swallow heavily and swipe my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. Rafael lets out a tiny groan, his hand cupping my cheek as he swipes a thumb over the corner of my lip. “Take what you want, avecita.” He somehow manages to make it sound like a threat. I slowly close the gap between us until my lips brush his. He doesn’t move, waiting for me to kiss him. As I press my lips fully to his, I feel a sense of empowerment. To have a man like Rafael willingly submissive to my exploration… My hand slides around his neck and my tongue brushes his bottom lip, making him tense.

Taking my face, he holds me away from him as his warm breaths wash over my lips. I feel the blush creep over my cheeks. “Did I do something wrong?”

He groans again. “No. Fuck, no.” He throws his head back against the chair. “Anna, you have no idea how tempting you are.” I freeze, my pulse leaping in my throat. “No. Don’t do that. I’m not them, avecita. I will never touch you unless you want it.”

“Promise?”

He smiles. “I’d promise you the world if I could, little warrior.”

“And what if I can’t offer you a single thing in return?”

He leans in, placing the softest kiss against my throat. “From you, sweet Anna, I would ask only for a smile.”

* * *

I wake up when Rafael’s weight shifts beneath me. As I rise to consciousness, I realize that my leg is thrown over his, my arm wrapped tightly around his thick waist. My face heats, and I try to shift away from him.

He pulls me closer, imprisoning me against his hard body. Rough fingers glide through my hair, stroking it away from my face.

“Morning,” he rumbles.

“Hey.”

His phone starts ringing, vibrating over the bedside table. He picks it up and presses it to his ear as he sits up against the headboard.

“Yeah?” There’s a pause, and he sighs heavily. “Yeah, I’ll handle it. I’ll be there in an hour.” He hangs up, and I blink up at him as he glances down at me. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

I frown. “Where?”

“To handle some business.” He gets out of the bed and stretches his arms above his head. I blush when I realize he’s wearing just his boxers. How is it that he does that to me? I’ve fucked more men than I could ever count and had things done to me that I’m so ashamed of, and yet, this man’s bare skin can make me blush like a virgin. The muscles in his stomach flex with his movement, and when I glance at his face, he’s smirking. I snatch my gaze away, my face heating.

“You can look all you like, avecita.” He leans over the bed and presses a kiss to my flaming cheek, catching the corner of my mouth before he walks off into the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, I blow it out through my lips and drag a hand through my hair. What the hell am I even doing? If this is some kind of trap or trick, I’m so very screwed because I’ve fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. I should know better. My heart pitter-patters when he walks back into the room, still in his boxers. Stupid heart.

“Be ready in half an hour,” he says, and then walks from the room.

An hour later, and I’m sitting in the front of one of Rafael’s Range Rovers, the wheels bumping down a rough track until we pull up in front of what looks like a warehouse. A guard opens a gate, and my gaze tracks the length of the fence that surrounds the property. We drove across miles of abandoned desert road to get here, and it seems to be the only building for miles around. Armed men patrol the fence looking alert and lethal. They are the only clue that this isn’t just some abandoned old building. We drive around the back of the building, and he parks under an overhang.

As soon as I step out of the car, the hot desert air suffocates me. The sand feels abrasive and coarse against my skin as the wind tangles my hair. It’s hot and dirty, but there’s something about the wildness of the desert that I find cleansing. The stale air is somehow freeing, full of space and possibilities.

Rafael walks away from me, and I trail after him as he yanks a door open causing a low groan of protesting hinges. I hesitate when I step inside. There are long tables, workstations, set out. Standing at each one are several women, all in their underwear, paper masks covering their faces as they work. They cut, pack, and wrap blocks of cocaine, working quickly and efficiently like a well-oiled machine. Men load boxes of the packed drugs onto trucks that are parked at loading bays. It’s a huge operation.

There’s a one-story breezeblock structure within the warehouse, and above it, railings enclose a second floor. Glancing up, I catch sight of two women leaning on the bars, watching me carefully. Cigarettes hang from their fingers, their bodies clad in tight jean shorts and cropped shirts. Something about them is…sad. Desperate. It’s a look I know well, one I’ve seen too many times to recall.

Rafael opens the door in front of me and pulls me into what looks like an office. It’s simple, functional, not like the warm décor of his home office. This is clearly all business. Taking a seat behind his desk, he presses a button on a remote, and a wall of TV screens fill with various images from around the warehouse.

“Why are they all in their underwear?” I find myself asking.

A smirk graces his lips as those dark eyes meet mine. “So they can’t steal anything.”

“You think they would steal from you?”

“I find it easier to assume they will and avoid it, rather than trust they won’t and have to fix it.” He takes a cigar from his pocket and places it between his lips. I stare at his mouth for a second, so cruel and yet so soft, so undeniably alluring, even to someone like me. The flame from the lighter dances in front of his face before a long stream of smoke clouds his intense gaze. “The cartel runs on its reputation. A violation, no matter how small must be punished. Severely.”

I nod. “I know.” I know better than anyone, but then, I never committed any violations in the cartel did I? I stayed there like a good, willing little whore as long as they gave me the drugs I needed to forget. So I don’t know.

“The few die so that the many survive,” he says, a twisted smile working at his lips. “Humans are like sheep. Every now and then one might stray, but if it gets eaten by the wolf, then it scares the rest of the flock, and they don’t stray again.”

“Are you saying you’re the wolf?”

His smile grows into a grin as he pushes up from his chair, placing the cigar in the ashtray. “Oh, avecita, I’m the big bad wolf.”

He rounds his desk slowly, stalking me just like the wolf he declares himself to be. He stops, so close that I can feel the heat of his body. The scent of citrus and cigar smoke engulfs me, and I inhale the intoxicating scent. I slowly lift my eyes over his enormous chest until they meet endless pools of darkness. Reaching out, he trails his fingers over my jaw.

“Oh, what big teeth you have,” I whisper.

A grin covers his face, and he leans in, brushing his lips over mine. An involuntary shiver races over my skin, and I grip his wrist. “All the better to eat you with.” He smiles against my mouth and kisses me before his teeth scrape over my bottom lip leisurely. My heart does that strange spluttering in my chest, and I inhale a deep breath, trying to calm it. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, and I find myself pitching forward, seeking, wanting. His fingers thread through my hair, and he yanks my head back so hard that a sharp gasp flies from my lips. “Careful, Anna. You taste a little too sweet. Don’t tempt me.” I stare at him for a beat, part of me wanting to tempt him while the other part recoils in absolute horror. Closing my eyes, I push that sick feeling down and focus on calming my racing pulse. I sway towards him as though he has me under some kind of spell, and kiss him, gently, carefully. He groans against my mouth and then wrenches away from me, something feral and unrestrained flashing behind his eyes.

There’s a knock on the office door before it opens, and Samuel glances into the room. His gaze darts from me to Rafael and back again.

He clears his throat. “Boss, we have them.” He arches a brow pointedly.

Rafael shoves his rolled up sleeves past his elbows, picks up his smoking cigar from the ashtray, and strides out of the office. I follow because he didn’t tell me to stay. To the side of the warehouse, two armed men stand with two women between them. The girls are on their knees, their faces bruised. Blood trails from the nose of one of them, coating her lips and staining the front of her pale blue tank. Though she’s beaten, she doesn’t look scared. Her jaw locks and her dark eyes burn with a kind of rage I know very well. The other isn’t so strong. Tears track down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking silently. Her badly bleached hair hangs in front of her hollowed face, brushing collarbones far too protruded. I’m sadly familiar with the haunted, sunken look in her eye, the look of someone who is a slave to a simple high. Heroin.

The workers packing the drugs across the warehouse barely even spare a glance for the battered women. I try to tell myself that this is different, that these women aren’t slaves. That they chose to be here. But as I look at them, it’s hard not to see them as any one of the hundreds of girls I’ve come across in my captivity. They aren’t though. This is not the same.

Rafael says nothing for long moments, just watches them, smoke curling around his face ominously. “I’m surprised you’re still alive,” he finally says. “You can buy a lot of smack for half a million.”

The more defiant of the two glares at him, but she’s not brave enough to say anything. The look he gives her makes even me want to recoil away from him. His lips tip up in a smirk, and he places a finger under her chin, tipping her head back even farther. His thumb skates over her jaw and something tight and uncomfortable settles in my stomach. I don’t like it. I don’t want him to touch her like that. “There’s a certain beauty in your rebellion,” he says quietly, smoke slipping through his lips like a fire-breathing monster. He drops his hand. “Stealing from me is…brave. And while I appreciate courage, it quickly becomes stupidity when the likelihood of living long enough to spend the money is so minute.”

The crying girl starts sobbing, choked breaths leaving her body. My heart clenches a little, almost as though it’s trying to feel something for her, but it quickly fades away.

“So, now what do I do with you?” He moves over to where I stand back from it all. His eyes sweep over my face, and he slides one hand into his pocket casually. “What would you do in my position, avecita?” He places the cigar between his lips again, the end glowing bright orange as he inhales.

My eyes go wide. “You’re asking me?” I notice Samuel shift awkwardly beside me. Rafael folds his arms over his chest, the only sign of his impatience. I pause and think about the situation for a moment. “They stole from you,” I say, and he nods. “And you paid them to do a job.” Another nod. “Were they paid well?”

He lifts a brow as though the question insults him. “Very.”

I peer around him at the two girls. “How much did he pay you?”

Neither says anything and Samuel sighs. “I suggest you answer her,” he snaps.

“Five,” the sobbing girl chokes out. “Five thousand.”

“American dollars,” Samuel clarifies. “Per run. It’s two days work.”

My eyebrows hike up. “That’s…”

“Reasonable,” Rafael says.

I nod. “Enough for a girl to do it once and get out.”

He smirks. “Ah, but they never do.” No, because heroin and money often make for the strongest of cages.

“So, they are here, doing this by choice.”

“Yes.”

It may not be a legal or particularly nice job, and I know they probably don’t have many choices, but it’s a job that doesn’t involve them being on their backs. I know a lot of girls who would sell their very soul for such an opportunity. Girls being forced to spread their legs for nothing more than the luxury of being allowed to keep breathing. My fists clench, and I take a deep breath as the sting of my nails cutting into my palm helps ground my rage. It’s unfounded here. One situation cannot be compared to another, at least not by these girls. They know nothing, and it makes me resent these strangers, women I’ve never even met, for no reason.

“There are much worse fates,” I say quietly.

“Yes, little warrior, there are.”

“Can you…punish them, or something?” I cringe as the words slip from my mouth. Punish. It’s a word that brings a rush of vile memories to the front of my mind, and I swallow hard.

Rafael tilts his head back and exhales a long stream of smoke before tossing his cigar to the ground and sending embers skittering over the concrete floor. “Or something,” he says, his voice cold enough to send a shiver down my spine. He moves closer until the scent of cigar smoke is all I can smell. “The problem is, if I release them, no matter what I do to them before so, it makes me look weak. After all, what would most people do for half a million dollars? There are few horrors they wouldn’t endure for that kind of money.”

“You’re wrong,” I whisper. I’ve endured things that no amount of money could make me relive.

I jump when his fingers brush my cheek. “Then you suggest I do something…memorable.”

No. I close my eyes and inhale a shaky breath. I can’t…Why is he asking me this? “I’m not the right person to ask.”

“No? I think you’re the perfect person to ask.” I open my eyes and look at him.

“Why? I’m just a wh—“

The look in his eye cuts me off. “You understand this corrupt world we live in better than most, the injustice of human nature, the opportunity I have afforded these women.” His hand drops from my face to my waist, and he gently forces me to take a step back, and then another, his steps tracing mine until we’re a few feet away from his men and the two women.

“This is your business, Rafe, not mine.”

His lips twitch, his eyes dancing with something he refuses to speak. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I answer without the hesitation I undoubtedly should have.

“Do you think I’m fair?”

“Yes.”

His finger presses under my chin, his eyes lingering on my mouth. “What happened to you was not this. They had a choice, and choices have consequences.” That rough fingertip trails the length of my throat. “Do not look at them with pity. You know how this works. You know what this warrants, so say it. Do not be afraid of it.”

“I’m not,” I breathe. “I’m afraid of how easily I could condemn them.” I know that vital pieces of my humanity are missing, and with that, I could so easily become like the very monsters I hate so much. I can’t embrace that. I can’t speak the words that would seal the fate of these women, even though I know whatever I say, they’ll die. “Don’t make me.”

His eyes bore into mine, hard and without an ounce of mercy to be found. I know these women will die. “Ah, avecita, your resistance is so beautifully futile.”

He wordlessly turns around, glancing at Samuel and nodding once. There’s a string of curse words from the more defiant girl, while the other one sobs as Rafael’s men drag them to their feet and move them away. Samuel follows them towards a door at the back of the warehouse, pulling his gun from his holster before he disappears through it. The door closes with a heavy bang, the finality of it ringing through the air like a gunshot on a perfectly silent night.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask. He starts walking away, towards the office, and once again I’m left trailing in his wake. “Rafael.”

He rounds on me so fast I almost collide with him. “Because you’re ready.”

“For what?”

“You need to embrace this.”

“Embrace what?”

“Who you are. You’re never going to be normal, Anna.” The words feel like a blade digging between my ribs, poking at a vulnerable spot. “You’re never going to go back to Russia, and have a normal job, and get married to a normal guy…”

I drop my gaze to the ground, a strange sense of loss winding around me like invisible fingers, squeezing the air from me. Because he’s right. I’m irreversibly altered, and I’ll never be right, never think the way sane people do.

“I just want…peace,” I whisper.

He smiles, his thumb swiping the corner of my lip as his gaze drops to my mouth. “Then accept yourself as you now are.”

“That would mean accepting what they made me.”

“No. It would mean accepting the person you became in order to survive. She’s strong.” He drops his hand and lifts a brow. “I like her,” he says as he turns away and walks back into the office.

I stand there, my legs rooted and my mind numb. Why is he doing this? I can’t work out whether he’s trying to fix me or break me further. And why? Why does he care? Despite all the pretty words exchanged between us, all the ways he makes me feel so impossibly safe, we both know he’s going to hand me over to Nero Verdi. Maybe he has no choice. I’d like to think that.

A few minutes later and Rafael strides out of the office again, crossing the warehouse to the door we came in through. I follow him outside, and he pulls open the passenger side door, waiting for me to get in. Just as I reach the car, I hear the distinctive crack of a gunshot echoing around the vast space that surrounds the warehouse. My pulse skitters at the sound as my eyes meet Rafe’s cool, hard expression. A second gunshot quickly follows, and I know it’s Samuel putting down those two girls, no doubt after digging them a shallow grave in the sandy earth. I know that I should feel something, pity for them, perhaps even disgust at Rafael, but nothing comes. As always, I feel nothing, just hollow, empty acceptance that this is the way things are.

Rafael offers me his hand, and I take it, allowing him to help me into the car before he closes the door. And then we drive away from his warehouse of drugs and death, clouds of desert dust billowing in our wake.