I take a seat behind my desk and glance at the wall of monitors, each showing a room in the house. I watch as Maria helps the limping waif of a girl to the bathroom before hurrying around the room, laying out clothes on the bed. Maria leaves, and a few minutes later there’s a knock on my office door before the small woman walks in.

“That girl needs a doctor, Rafael,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.

I lean back in my chair and pick up my cigar from the ashtray. “He’s on his way.”

The tension leaves her shoulders, and her expression softens slightly. “Where did you find her?”

I inhale a deep breath. I love Maria. She’s like family, but that means that sometimes she asks too many questions, gets too involved. “She’s part of a business deal, Maria. That’s all you need to know.”

Her jaw sets and hurt crosses the older woman’s eyes. “You’re not going to…” She swallows heavily, and I know what she’s thinking. It’s clear for anyone to see exactly what Anna is. The scars and bruising are layered, both recent and old. She holds herself in a way that’s both fragile and impenetrable at the same time, as though she’s so broken that it’s impossible to break her further.

“No one will touch her, but nor is she a pet. She’ll see a doctor and be kept safe until her owner can pick her up.” The word owner feels acidic on my tongue. She opens her mouth, and I lift a brow, causing her to snap it shut again before she storms from the room. This isn’t my usual business. I don’t deal in sex slaves. I can barely tolerate having whores, but such is the way of things. At least they’re paid and willing. I find the business of kidnapping and forcing girls unsavory, and I suppose I am kidnapping her in a way, forcing her to remain here. But it is just business.

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say, barely glancing up from the list of figures in front of me.

The door opens, and one of my guards walks in with Doctor Strada behind him. “Ah, Doctor. Thank you for coming.” Sebastian Strada is my permanent on-call doctor. Men often get shot in my line of work, and we can’t very well take them to the ER.

The doctor simply clutches his bag, waiting for me to direct him to a patient. He’s a quiet man in his mid-thirties, and I suspect he dislikes working for me, but not the money I line his pockets with. I walk out of the office, and his footsteps click over the tile behind me. Once outside Anna’s door, I pause, debating on knocking, but it’s my house. Why would I knock? Pushing the door open, I stride into the room to find her absent. My temper starts to tick up as I glance at the closed balcony doors. She escaped once, but surely she wouldn’t try it again? She wouldn’t get very far.

With a growl, I shove open the bathroom door and find her sitting in the bathtub. She doesn’t even look at me, simply stares straight ahead, her chin resting on her knees, which are pulled to her chest. Her long blonde hair sticks to her face and neck in damp strands.

“The doctor is here to look at you,” I say. She slowly unwinds her arms from around her legs and pushes to her feet, turning to face me. Water runs down her skeletal form as she looks at me, or rather through me, making no effort to cover herself. I take a towel off the rack and hold it out for her. As soon as she takes it, I turn away and walk out of the room.

I grab a tank and some tracksuit bottoms from the closet that Maria stocked for her, tossing them into the bathroom and shutting the door.

“Give her a minute,” I say to the doc who is lingering in the bedroom doorway.

After a few minutes, I open the bathroom door and find Anna fully dressed. Taking her by the elbow, I help her hobble to the bed. She never says a word, never argues, never fights, but when I look into her eyes, I see nothing but anger that seems to fuel a raw defiance in her submission. Yes, she may seem fragile, but there’s a fire concealed beneath her icy exterior. I see it, no matter how well she may try to hide it.

“I have work to do,” I say dismissively as I help her onto the bed. I don’t have time for this. “Come and see me when you’re done, Sebastian.”

“Of course.” I turn around and leave the room. I check in with a couple of the guards by the front door and don’t even make it to the office before I hear the doc call my name.

Turning around, I find him walking towards me, his face pale and his hands wringing awkwardly in front of him. “I think…I think someone is going to have to hold her down.” I glare at him, and he hurries on. “Her ankle is badly broken. I need to x-ray it, but I suspect it needs setting. She needs at least a general anesthetic for that.”

“Okay, so why do you fucking need help? She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. Just get on with it,” I snap.

He shakes his head. “She seems to have a fear of needles.” Of all the things she could be scared of: needles. He shrugs one shoulder almost apologetically. “Perhaps you could spare one of your men?”

I glance toward the door at the two broad, tattooed men armed with automatic rifles. My men are good guys, but I’m not sure I trust them with a pretty little sex slave, not to mention the fact that they’ll probably terrify her. “I’ll do it,” I grumble.

He nods like one of those damn dogs and turns around, walking back up the stairs.

“Do you know what drugs she’s been taking?” he asks me.

“No. She was given methadone in the last twelve hours.”

“I need to know.”

It isn’t uncommon. Traffickers have been known to kidnap girls off the street, but slaves must be compliant, and no matter how broken, a girl will always long for her freedom, perhaps even risk death to escape. So, they drug them, get them so hooked on heroin that they won’t leave because they can’t be without their source. She doesn’t look like a heroin addict. She lacks the sallow, feral look they usually possess. She’s thin, yes, but not withered.

He opens the door to her room, and she remains on the bed, her back pressed to the headboard.

“Anna, are you going to tell the doctor what you take? Or don’t you know?”

She drops her forehead to her knees, her entire body trembling. “Please,” she begs quietly.

“Please what?”

“Please, no needles.” Her voice is panicked.

“You either speak, or he takes blood. Your choice.” I wait a moment, and she lifts her head, staring straight ahead at the wall.

“Ketamine,” she whispers.

“How long have you been taking Ketamine?” The doctor asks.

“I don’t know.” Another hoarse whisper.

He nods. “Okay. I can’t help you with withdrawal, I’m afraid. You’ll have to ride it out.” She says nothing. “Now, I’m going to need to x-ray that ankle.” She eyes him like a cornered animal, scared but willing to attack at a moment’s notice.

I sigh, my patience wearing thin. I’m a fucking cartel boss, not a counselor. “Anna,” I growl. She doesn’t move, just stares at the doctor with outright hostility. “For fuck’s sake.” I grab her leg and yank it away from her, eliciting a pained cry as she lands on her back on the bed. I place my other palm on her chest, pinning her down. For a second she’s filled with blind panic, utter chaos running rife behind her eyes, and then she squeezes them shut, a single tear slipping down her temple. When she opens them again, there’s nothing. The tension in her body dissipates, and she becomes…pliant. Obedient. Broken. The doctor stands awkwardly to the side, hesitating to touch her.

“Rafael, I don’t think…”

“I don’t pay you to fucking think, Sebastian. Fucking x-ray her leg.” He wordlessly pulls a piece of equipment from a hefty looking bag and starts laying things out. I ignore him and focus on Anna. Such a broken little bird, driven by base primal instincts, a sheer need to survive and nothing else. Such is the life of a sex slave in the cartel. The whole thing leaves a sick and uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach, the likes of which I’m unaccustomed to. And that, in itself, grates on me. I remove my hand from Anna’s chest, and she makes no effort to rise. I remain where I am though in case she decides to try and defy me again. A few minutes later and the doc is looking at something on a laptop screen.

“It doesn’t need surgery, just a cast,” he says. “It’ll hurt though. It needs repositioning.” He glances at Anna. No reaction. Taking out a needle and syringe, he starts drawing up liquid from a bottle. He creeps closer to her, almost as though he’s trying to catch her unawares. The needle is millimeters from her skin when she snaps out of whatever trance she was in. The tiny little girl goes from flat on her back, to off the bed in a matter of seconds. I make a grab for her, but she dashes backward, barely even limping on her injured leg. Her eyes are wide as they dart around the room, looking for a way out.

“Anna,” I say, biting back the urge to snap at her as my patience dwindles.

She whirls around, hands pawing frantically at the locked balcony doors. With a sigh, I grab her from behind, dragging her up against my chest. She thrashes wildly as I haul her to the bed, climbing on it and pinning her against me. The doctor looks horrified as he watches us. She’s beyond reason, completely feral. As she thrashes against me, my mind flashes to my sister—to a time when it was her I held like this. I swallow around the lump in my throat and tighten my arm around her chest.

“Anna,” I say quietly. “No one will hurt you.” I stroke over her hair like I would a spooked horse—like I used to with Violet. Her chest heaves under my braced arm, and I can feel her heart pounding through her ribs. “Just knock her out, doc.”

“I…” He hesitates.

“Fucking do it,” I grunt as Anna throws her head back, writhing as though she’s in physical pain.

“No, no, no,” she cries.

The doc manages to hold her arm still enough to jab her. She fights, even as the plunger slowly releases the sedative into her veins. He pulls the needle out, and her thrashing causes a drop of blood to well, trickling down her arm as the fight gradually leaves her. I inhale a deep breath, and the scent of raspberry shampoo clinging to her hair invades my senses. Her breathing evens out, and she becomes dead weight in my arms, her cheek resting against my chest. Glancing down, I see her fingers clutching at my shirt slowly go lax. Her lips part slightly, and long lashes fan over her pale cheeks. How can a girl who is undoubtedly tainted by god-knows-how-many men, look so innocent and pure?

The doctor clears his throat, and I snap my gaze to his, shifting my weight out from beneath Anna’s tiny frame. “Do what you need to,” I say gruffly and leave the room without a backward glance.

Too close. She hits too close to home.