“Come.” I walk quickly, expecting him to pull the chain. I still have a raw cut on the nape of my neck from the last prick who yanked it just to get a reaction from me. I was as quick as I could be. But that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been fast enough. He would’ve found a way. For him, it wasn’t about being obeyed; he just wanted to hurt me. He got pleasure from tormenting me.

I’ve learned there are two types. The first type just wants to inflict pain. They’re the worst, because even if I do everything right, they’ll find a way to trap me. They just want to punish me. Then there's the type that wants perfection. It’s difficult to live up to their expectations, but I try so fucking hard. I have to if I don’t want to be beaten.

In the beginning I fought. And I paid the price. I couldn’t help but to fight against them. They held me down and brutalized me in front of my father. He was an asshole and a vile human being. But still, it hurt to have him watch. I close my eyes and try to will away the image. Everything hurt. So much so that I’m sure parts of me are dead. I’m only slightly aware that I hardly bear any resemblance to the strong woman I used to be.

They raped me, took my innocence. There was no way I couldn’t fight. But then I realized how much of a waste it was. I needed to play the part. I needed to fool them into thinking I’m broken. That they’ve trained me to be the perfect pet. I’m just waiting. I’ll bide my time until I can have my revenge, although there are moments. Moments where I forget why I still want to live. Why I have to be good and try to continue to live.

This new arrangement throws me off. Not that I had much of a plan, other than to survive. I’d hoped when we landed that there would be fewer men. I just need for there to be fewer, so I can pick them off one at a time as they come for me. There are three I keep being given to. I’m recognizing their pattern now. Or I was. But now I’m all thrown off.

I need to get my hands on a gun. I’ll wait. There’s always been something stopping me. I almost had a chance before we left. But I didn’t take it. Abram and Vadik were gone. I want them there. I need to make sure that bastard pays the price for what he did to me and everyone I loved. I want him to die last. I want him to truly suffer.

I’ll have my revenge, at any cost. I won’t be sold off. That’s not their plan for me. That’d be too easy for the mafia princess. I hope their guard will be down. Just one moment is all I need. My body begs me to rest and a small voice whispers, but you need the strength to do it.

“In.” The hard word dropped from Kane’s lips brings me back to reality. Kane De Rocca. I recognize the last name, but I’m not sure why.

This isn’t going as I planned. I don’t like this. Fear makes my knees go weak. His large hand steadies on the small of my back and my body tenses in anticipation of the blow. I close my eyes and bow my head waiting for it. I’ve earned it. I wasn’t paying attention. I was stuck in my head. What’s wrong with me? I can’t do that.

It gets me punished. I don’t want to be punished. I want to be a good girl. I need to be good.

I need to pay attention and follow orders.

“In,” he commands louder and my shoulders shudder, but my body is quick to move. I open my eyes and realize I’m in the back of his car. Not in a trunk or a crate. He shuts the door and I look around, although my head stays forward. I’m careful not to actually move. I can’t show my surprise either. No emotions. I sit silently. My back is ramrod straight and won’t relax against the leather.

It’s been days since anyone has laid a hand on me or even seen me. Traveling is a blessing. But now I’m back to being given to someone else. A new master or keeper or sir. I’m terrified and my gut fills with a wretched acid that creeps up my throat. Tears threaten to well up in my eyes, but they don’t. I won't let them. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to cry. I’m not sure. But I know crying will get me punished. My face is set in stone. Expressionless, just as they like. Well, as the second type desires. The first type wishes for something else.

I have to remind myself what I overheard Abram say earlier. He said they’d be back. I’ll have another chance at him and Vadik. I just need one chance. This is only temporary. Just like the other times.

I want to turn in my seat and look at the man. At Kane. But my heart hammers in fear. I’m expected to sit, so I will. I stay still and wait. I’m careful to keep my breathing low and my body still. I’ve learned that’s the best way to handle it. It’s as though I’ve disappeared. If only I could.

My eyes close and my body begs to sleep, but I can’t. I’m exhausted from staying awake during the flight, though. I was worried that they would dump me at any point. That their threats weren't hollow and they were truly going to kill me this time. I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep soundly since I was taken.

My body shudders, and it makes my eyes widen with fear. I moved. I made a movement. It’s bad. I want to look around, but I don’t. I listen, and after a long moment, I hear nothing. It’s silent in the car. He still isn’t here. He isn’t waiting behind me to punish me. I wonder which of the two types he’ll be. I hope it’s the second type. They’re easier to survive.

My heart slows, and my head yearns to fall against my chest. My body craves rest. But I resist. Until he comes back and gives me an order, I won’t do anything that will give him a reason to punish me.

As my heavy eyelids slowly close, I hear the door open. I lift my head to attention, my eyes staring fixedly at the floor. I can feel his eyes on me. I know he’s looking at me, maybe deciding what to do with me. But I stay still and wait for his orders.

“I need you to lie down.” I quickly obey, and fall to my side. My wrists immediately feel the comfort of the position. The heavy weight of the shackles is relieved as my body sags into the seat. The shackles don’t irritate me as much as they used to. I’ve grown used to them. But I still look forward to the relief when I’m given it. I see a movement in my periphery and I almost react. But instead I only tense slightly for the blow I’m sure is coming.

The soft fabric lays on my body in a gentle wave. I expect it to cover my head, but instead he tucks it under my chin, covering the collar. I close my eyes as it moves against my neck. The collar digs into the cut, but I don’t say anything. I don’t react. I’m not sure if he’s aware, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t do anything that would anger him.

I won’t put myself in a position to be punished. I don’t know this man, but I’d rather stay obedient than risk his irritation. I tuck up my legs, knowing he’s going to shut the door, but beyond that I make no other movements. After a moment, he stands at the door, watching me. Waiting for something; I don’t know what.

But after that long moment, he shuts the door and I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And then the driver’s side door opens and the car roars to life. I don’t know where he’s taking me and I don’t ask.

But I know they’ll be back for me. And I’ll be ready for them.

I won’t break until I’ve had my revenge.

* * *

I wake up, pinned against a rock hard chest. My eyes pop open and my breathing stalls. But I don’t move. I stay still and pretend to be asleep. I can hear his steady heartbeat and his shoes crunching on gravel. I inhale his scent and resist the urge to bury myself into his shirt. A masculine woodsy pine fills my lungs. His strong arms are wrapped around my back and under my legs. I peek past him and see nothing but a field. A flat field.

I rock in his arms as we climb up a step, one and then another, and then a door opens with a creak. We’re on a porch. There’s even a porch swing out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. He turns his body and to the left I make out what appear to be endless woods before he carries me into the house.

“I tried not to wake you.” His deep voice jolts my body slightly. I don’t know how to respond. I’m quick to answer with an apology. Apologies have never stopped the beatings in the past, but I know I have to respond. Being quiet is much, much worse than saying the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” I speak clearly. I know I must. When I started to pretend, when I decided submitting was the best way to survive until I had the opportunity to escape, I learned that whispers and mumbles are often accompanied by blows to the face. I’d like to avoid that as best as I can. If I can. I’m still not sure which type this man is.

He sets me down on the sofa and I’m not certain if I should lie down or sit. When I switch owners it’s the worst in the beginning. Their expectations always change. He walks across the foyer and hallway to an open living room. It adjoins a large kitchen and dining room. Modern and clean. This place is dark. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. I settle down on my side, facing the room.

I want to ask if this is his home. But that would be stupid of me. I know better. I won’t be foolish like I used to be. Instead I lie still and simply wait for instructions.

“Stay there,” he says, as he turns his back and leaves the room. My heart beats wildly in my chest. It’s horrible when they leave. It terrifies me. They always seem to come back with more anger and ammunition. The faces of my previous owners flash before my eyes. I’ll never forget them. If I can, I’ll kill each one of them.

But his face is the one that persists in my mind. The leader. The one who made sure that my father saw everything. He will die a slow death. The memory is vivid. I can still see the way my father looked as they came from behind me. It must have been hours before they finally beat him to death. I’d hoped they were going to kill me after. But that wasn’t enough for him.

Tears don’t even threaten to fall from my eyes. I can’t feel them. My eyes almost feel itchy with dryness at this point. Crying is pointless and only gets me beaten. The more I cry, the harder the blows. So I hide the sadness; I hide every emotion, because it’s safer that way.

It was one thing to be beaten, raped, and humiliated in front of my father and then have to watch as they murdered him. The image of his throat being slit is still clear in my mind. It was one thing to have that happen just before my death. I was waiting for it. Praying for it. It was another thing entirely to live through that nightmare and then be taken by my father’s enemy. Someone who wants to make sure I suffer.

I’ll make sure he suffers as well.

My eyes dart to the hallway Kane left through. I’m not chained to the ground. I’m not tied to anything, or locked away. I can see the front door. I could run. I bet I could even get the door partially opened before he gets back to me. The old me would’ve taken the risk. The old me would’ve ended up scarred and bruised. Now, I’m a good girl. I’ll wait.

Why am I a good girl? Because it may be a test. I’ve failed so many times before. I won’t fail. I won’t disappoint him. At least not in this way.

Even if it’s not a test, if I leave now, I may never find him again. And I can’t let that happen. I won’t run. I’ll simply wait. My chance will come. I only need one chance.

I hear Kane's heavy steps coming down the hallway and I focus my eyes forward. I would school my expression to be impassive, but it’s already set. I haven’t dared to show emotion in so long. I don’t know how long it's been actually. Now that I think of it, it’s a strange feeling to realize I have no idea how much time has passed. I spent a very long time in a basement and then even longer in his bedroom. Learning proper technique.

I can tell Kane’s entered the room, but I force my eyes to stay straight ahead and my body to be still. It’s only when he comes closer that I want to move away. Only when I see the pliers in his hands do I want to run, hide, or show fear. But I resist. I can’t do that.

I can only imagine what he’s going to do with the pliers. I remember their threats, to cut me up and ship parts of me one by one to different family members. But I thought they were all dead. I know some are. They showed me pictures. Or simply took me with them as they hunted them down. Maybe this is just for enjoyment though? My eyes want to close, but I force them open. I know if I try to hide, he’ll force me to look. I can practically feel him fisting my hair and shaking me until my eyes are wide open. It’s happened before. I’ve learned.

I wait for orders as he stands above me. The large pliers are in his right hand; his muscles corded. His left hand reaches down and he firmly lifts my hands up to the pliers. They’re bound by a shackle. It's the same type as the one on my neck. The leash has always been on the collar though, so there’s not much bruising on my wrists. I want to close my eyes as he opens the pliers, but I don’t.

I stare straight ahead and expect the cold metal to clip around my finger. That would make sense. Maybe I still have family alive. Maybe I’ve angered Felipe more than I thought and this is the price to pay. I thought I was more valuable whole, though. That’s an argument I’ve heard before, when they wanted to leave more marks. But they weren’t allowed to do anything permanent.

Perhaps after all this time I no longer hold that value. I hear the snap of the pliers and feel my right arm fall. Snap! The metal clicks again and then my left arm falls as well. The muscles in my arm scream. It’s been so long since they’ve had the freedom to move at this angle.

I steady my breathing and try to make sense of what’s happening. I wish I could ask, but I can’t.

“Hold still,” he says, as he moves the pliers to my neck. I don’t want to, but my eyes close. I try to resist, but I pray he’s only cutting the lock on the collar. My heart hammers in my chest, and when I hear the loud snap and feel the metal give from around my throat, I can’t help the emotions that wash over me. I hear the chains clinking and open my eyes. I watch his back as he leaves the room and walks into the kitchen. I shouldn’t, though. I know better. As he drops the chains into the trash and turns, my eyes snap forward. I stare straight ahead and resist the desire to put my hands to my throat. He walks back to me and stands over my body.

I wish I knew what he wanted. I wish I knew how to react.

His hand slowly lowers to my neck and he squats down in front of me. His finger brushes along a cut on the side of my throat. I try not to, but I wince from the pain. I know better! I shouldn’t have winced. I knew the pain was coming. I school my expression and wait. He lays his hand on my shoulder and lets his eyes travel down my body. I wish I could hide. I used to be beautiful. Now I’m thin and bones poke through where they shouldn’t. I’m scarred, although they did try to keep the whips on skin that’s normally hidden by clothing. Most of the bruises have faded and not many are new.

He stands up slowly and continues to watch me. “I want you to look at me.” At his command, my eyes reach his. My heart stops and for a moment, the world tilts on its side.

Kane De Rocca. I heard his name earlier. I make sure to listen. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. And I know that’s this man’s name. Kane. He’s stunning. His jaw is stubbled and hard against the sharp lines of his high cheekbones. His shoulders are broad and his chiseled chest pulls the crisp, white dress shirt he’s wearing taut against his body. His dark eyes stare into mine with such passion and emotion that I feel a pull to look away.

But he commanded me to look at him. And I’m a good girl. I will obey him. For now.

I wish I knew what the look in his eyes means. But I don’t.

“What’s your last name, Ava?” he asks.

I’m quick to respond, “Ivanov.” I will never forget. That name is why I’m here. Why all of this has happened to me. I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t want it.

“I see. You’re Alec’s daughter?” he asks. Hearing my father’s name causes a stir of emotions in the pit of my stomach. I’ve heard his name before, over and over. Accompanied by hateful slurs, or laughter and cheers of his death. But not like this. Hearing his name spoken calmly. With respect. That’s something I haven’t heard in a long time.

“Yes,” I answer, still holding his gaze.

“Ava Ivanov,” he says, with reverence in his tone. He repeats it in a murmur I almost don’t hear.

“Come, Ava,” he says, and turns his back to me. I stand quickly to obey.

As I watch him move with dominance and power through the hallway, I feel a stir of emotions I haven’t felt in some time. I feel hope.

I know I shouldn’t, though. Hope will destroy me.