Prologue

Penelope

“Girl, come here,” my stepfather bellows from the front room of our tiny shack. I know he’s talking to me. I’m the only one he calls ‘girl,’ mostly because he hates me. I set my little sister Isabelle down on the dirt floor and hurry down the hall.

He’s been home for a week, and everyone has tried to be on their best behavior. But something is wrong, and I’m likely to be blamed for it. The only time he hollers for me like this is when he’s angry about something and needs someone to take it out on.

I see my mother tucked away in her makeshift kitchen, pretending to be busy. My stepfather stands in the middle of the family room, his back to me. He’s talking with two men I’ve never seen before. Their eyes are on me as soon as I enter the room. My stepfather turns and glares at me with severe hatred.

“Lope, come here.” He snaps his fingers, and I move, avoiding contact with his dark eyes. If I don’t move fast enough he’ll lash out at me, and I don’t want to be hit. Not in front of these men. Even if they’re strangers, I don’t want them to see.

“Yes, Papai,” my voice is compliant, but his hand reaches out, slapping me hard across the face. I stumble backwards, as his blow catches me off guard.

“Putinha, don’t call me that,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips. “I’m not your father, thank fuck, as ugly as you are.”

Tears well up in my eyes, but I hold them back, because crying will only get me another slap. My stepfather moves away from me, taking notice of the men behind him once again. He smiles before nodding at them.

“Luckily, you’re not my problem anymore,” he snickers and waves them forward. They step toward me, and my heart falters. Their eyes are filled with lust and ugliness; it frightens me to my soul. I’ve seen that look before, once a long time ago. I push the memory down, regaining my wits.

The bigger of the two men licks his lips hungrily, and his eyes rake down the length of my body. I shiver, hating the gleam in his dark eyes. He looks at me like I’m his last meal and he’s ready to devour every inch of me.

The other man can’t look away from my chest. My dress is at least two sizes too small, a hand-me-down from a neighbor. It’s tight around my breasts and short in length. I lift my hands and try to cover the exposed skin, but it’s impossible to do. Whatever these men want from me, I can tell it’s not good.

“Mamãe?” I turn my head to seek out my mother, and panic rises in my throat. She stands frozen in her kitchen, her eyes on the bowl of Massa before her. Why won’t she look at me? “Mamãe, what’s happening?”

“You’ve been sold,” my stepfather speaks. His voice pulls my attention back to him. His dark eyes, blacker than I’ve ever seen before, glitter with amusement. His words strike me in the chest and knock the air out of my lungs. I hear them. I know what they mean, but I don’t want to believe them.

“Please.” A single tear falls, and I blink, desperate to hold the rest back. “Please, don’t do this.”

The bigger man reaches for me, but I dodge his hands and run to my mother.

“Mamãe, please,” I cry, and throw my arms around her. She sidesteps me and lets me fall into a heap at her feet. I grasp and reach, pulling at her dress, her arms, anything I can hold on to to keep her near. I grip her as tightly as I can. “Mamãe, don’t let them take me.”

She bends over and wraps her arms around me. The fight leaves my body, and I breathe easy thinking she is going to save me. But she doesn’t. She pushes me back, struggling to put space between us. When I realize her kindness was a ploy to get away from me, I rear up. Steel arms of one of the men grab me from behind and rip me away from her. I scream and try to escape his hold, but I’m no match for his brutal strength.

My younger siblings finally emerge from their room and bound down the hallway toward us. The commotion is now too much for them to ignore.

“Leave my Penny alone.” My youngest sister, Isabella, and most fierce of the group cries out before throwing her arms around my leg. I reach down for her, but my arms are held tightly to my sides, as the man pulls me toward the front door.

“Paolo, get your sister,” my stepfather barks at my brother. He steps forward, grabs Isabella, and avoids any contact with me. Isabella wails in protest and flails her small arms and legs. Paolo tries to be gentle with her, but she isn’t giving him much choice. He must do what father told him to, or else he will face the consequences later.

“Paolo, please.” I struggle desperately. I want him to look at me or speak to me, but he does none of those things. “Help me, please.”

Paolo ignores me and lifts Isabella up into his arms. He carries her out of the room and down the hallway. Her eyes never leave me until they turn the corner, and then her wails grow louder and more animalistic.

“Papai, please, don’t do this,” I wail, but I’m almost to the door. “Mamãe, please, help me. I’ll be good, please, I promise.”

The larger man lifts me up higher and throws me over his shoulder. My family gathers around my stepfather, all but Paolo and Isabella. My mother tries to console my younger brother and sister; their gentle sobs and tear-stricken faces are buried in her apron. She doesn’t look at me at all.

No one does. No one except my stepfather.

He watches me with laughter in his eyes. Pure evil radiates from him, and the smile on his face makes me sick. He is overjoyed at the pain he’s causing me and the others. We are his entertainment.

The strength I felt moments ago leaves my body, and the fight I’ve put up weakens against my captors. My family does nothing to stop them from taking me. Why should I continue to fight? What’s the point?

They don’t care.

They don’t want me anymore.

Except Isabella. I can still hear her cries and pleas coming as I’m carried past the threshold of the front door. I even hear Paolo’s gentle voice trying to console her, but it’s pointless.

“I love you, Isa,” I yell out to her with the last of my strength, then slump into defeat. The tears I’ve fought to hold back fall, and I watch my family’s home grow smaller and smaller with each step.

“Isa...” I whisper as an intense sadness overwhelms me, filling my mind with bleak darkness.

With nothing left to fight for, I surrender to it.

Damien

I close the curtains of my shithole motel room, keeping the bright light from the sun away from my sensitive hungover eyes. The room is littered with beer bottles and trash. I’ve spent the last ten days holed up here, drinking and fucking my way into oblivion. Clearly something that’s worked, because I don’t remember much of it.

Glancing back at the bed, I groan, seeing the white, supple skin of some bar floozy who got her hooks into me the night before.

“Hey,” I holler, cringing from the way the sound makes my head throb. She doesn’t move. “Hey, you, woman in my bed,” I say a little louder, ignoring the pain. I’d rather go through a few moments of discomfort now than prolong the awkward moment I’m about to have with this woman.

Shit, what is her name again?

She moves finally, groaning into the pillow.

“Hey, I don’t remember your name, but you got to go.”

“Fuuuuck,” she moans, indicating she’s hungover, too, as she pulls the blankets over her head, but I reach for them, pulling them off her naked body. Cocking my head, I take her in for a moment. She has a lush ass and a tiny waist, two things I love most in a woman. Too bad I can’t remember what it was like to fuck her.

“Get out.”

“What the fuck?” She lifts her head and peeks up at me through a mass of black hair.

“You got to go. I need sleep.”

“I was sleeping,” she argues, clearly not getting the fact she isn’t welcomed anymore.

“Let me spell this out for you. Thanks for the fuck, not that I remember much of it. Now you’ve got to bounce.” I pick up a few scraps of clothing I know came from her and toss them to her. “You’ve got three minutes to get your fat ass out of my bed and dressed before I physically throw you out myself.”

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“Just get the fuck out,” I holler, my patience with this bitch fading fast.

“All right,” she says, flipping over and getting out of the bed. She dresses quickly, throwing me pissed-off glares, but I don’t care. The faster I get her out of my room, the sooner I can crash. I need to sleep this off before boarding my plane tonight. It’s a long flight back to the sandbox, and even though I didn’t want to leave it in the first place, I’m not too excited about going back.

My phone pings, alerting me to a text message—for the thousandth time this week. I reach for it, pretending to be busy as the woman I spent the night with slams the door of my motel room, signifying her long-awaited exit.

Taking a deep breath, I glance down at the screen and see another text message from my oldest sister, Astrid, worried because I haven’t checked in. I toss the phone away with disgust.

What the fuck do they care how I am? Where was their concern for me the day I left on deployment? I shake my head trying to ignore the pain raging in my chest. My mother is dead, and they kept me from being there at her last dying breath.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.