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All I can think about is Willow. Is she sound asleep? Is she safe? What will happen in the morning when she realizes I’m not there? Will she ask about me? What will they tell her?
Will Demyen keep her? Or will he throw her back at Martin the first chance he gets?
I shiver with fear at that last thought. No—Demyen despises Martin too much to give him anything close to what he wants. Even if just out of spite, Dem won’t hand Willow over.
Maybe Roxy can take her. He’s got her number. Is that where Willow will end up?
I’m sorry, Roxy. I never meant to burden you with my problems.
A momentary thought crosses my mind:Where is Dad?I’m having a hard time believing Raizo killed him. Especially now that I know that Dad’s been a top supplier of “merchandise.” I can’t see Raizo getting rid of a business partner like that.
My one consolation here is knowing that, despite his twisted understanding of love, and despite being a despicable human being, Dad never meant to sell me. He seemed genuinely surprised, and horrified, to see me here.
I cling to the memory of his face a bit longer than I should.
My whirlwind thoughts are interrupted by the guards impatiently pushing us inside the large hotel suite. The three women from earlier are gone, but the air is still filled with the unmistakable stench of perfume, cologne, liquor, and sex.
And piled on top of the vanity is a shit ton of money.
Once all of us are pushed inside the room, Raizo’s men curtly leave and shut the door behind them.
I’m so tempted to bolt the door. But knowing the Yakuza, it will only delay their return—and piss them off to dangerous levels.
So instead, I find a spot to lean against the wall and stand there. I don’t want to sit on the bed because I know what’s beenhappening there. I don’t want to sit on the lounge chairs for the same reason. The other women don’t know, so they sit and contemplate their next stage in life. Or they cry.
Or they just… calmly finger-comb the tangles from their hair, like the blonde I met earlier in the atrium.
She notices me watching her. With a soft smile, she slides off the edge of the bed to join me at the wall. “I heard you’re pretty damn expensive,” she muses.
I laugh miserably. “I’d rather be priceless.”
“Yeah, well, tough luck there. Not to be mean,” she quickly adds. A flicker of worry mars her brow. “I mean, just… this is what we’ve been dealt. No takebacks or redos.”
“You seem… okay? With all this.”
Blondie slowly shrugs. “I’ve never had a good life. Parents were broke addicts, and I’ve been on the streets since I was twelve. I guess… I don’t know. The guy who bid for me didn’t seem so bad. I figure he’s gotta be better than working the backside of The Strip, right?”
The way she says it looks and sounds like she’s asking me to confirm her theory. To reassure her that yes, totally, becoming someone’s personal sex slave is way better than prostitution in the wrong side of Vegas.
She doesn’t know I’m the worst person to ask. I tend to have poor judgment when it comes to ranking the lesser of two evils.
“Anyways.” She sighs. “Now’s a good time to relax and rest up. I overheard one of the cronies say we’re being processed. It’s gonna be a day or two before our new owners collect us.”
I frown. “Really? Why?”
“Heck if I know. If I had to guess, making sure all the payments clear. No honor among thieves, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Sure. No honor.”
A stampede of memories rushes through my head out of nowhere.Demyen carrying a giggling Willow on his shoulders. Demyen stripping off my clothes and lowering me into a hot bath himself. Demyen’s eyes, glowing like they were lit from within, as he buried himself into me in the middle of the night.
He isn’t an honorable man.
But there’s a good man in him. Somewhere.
“Hey.” Blondie gently nudges me with her elbow. “You okay?”
I don’t realize tears are in my eyes until I blink and one of them trickles down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away and nod. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. Processing myself.”
