My lip quivers. He sighs again, and the frustration has seeped back into his tone.
“Come on, get up. We need to get moving.” He stands and walks a few feet
away, looking back down at me. Waiting for me to follow.
Dazed, I manage to sit up. The pain is starting to settle back in my bones, making itself known once again.
“Can I at least shower first?”
Rio’s eyes sweep my crimson-stained body, and he grins at me. “Sure,
princess. You can shower. But you can’t get those stitches wet on your back, so it
looks like you’ll need my help.”
Shit.
Eyes boring into my ass were more tolerable than being covered in the
entrails of a dead man. I kept my back to him while rivulets of blood washed from my skin. I nearly puked when I saw chunks and fragments of bone swirling toward the drain, too.
I mainly stayed out of the water and used a fresh rag and bar soap to clean up.
Rio directed me on areas to avoid on my back, but didn’t touch me, and for that,
I thanked the She-Devil above.
The hardest part was washing and rinsing my hair without bending too far over and giving him a view of what he called the “money maker.”
Fucking asshole.
The shower was in a quaint little apartment on a higher level in the building,
much nicer than the makeshift hospital room below, but still no better than a cheap apartment in New York City.
I assume it’s where Dr. Garrison slept when he wasn’t operating on people
brought in from human traffickers. He wore a wedding ring, though I saw no evidence indicating that a woman lived there with him.
Dear God, I hope she's not chained up somewhere.
Now, I’m in the backseat of a van again with a dark sack over my head, sopping wet, and shivering in my bonds like an old engine. The bastard failed to mention that there were no clean towels and got a kick out of watching me use a
hospital gown to dry off. Even more so when I attempted to wrap one around my
hair.
He wouldn't let me wear it, stating my hair is too pretty to bundle up in an ugly blue gown, but really, I think he just enjoys being a dick.
The clicking from my chattering teeth is swallowed by the hard rock music pouring from the speakers. My thick hair is still soaked, and the heat is on low— not nearly enough to keep me warm. If it weren’t for the lack of body contortion
and levitation, it'd look like I’m in the middle of an exorcism from how hard I’m
shivering.
It feels like I am. Everything hurts so goddamn bad, and with every tremble, the pain intensifies.
I’ve never been more miserable in my fucking life.
“Don’t worry, diamond. We’re almost to your new home,” Rick croons, the
sound grinding against my already frayed nerves. “Francesca is going to love you.”
The ominous tone in his voice tenses my body further. Something about the
way he said it makes me feel like I have more to fear from her than any man who
comes my way.
“W-who is she?”
He’s quiet for a moment, but it’s not Rick who answers. “The one person you
want to impress the most,” Rio says, his voice grave.
“Why?”
“Because she will determine just how miserable your life will be until you’re
sold.”
My head drops and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s only been six days, and I feel
defeated already. I’ve been gone for such an insignificant amount of time, and my spirit is already fissuring.
I take a deep breath and blow it out, slow and steady.
I’m not going to give up. I know with every fiber of my being that Zade is going to do everything in his power to find me. But I’m not going to sit around and wait either. I’ll meet him halfway if I can.
So, if winning over Francesca is what I need to do, then I'll do it.
I’ve always been stupidly brave—to the point where I’ve been more stupid
than brave. I’m not going to stop now.
Chapter 5
The Diamond
At one point in our lives, we’re all afraid to die. For some, it happens the first
moment we fully understand what death means—before depression, anxiety, and
other mental health issues arise.
For others, it’s before they’ve found something to believe in—whether it’s God or something else that’s spiritual.
And there are those who flounder through life, terrified of the day they take
their last breath. I think for some, they aren’t so much scared of death itself, but rather, how they’re going to die.
So, how am I going to die?
Will it be painful? Will I suffer? Will I be terrified?
Gigi felt all those things when she was murdered by a man she trusted, and likely cared deeply for.
When she started having an affair with her stalker, Ronaldo, it not only destroyed her marriage, but it took her life. Only not by her stalker or husband like one would expect, but by her husband’s best friend, Frank Seinburg.
For so long, I was convinced I’d have a similar demise at the hands of my own stalker. Instead, I gave in to his dark perusals, and found myself loving him instead.
I tried so hard to run from him, and now all I want to do is run to him.
During the rest of the car ride, I stayed silent. At least, verbally—my teeth chattered the entire way and eventually, one of the men got annoyed and turned up the heat.
An imperceptible amount of time passes before we come to a stop, dread
settling deeply in my gut. I steel my spine and wait as both men exit the van, the
doors slamming in tandem.
Then, the door to my left slides open, inviting an icy breeze in. A rough, calloused hand wraps around my arm and tugs. It feels like the Grim Reaper is holding on to me, escorting me to my death.
“Ow,” I cry out, on the verge of screaming from how bad it hurts to move. He
ignores me and barks, “Let’s go.”
That’s Rick’s voice.
His grip on my arm is unnecessarily tight as he drags me out of the vehicle.
As if a woman who was just in a bad car accident and riddled with injuries is going to overpower him and get away.
I don’t even know where the fuck we are.
A gust of freezing wind blows, sending another wave of goosebumps across