My heart rate tripled when she called me a slave. I needed her to confirm or deny my worst suspicions, even though the thought of her answer terrified me to the core.
“What do you have to do as his slave? Just…clean and cook and stuff?”
She seemed too calm and wise as she regarded me.
“I do whatever he say.”
“Like what, though?” I pushed. I needed to hear it.
“I pleasing to him. I pleasing to his patrons. I sometimes help to clean, but no much.”
My heart had not slowed. “How do you please him? And his patrons?”
“In many way. Men have many need. You will learn.” She smiled, as if to encourage me.
No. Please, no. I stared at her, appalled. Her calm expression melted into one of pity.
“I feed you now.” She lifted the silver lid off the plate, revealing eggs and chorizo sausage with bread. It looked good, and I cursed my stomach for wanting to be fed at a time like this.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need food.” She took a forkful and raised it toward me, but I slunk back on the bed and shook my head.
I couldn’t imagine being fed like this. Like a baby or an invalid. “Please. Can’t you unlock these so I can just feed myself? It’s not like I can go anywhere.”
“No, Angel. Only I feed you.”
I wasn’t allowed to hold a fork? I shook my head again and whispered, “I don’t want any.”
She gave me the sad expression again.
Perla took a piece of bread and placed it in my free hand. I took it, because she was offering me the civility of feeding my own self. Then she left me, locking the door again.
I couldn’t look at the bread in my hand. All I could do was cry big, ugly, wailing tears as my life capsized, forcing me into unknown waters where sharks and other nefarious creatures were surely waiting to eat me alive.
Colin Douglas was no longer recognizable as the rich youth he’d once been. Gone were his posh wardrobe and stylish hair. He kept his head shaved and a touch of scruff on his face. His clothing was dark and durable, and underneath them were scars from fights and tattoos. Colin’s Scottish accent had been tamped down by time spent traveling other parts of the UK, primarily London. His steely gray-blue eyes gave away nothing about his past.
As soon as he’d been brought to live with foster parents in the city of Glasgow, he’d begun the double life once again. He eventually became a university student, studying art, while in his free time he made his company with the less savory undercurrent of the city.
He’d long since lost hope that authorities would find Graham. He knew the task would fall on his own shoulders, and he took up the responsibility with quiet zeal. In his years without money he’d earned respect the old way—inciting fear. In order to infiltrate the crime world, he’d had to become a criminal.
Colin’s paintings began to garner attention with their passion and edge. As he sold them in his early twenties, making a name for himself among elite artistic circles, he used the funds to quell his taste for high-end drugs. Women of all classes flocked to him, sensing the dangerous undertones in his unsmiling eyes—the man whose hands could bring a canvas to life, taking one’s breath away with a perfectly placed streak of color. And he was happy to show them what else his hands could do.
Colin worked out his extra aggression in the weight room. His physique was lean, not allowing him to put on massive amounts of muscle; however, the muscle he did have was well-defined and allowed him to move quickly in a fight.
By the time Colin was twenty-two, his ruthless temperament had earned him the respect of seasoned thugs. He’d worked his way through the worlds of crime, beginning with drug rings, and moving to the more serious circles of human trafficking. He was smart, unlike many of the uneducated idiots on the streets. He kept under the radar of the authorities, and knew how to use polite properness at necessary times. With his estate money now available, Colin’s power was complete.
Within a year of gathering his inheritance, Colin’s manipulation of his criminal counterparts came full circle. He rented out nightclubs and took people on spontaneous flights to the Caymens. They believed he’d earned his money through illegal activities, which worked in his favor. Colin learned names of the most elusive kidnappers in UK crime rings, and he heard rumored places where captives were held.
At twenty-three Colin ventured to London on a lead. He hadn’t the slightest clue if his brother was dead or alive—could find no information about him at all, but he refused to give up. The house in London made Colin feel diseased just walking through it. He was brought in as a potential buyer and taken to see the slaves.