“SIR, THE GIRL is awake.”
My head wrenched up from the glowing screen of my laptop. Selix stood over the threshold in a fresh suit with his long hair neatly tied. Whether it was a casual day at sea doing office work or tearing through the city with a dying girl in the backseat, his look didn’t change. It never had—even our days on the streets he’d been the same. Perhaps, not in a suit, but identical in calculating intelligence and uncut hair.
I respected him for that.
I just wished I exuded the same calm he did. My insides were a tangled mess. My temper harsh with crippling need to tear apart those animals again and again, then force Pim to speak to me as payment.
I’ve earned it, goddammit.
The silent treatment wouldn’t work now she was in my domain. It couldn’t. I’d claimed her. My requirements would only get stronger and harder to ignore—only her voice would offer temporary relief.
Reclining in my chair, I gave Selix my full attention. Ever since we left port, I’d used the satellite internet to check the police scanners and crime network for any hint of the blood-bath at Alrik’s home.
It bothered me that nothing had been reported even six hours after the incident; and it fucked me off that the third friend who’d been at dinner that first night hadn’t turned up to be murdered, too.
He was still out there.
Raping and hurting—polluting the world with his defilement.
I’d track him down eventually and put him out of his misery, but for now, more pressing things needed my attention.
“Was Michaels able to save her tongue?” My voice resembled scratchy granite. I hadn’t spoken for hours, and the effects of no sleep made me rough.
“I believe he wanted to give you the report himself.” Selix stood to the side, welcoming the onboard doctor into my office. The moment Michaels appeared, Selix nodded and vanished through the door, closing it quietly.
“I trust you’re relaxing now you’re back home?” Michaels came forward.
“It’s preferable to the squalor on land.” I jumped to the true reason for his visit; I didn’t have time for chit-chat. “So? Tell me the girl’s status.” I closed the laptop, hiding the software I used to hack my way to illegal answers. I trusted my staff, but they didn’t need to know anything more about me than I paid their salaries and expected exemplary service in return.
Michaels clasped his hands over his fresh black shirt and slacks. He must’ve changed after dealing with Pimlico. “She’s awake and lucid. She obviously can’t talk, but I’ve given her a notepad and pen to communicate if she wishes.”
“And has she?”
“Has she what?”
What did he think? Flew? “Communicated?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, no. Not as such. She accepted the paper but hasn’t written anything yet.” He coughed. “I don’t know where you found her, but the abuse her body has been through has aged her considerably. Her spine is that of a forty-year-old, not a girl in her early twenties. Her teeth need care, and some of the bruises have caused internal damage, not just surface discolouration.”
“Will she survive?”
“It's hard to say. She’s survived this long. She’ll have help and nutritious food and medicine, but she’ll never be able to do rigorous sports or strenuous exercise without discomfort. She’ll most likely endure early-onset arthritis from her injuries; she’ll need to be monitored for any signs of stiffening and bone heat.”
Fuck.
Not only had years of her freedom and happiness been stolen but she’d suffer long-term damage, too. Hadn’t she paid enough?
Shit, life isn’t fair.
“And that isn’t the worst thing,” Michaels added.
I froze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…how old was she when she was taken into captivity?” He held up a hand to signal he wasn’t done talking. “And you don’t need to confirm or deny if I’m right. I’ve seen enough cases like this to know she’s been a slave.”
My breathing turned shallow. I’d enlisted Michaels because he was the best. But being the best meant he was smart. And he was too fucking smart for his own good.
“It’s not your business.” I crossed my arms. “Let it go.”
“I know it’s not my business, but I’m aware you’ve made it yours. It would be wise to know her history, her family—hell, it would be better if you dropped her off at the nearest cop shop.”
Not even Selix would dare be so presumptuous with suggestions.
My hands locked into fists. “Like I just suggested, let it go. She’s none of your concern.”
“Wrong. She is my concern. Her health, at least.” His face darkened with curiosity. “Do you know anything about her? The way she stared at the notepad makes me think she can’t read and write. She’s a starved, broken thing who has no tools for life or much of a future.”
My vision hazed red. “She’s not broken.”
“Well, I beg to differ. She has a few bones—”
“Bones don’t make her broken.”