“Fuck,” I bellow in pain, the sound of my voice loud in this piece of shit nothingness, and I grit my teeth, letting the pain fester inside of me. My hand throbs, and when I flex my fingers, more pain radiates from it, up and throughout my arm.
I know what I have to do, and I don’t want to do it. I fucking don’t, but I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to her while she is here. She’s my responsibility now. I can’t just forget about her.
I unlock the door once more before I pick up her limp body from the mattress and hold her to my chest. I carry her through the building and up to the third floor. As always, most of my men are either sleeping or doing other things. I somehow manage to unlock the door while holding her in my arms. Once inside, I take her to my bedroom and place her on the bed.
She looks like she belongs here. I shake my head and walk out of the bedroom.
Her earlier question rings loudly in my ears. Why did they take her? I know they write everything down about each woman they bring in and place the information into a file but typically, I don’t read the whole thing. I just glimpse over it. Yet, now I have the urge to know how she got here and why she was taken.
I want to know everything about her. I clench my fists at my sides, I need to get her file, but the files are downstairs in my office. I walk back into the bedroom, telling myself I’m only doing it to check on her, when in reality I can’t take my eyes off of her. I’m obsessed, my protective instincts overshadowing even my duty to the job.
She is completely out, having not even moved an inch. There is no way she is waking up any time soon, which is great because I need to go get that damn file. With one last fleeting look, I leave my apartment, locking the door behind me. I head down to my office to retrieve the file. The sound of laughter fills my ears. Sometimes, the men have card night, drinking and gambling.
I consider going down the hall to check on them but change my mind. I’ve got my hands fucking full as it is. As soon as I’m back in the apartment, I go and check on her just to find her in the same exact spot I left her in. With the file in hand, I sit down on the couch. For a long moment, I just stare at the brown folder, knowing that opening it will only make matters worse.
Knowing her name, how and why she was taken, is only going to act as gasoline on the already burning fury inside of me. Still… like the idiot I am, I open it. I swear I have a death fucking wish or something.
The first paper is the report that my men did on her when they brought her in. I read over it and my teeth grind together more with every word I read.
She was just too pretty to pass up.
Tiny. Five foot. 125 pounds. She looked like a virgin.
They weren’t even there for her. They just took her because it was convenient. She was leaving the club early, and they just plucked her off the street and threw her into the van. I flip to the next page, damn near ripping the piece of paper in the process.
On the next page is a copy of her driver's license and a small background check that they ran. She smiles on the grainy black and white picture on the ID. She looks younger, happier, and I realize then that I’ve never actually seen her smile. Like actually smile, from pure joy. Yeah, she’s given me a tiny smile, but nothing compared to the smile I’m looking at in front of me. I look over her ID, and all the info on the paper.
Violet Rivers, eighteen years old.
Shit. I knew she was young, but I didn’t realize she was that fucking young. I continue reading; my eyes can’t move fast enough. She just turned eighteen… I look at the date again and flip back to the first page.
Fuck. It was her birthday… she was taken on her fucking birthday.
I inhale a deep breath, but it doesn’t feel like I’m getting enough air. I don’t know why I do it, but I force myself to finish reading her background check.
Parents deceased. Only living relative... a sister, Ella Rivers. Violet just got out of high school, and she was enrolled in the local college, but the semester hadn’t started yet. She didn’t even have the chance to go to a single class… and now she never will. Now, she’s on the road to being beaten, enslaved in a world full of hate and sex. Instead of going to college, she’ll be used and abused, until they either kill her, or she kills herself.
“Fuck,” I growl, wanting to scream. I shut the folder and toss it onto the table in front of me. I lean forward, holding my hands in my head, running my fingers through my hair. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
I can’t let myself feel anything more for her then I already have. I can’t let her in. Above all, I cannot save her from the monsters hidden in plain sight, not when I’m part of the reason she is here. I’m weak. I can’t let her go. I can’t save her, and it’s killing me.
I scrub a hand down my face, and then shove from the couch, heading toward the kitchen. I open one of the cabinets that contain my favorite whiskeys. I grab the first one I see and open it, bringing the bottle to my lips.
She’s nothing. Just another body, another job, another dollar bill. I tell myself this over and over again. I greedily drink from the bottle as if I’ll find the answer to all my problems at the bottom of it. The whiskey coats my insides with warmth.
Why do I want to save her?
Because you couldn’t save her.
I want to throw the bottle in my hands against the wall but instead, I continue drinking. I drink for hours, or at least I think it’s hours. When I push up from the floor, my steps are unsteady, and I lean against the wall to stop myself from falling over.
Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the world from spinning around me. I walk into my bedroom. I sound like a herd of elephants as I do, slamming into walls and knocking over some shit on one of my tables, I don’t fucking know. Then I cross the threshold into my room and I see her.
Violet. My tiny kitten. So fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful. A temptress I’m willing to fucking risk everything for? I sag down onto the mattress beside her. The urge to hold her is so strong I grit my teeth and damn near sit on my hands to stop myself from doing so. Then, as if the universe is testing my control, Violet rolls over, snuggling into my side.
I press my nose into her hair. She smells like me, and roses, fucking roses. My mouth waters over roses, and I don’t fucking understand this... her, me, what the plan is. I don’t fucking get it but while I have her in my arms, I’m going to relish in her touch. I’m going to fucking hold her until I can’t anymore, until the morning light enters the windows.
“Fuck, Kitten, what am I going to do with you?”
7
Violet
I’m warm. Overly warm. So warm it feels like the sun is beating down on me. I want to lean into the warmth, reach out and touch it. I groan into the soft sheets beneath my hands. Soft sheets? I don’t know what it is yet, but something feels off... like I’m not waking up in the same place I went to sleep at.
“No. I’m sorry... I didn’t…” a voice shouts beside me.
My eyes pop open, fear clinging to my insides like sticky honey. My gaze sweeps over the room, until they land on Ivan lying beside me. His face is scrunched up, pain and sadness painted on his features.
“No. No. No. It can’t... she can’t be gone…” Ivan roars, and I push off the mattress, gripping onto his thick shoulders. Is he having a nightmare? What’s happening to him? I shake him or try to at least. His arms flail back and forth, his fists are clenched, and they land heavily against the mattress. He starts to toss and turn, and I worry he may roll over me and squish me.