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I shrug. “Doesn’t make a difference. The others will still have their fun. Want to take a crack at me next?” I ask dryly.

Normally, I’d be horrified by saying that to someone, but I feel nothing.

Rio chortles. “I have no interest in you.”

“No? Not any of the others, either?”

I remember Sydney attempting to get a rise out of me, claiming Rio was sneaking into her bedroom at night. I hadn’t cared then, and I wouldn’t care now. Regardless, I’m almost positive she was lying.

Rio has had every opportunity to fuck me or one

of the other girls. Yet, I’ve never seen him lay a finger on anyone outside of what was necessary. In the beginning, he deliberately made me uncomfortable, but he hasn’t even done that since he first kidnapped me. Now, he acts as if I don't exist when in the company of others.

One day, I had asked him why—why the initial cruelty and the silence around people, and then be so different when we're alone? He stared dead into my eyes and said, "The men in this house search for weaknesses. I never want to be yours."

He presses particularly hard on a cut, drawing a hiss from between my teeth.

“No. Now, shut up, or I’ll leave your wounds to fester.”

I snort but leave him alone. His threats run hollow now, and we both know I’m not scared of him anymore. And I think we both know he doesn’t want me to be, either.

“Francesca said weeks until I’m his. How many?” I ask, my voice still hoarse from my time with the man in question.

“Three.”

I close my eyes and nod my head, gritting my teeth when he cleans another sore spot.

“New girls are coming in next week,” Rio continues.

“How many?” I whisper.

“Three. Plenty of room now that it's just you and the loco one.”

My heart pangs from the reminder. Gloria and Jillian were sent off to auction a week ago, leaving Sydney and me alone with each other. After the night we were forced to end Phoebe and Bethany’s lives, our training became more intense.

Just because we were considered worthy, doesn’t mean there still wasn’t an opportunity for us to fail. Francesca put us through grueling etiquette classes. How to address our masters, how to speak, eat, and sexually service them.

They’re specifically designed to break us mentally. We were whipped, raped, and starved if we made mistakes. And just like the night of the Culling, we were forced to punish each other. By the time those two girls were auctioned, we could barely stand one another.

Even after Jillian and Gloria were successfully sold, the grueling lessons haven’t let up. The bruises have faded, and the stitches have been removed, leaving two large white lines marring my back, yet Francesca wouldn’t allow for me and Sydney to be auctioned. And still, I have no idea why.

Although I’m spoken for, Francesca is still required to follow protocol. I have to stand on a stage, and others will be given a chance to bid on me. It’s just guaranteed that Xavier will win.

He’s one of the richest men in the world, he claims. Not even sure what he does for a living, or if he’s even a citizen of the country, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Despite what Rio thinks, I am never going to give up. I have no plans of skipping off into the sunset with Xavier, but I do plan on letting him take me out of here.

They’ve made it their mission to keep me exhausted, compliant, and ignorant. I haven’t been outside these walls since the Culling. Haven’t felt the sun warming my cheeks or the snow on my tongue. They’re scared of Zade and what he can do, so the safest bet is to keep me holed up, never to see the light of day.

Three weeks. That’s when Xavier will have no choice but to take me out of this house and risk Zade finding me. And that’s when I will do everything in my power to make sure he does.

Rio finishes bandaging my back before rolling me over and moving on to the wound on my stomach next, keeping his eyes fixed on his task. Not even a peek at a nipple.

“Try not to miss me when I’m gone,” I murmur, staring up sightlessly at the ceiling.

I feel him glance up at me before focusing back on a particularly deep wound. He'll need a butterfly bandage for that one.

“I’ll pray your life is short,” he responds finally. I smile, the first real one in months. Turns out I didn’t need that red lipstick after all.