Page 44

Abby

SK Compound, Myanmar

I thought it would be weeks before I saw Rodrigo Cardenas again.

If I ever did.

To my surprise, it’s only a few days after the auction when the supervisor prods me with his rifle muzzle and tells me it’s time to glam up again.

“What about my friends?” I try not to sound fearful as he pushes me out of the office. “Don’t you need all of us?”

“No.” The man laughs unpleasantly. “This one special request. From special friend. He ask for you.”

Oh, fuck.

I want it to be Rodrigo.

I’m terrified it’s going to be Jacey.

“Hurry up.” The gun prods me again. The supervisors have been giving me hell ever since I stumbled out of the private room at Rodrigo’s side, clutching my dress around me and sniffing miserably.

That’s the thing about weak men. Once they find a victim, they can’t help but torture it. Weak men are excited by a beaten woman.

It’s sickening. It’s pathetic.

And right now, it’s fucking useful.

So long as they believe I’m beaten, I’m safe. When it comes to weak men, it’s defiance that is dangerous.

A victim, they will torture.

Strength, they will try to destroy completely.

It takes a real man to love strength.

A man like Dimitry.

I hold on to his face as I dress in the sequined, trashy dress they give me.

My hands shake a little, but I breathe through it, forcing myself to focus.

The truth is that from the moment I faced Rodrigo Cardenas in that room, I’ve felt more alive than I have in years.

I feel like I’ve found a piece of myself that has been asleep for so long I’d forgotten it existed.

The piece of myself who once stared down Juan Cardenas in El Buen Pastor and negotiated her freedom.

What the fuck happened to that girl? I wonder as I slather on makeup in an attempt to cover the bruises from my last encounter with Rodrigo.

Despite his initial hesitation, once he realized I wasn’t going to fight back, he took more than a little pleasure in turning my face to pulp.

Several days later, I look like I’ve gone six rounds with Mike Tyson, and my face is more colorful than a paint palette.

The makeup does little to hide the damage.

What happened to the Abby who was afraid of nothing? Who not only survived that Bogotá hellhole but bargained her way out of it?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. About the fact that I was so determined to leave my mistakes behind that I buried not only the experience, but the strength that enabled me to survive it.

I follow the guard into the commercial part of SK, my heart going like a trip-hammer.

But now I’m back in the middle of chaos. Back in the midst of the shitstorm my early mistakes created.

And admit it, Abby: you’ve never felt more fucking alive.

Bravado aside, I’m still desperately relieved when I’m shown into one of the private casino rooms and see Rodrigo sitting at the table.

“Ah.” His oily smile, as he takes in my battered appearance, is as sickening as ever and sends a chill through me despite our previous conversation. “Not so pretty as last time we met, is she?”

He addresses his comments to the triad guard in the room, who laughs obediently.

I keep my head down.

Play the victim, Abby. And hope like hell he’s here to help you, not hand you to Jacey.

“Some of your old friends from Colombia are currently in Bangkok,” Rodrigo says.

“My men. My father made them pay dearly after you stole from us, and they’re very keen to meet you again, Abby.

” He smiles unpleasantly. “Unfortunately, they could not accompany me here, which means that I must take you, carino , to them.”

“Wait.” The triad guard looks uneasy. “This—I am sorry, but it is not possible.”

“ Not possible ?” Rodrigo stares at the man like he’s a cockroach. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what is and isn’t possible? I thought she was a gift .” He glares at the guard. “I don’t know how gifts work in your country, but in mine, the giver does not dictate how the gift should be used.”

The guard shifts uncomfortably. “The girls, they do not leave here. ”

Rodrigo shrugs contemptuously. “So you get another girl. What do you care?”

The guard takes out his phone. “For this, I need permission.”

Shit. We’re going to need to sell this.

Something tells me there’s no way Jacey will agree to me leaving this compound.

I look pleadingly at the guard. “Please don’t let him take me.” I sniff for effect. “I’ll work hard,” I whisper, my eyes wide and brimming with tears. “I’ll make money for you, I promise. Just don’t let him give me to his men. He’s going to let them rape me...” I start crying properly.

Rodrigo’s hand hits my face, so hard it almost knocks me out.

“Shut up, puta .” His voice is low and vicious.

“You will come with me. My men will take you one by one. And then you will come back here, and I will make sure they keep you alive so I can do it again. And again.” He hits me on the other side of my face, knocking me to the ground.

I don’t need to look at him to see the savage light in his eyes, the cruelty.

“As for your permission .” He spits on the floor beside the guard.

“I do not ask permission from anyone, muchacho . You tell your jefe that if he has a problem, he can talk to me about it himself. For now, I have a helicopter waiting for me on the pad, and some very angry men in Bangkok waiting to fuck this bitch bloody. You’ll get her back.

” He sneers at the guard. “And when you do, you’re going to patch her up and make sure she’s in good condition for the next time I want to take her out to play. ”

Ten minutes later, Rodrigo and I are in a helicopter, heading for Bangkok.

“Drink?” Rodrigo holds up a bottle of white wine, smiling coldly. “This was your preference, if I recall correctly.”

“Thank you.” I attempt a tentative smile.

It’s the first words we’ve exchanged since the helicopter took off from Myanmar.

I didn’t bother asking how he was able to cross international air space; I’ve lived too long in the shadows not to know rules don’t apply to men like him, particularly not on the murky border between Myanmar and Thailand.

We landed on the roof of a Bangkok hotel a short time ago. Now I’m sitting on a white leather couch in the penthouse, trying to ignore the pain radiating from Rodrigo’s recent blows.

He hands me a glass, then sits down on a chair opposite and raises his own. “To your newfound freedom.” His smile has a mean twist that makes me distinctly uneasy. “Enjoy it while you can.”

I drink, my mind racing. I know that smile.

The minute I give him the information he wants, I’m dead.

Which means I need to stall him for as long as I can.

“Then you believe me,” I say, meeting his eyes. “You found out that I was telling the truth?”

“I talked with my father’s friend, si .” Rodrigo’s mouth curls. “He was reluctant at first. But eventually he told me about his daughter. And admitted that he went to my father for help.”

I don’t want to imagine what it took to get that information.

“Then I made a visit to El Buen Pastor.” He takes a sip.

“There, too, the girls were reluctant. But they also talked. In the end.” His nasty smile makes my skin crawl.

“It seems that some still recall a girl who never spoke. A girl they called La Silenciosa . I showed them your photograph. It appears that part of your story, at least, is true.”

The chill of old ghosts climbs up my spine.

“I thought I mentioned the importance of being discreet.” My voice shakes, but more with anger than fear. “Questions leave a trail, Rodrigo. One this man will be looking for.”

“He will have little success.” His eyes gleam. “Everyone I spoke to is dead.”

I gape at him, temporarily lost for words, seeing the faces of the girls I slept beside in El Buen Pastor.

Which ones? Sorrow and anger seize my chest like a vise. Who died for my secret?

His mouth curls. “I did not succeed my father as head of the Cardenas family because I am his son. Our world does not work this way. I made certain I would take his place by killing anyone who might have challenged me.” He leans forward, all trace of his smile gone.

“I have you to thank for that, Abby. You and Nico.”

Fear churns inside me.

Rodrigo may never be his father’s son. But that might make him more dangerous than Juan, not less.

“My father had put me in charge of shipping to the Los Angeles market,” he says.

“It was the first time he entrusted me with anything outside the local marinas. It was only a small shipment: one yacht, packed with product, that would sail from Buenaventura port to LA. A private delivery to one important client. A client I could then develop, build a market from.”

He moves so fast I don’t have time to get out of the way, and suddenly he’s looming over me, his hands either side of my head on the back of the couch.

“And then you stole it,” he hisses. “Not Nico. Not your stupid boyfriend, who owed me hundreds of thousands of dollars I will never see again. No, Abby. You .” He punches the couch, hard enough to make me flinch.

“I thought it was Nico at first. I saw the footage from the marina. The guards knew him well enough to let him through security for a small bribe. He walked straight onto that yacht and sailed it away without anyone even realizing what he’d done.

He would have gotten away with it, too, if he hadn’t anchored up the coast and come back for you. ”

He puts his face close to mine. “It was almost twenty-four hours before I realized what had happened. Before I came to pay you and Nico a visit.” His mouth is so close to my ear I can feel the fetid heat of his breath.

“When you both disappeared, I thought Nico’s story about you drugging him was just another lie, told to cover your escape.

I searched for you both for months, did you know that, puta ? ”