Page 63 of Thorns of Blood

José sighed. “You know how many women look like what you described—dark hair, greenish eyes, older with an evil smile—in this world?”

“Apparently not many,” I retorted dryly. “Because you haven’t found a single match yet.”

“Are you sure it’s worth using our resources to search for her?”

“Yes,” I gritted. I wanted revenge; she had to pay.

“Where are you?”

My eyes flicked up, the horizon of stormy gray and blue surrounding me. “In the middle of an ocean.”

“And Amara?”

“She’s back where she belongs,” I said, my chest squeezing. The loss of my daughter hurt, but a part of me knew she was safe. She’d be loved very much. The way she deserved all along. “Just get me the information on The Mistress.”

So I could finally rest in peace too. Maybe I could find a place where I belonged.

After I hung up, I drifted to the couch, my mind inevitably drawn back to the day that had shattered me beyond repair. I rarely allowed myself to revisit those memories, but as I tucked a throw blanket over my lap and rested my cheek against the decorative pillow, it felt impossible to resist.

Thunder rumbled and I startled, goosebumps scattering over my skin.

Santiago was away, giving me peace and quiet in this house that had become my prison. Now that I was finally pregnant, he didn’t worry about me escaping as much. What he didn’t know was that I wanted to escape more than ever. I didn’t want my baby to grow up in this hellhole.

“One more month,” I murmured, rubbing my eight-month-pregnant belly.

I hadn’t wanted a child, especially not one that was a product of horrific circumstances, but after carrying the seed inside me for the past eight months, I’d grown to love it. To think of it as mine and mine alone.

I had to run before the child was born. It was the least the baby deserved—a chance at a decent life. The prenatal checkups on this compound were a joke at best. The doctor refused to talk to me, only communicating with The Mistress, per Santiago’s instructions. It was so humiliating to ask your husband’s mistress for the status of your prenatal checkups, but then I suspected that was the point those two were trying to make.

The door opened, and when I caught a reflection of the woman in the glass, I stiffened.

Turning to face her, because I didn’t trust her not to stab me in the back, I asked, “What do you want, Mistress?”

I wasn’t allowed to know her name, and I would have preferred to call her a whore, but I couldn’t risk a beating. Not in my condition. Besides, she didn’t need me calling her names when what she wore—a bright red dress that was too tight and far too short for someone her age—did the job. Her red lipstick and red heels sealed the deal.

“I wanted to see if you need something?”

I scoffed. “And you’ll get it for me?”

She smiled a soft, almost pretty smile. It made me even more leery of her.

“I have a proposition for you.” Her eyes fell to my big belly. When I remained silent, she continued, “Why don’t I help you escape?”

My spine snapped upright, hope igniting like sparks about to set fire. But just as quickly, so did my suspicion.

“Why would you do that?”

A heartbeat passed.

“I want Santiago for myself.” Was she serious? She could have the old man. I hated his cruelty. Everything about him. “You’re still young. What are you, eighteen, nineteen?”

I swallowed. “Nineteen.”

She smiled. “You have a whole life ahead of you.”

I did. And so did my baby. “Santiago will come after me.”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she came to stand in front of me. She wasn’t a short woman, but with her heels, she almost towered over me.