Page 87 of Tormented Diamonds

The more we walk, the more things change. The night sky bleeds a scarlet hue. The salty, ocean air turns metallic. A crimson river seeps through the cracks in the asphalt.

It’s all red.

And when he pushes me through a door, I know why.

It’s not huge by warehouse standards, big enough to house one, maybe two cargo ships’ worth of inventory. But I don’t care about anything but the shipping container in front of me. I don’t have to see inside to know what’s in it. Fear and hopelessness are familiar shadows.

Like me, they’re casualties of sickmen’s games.

Like me, they’ve had everything stolen from them.

Like me, nobody’s coming to save them.

He isn’t killing me. He’s going to do what he threatened twenty-two years ago.

He’s going to traffick me.

My panic calms as purpose digs its way to the surface. I wonder if this is what my father felt when he first heard their screams. His attempt at doing the right thing failed, but there’s no more Reeses to threaten. I’m the last thread.

Whatever happens here, it ends with me.

I wiggle my wrists, testing the strength of what I see is a zip-tie as inconspicuously as possible. It’s sliced through more than I thought. One strong pull should break the final piece, but I have to wait until his attention is diverted. Timing is crucial. Once I’m inside one of those containers, the fight is over, and everything my father sacrificed will have been for nothing.

I’ll never see Gianni again…

My heart squeezes when I think of what this will do to him. He’ll turn inward. The goodness he’s so desperate to bury will collapse under his darkness. Mercy will end. Violence will reign. His demons will corrode him, and the world will burn.

Just the image strengthens my determination. Gianni and I have come too far and fought too hard to let his father destroy us from the grave.

However, when Declan unlocks the shipping container and opens the door, all that bravado thins into a sharp gasp. It’s filled with at least ten women, all scattered around the dirty floor like roadkill. They look emaciated and gaunt, all dressed in thin gray shorts and tank tops, their feet bare except for one glaring addition…

A dark stain on the outside of their ankles—crude, black, and hastily drawn. I don’t need my glasses to recognize it. There’s a sick kinship in having one’s skinbranded against one’s will.

A rose and dagger tattoo.

My eyes blur. They’re not even people to these bastards, just merchandise to be inventoried. Their blank stares and total disconnect tell me they’ve been drugged, kept weak and incoherent to ensure they’re silent and passive.

A bleak sisterhood I know I’m moments away from joining.

My stomach twists. I have to time this perfectly. One move too fast ends with a bullet hitting one of them, while one too slow ends with a lifetime of torture and rape.

The gun slams into my back, and my hands twitch, the pen pressing against my skin like a ticking time bomb.

“Move.” He shoves me forward, forcing me closer to the container.

Think.

A few girls roll their heads toward me in sluggish interest, and my heart leaps into my throat. My control slips, fear overpowering my survival instinct. It’s the same thing that happened at Marcello’s service when I came face-to-face with Benito Toscano.

I stiffen as I remember Gianni’s gentle scolding afterward.

“He’s trying to get in your head. You can’t let him.”

“You’d think that wouldn’t be a problem, but I’ve never met anyone like that before.”

“You’re a psychiatrist. Flip the script on him.”

He’s right. The only way to deter a monster is to become one.