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You’re losing it, Zain. Certified fuckin’ loco.
A low, rough laugh echoed through the small space as if the man was privy to my thoughts. A cold chill spread across my body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
As my hands slipped from my face, everything I thought I knew about life and death came to a grinding halt.
“Hello Zain.”
A wave of nausea rolled through me. I wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the liquor I’d drowned myself in the night before. “Who the fuck are you?” I finally asked. “And why the hell have you been following me?” Other questions came to mind but when my eyes darted to where Sara stood, all I could muster was, “This… this isn’t real. You’re—you’re dead…” I shook my head hard in an attempt to pull myself out of the dream. “You’re fucking dead!”
“I am,” Sara said. She tilted her head toward the man. “So’s he.”
Chapter 2
Isadora
My bedroom door is pushed open with so much force it slams against the wall. Scrambling to my feet, I drop the book I was reading on the floor and subtly kick it under the bed while I smooth my hands down the front of my dress.
My father storms in, followed closely by Juan, his second in command, who glares at me from his place at my father’s side as though I’m somehow a danger and not them.
Invading my privacy is nothing new for my father. In fact, the only time I have an ounce of privacy is when I’m in the bathroom. Even then, if I take too long, or if my father, my brother, or any of their men require something, they will storm in and drag me out by my hair—literally.
“I have guests coming at six. Get a meal ready. You know what I expect,” he demands. “Everythingwillbe perfect,” he adds, his voice holding an unveiled threat.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 4p.m.
Having maids would be a godsend at times like this, but after the last two were raped and beaten by his men, word spread around town quickly. Of course, the poor women were disposed of and their families threatened with the wrath of the Demonio de Hielo cartel if they ever spoke of the incidents to anyone. After that, my father decided maids weren’t worth the trouble when he had a more than capable daughter he could enslave for free.
Swallowing down my anxiety, I nod once and drop my head as I focus on counting my steps in an attempt to ignore the visible tremble in my hands. Three steps. That’s how far Imake it before he grabs my already bruised wrist, squeezing it until I wince. His tobacco stenched breath is hot against my ear, and my stomach clenches violently. I fight to push down the bile when he whispers, “Prepare yourself immediately after dinner. Our guest will be waiting for you.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I say, “Yes, father,” then scurry out of my bedroom.
Dinner is thirty minutes late, and the look of ire on my father’s face tells me I will pay dearly for my lack of time management. As I place the last of the dishes on the table, my father’s guest, a large barrel-chested man with huge arms and a perpetual scowl, smacks my ass. My breath shudders in my chest but before I can dart away, his beefy hand wraps around my arm and he drags me onto his lap with a grunt of satisfaction.
Bile rises in my throat and goosebumps smother my flesh as the man clutches my hips in his meaty grip and grinds his hard dick into my ass. The urge to gag overwhelms me, but my father’s dark stare and my brother averting his gaze, has me acting like the dutiful little daughter I should be, and I force a practiced smile onto my lips.
Talk around the table continues as though I am nothing more than a decoration. As their voices surround me, I allow myself to drift into the memories of my past.
“Mommy, why can’t we leave this place?” I asked.
“This is our home, Isa, it’s where we belong for now.” She took my smaller hands in hers. I looked down at the misshapen fingers of her left hand before I tugged mine away and traced my fingers over her swollen knuckles.
“But I want to live somewhere else. It’s scary here. Daddy always hurts you.”
“It’s okay,” Mommy said, lifting my hands to her lips and pressing soft kisses to my fingertips. “One day you will be free,my sweet darling.” She pressed her forehead to mine, her voice so soft I could barely make out the words, “You were made for more, Isa.”
One week later, I stood in the pouring rain, sobbing and shivering as my mom’s casket was lowered into the cold, wet ground. Beside me, my brother stood like a silent sentinel. The perfect lap dog obeying his master’s command.
That night, at just eight years old, I became the “woman” of the house. The one responsible for cooking and cleaning up after the head of the Demonio de Hielo cartel, and the men who would come and go at my father’s beck and call.
That night, I realized I may never find the freedom my mom promised.
But I would die trying.
“Isadora!” My father’s voice drags me back to the present. Mr beef-hands tightens his grip on my sides to remind me where I am and I yearn for the memory I was just pulled from, no matter how painful. I swallow down the lump in my throat.
“Yes, father?”
“Clear the table.” His brusque command has me jumping to my feet to obey, thankful to have an escape from the man’s hard dick and greedy hands.
