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Then, my guilt turns to rage.
The man in the maroon mask is smiling, watching intently as Eve moves to stand in front of him. Then, slowly, she gets down on all fours.
“Turn around,” he says, directing her to move clockwise until her ass is facing him.
The dress is short, just a flouncy little thing that barely covers the top of her thighs. On her hands and knees, it reveals almost her entire ass.
Maroon Mask slides down in his seat, the bulge in his pants obvious, and I want to kill him.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I cross the room to stand between him and Eve.
He jumps back in surprise and then glares up at me. “What is your problem?”
I grab a fistful of his outrageously embroidered suit jacket—today’s is gray with red and orange flames down the arms and legs—and pull him to his feet.
“You are my problem,” I growl.
His eyes go wide with fear, but he tries to play it off with a cool smile. “She doesn’t belong to you yet, friend. I think last night may have confused you.”
I want to rip his throat out. I want to beat his face into a pulp until my hand is too bloodied to continue. I want to kneel him down on the floor and kick him face-first into a roaring fireplace.
“Gentleman,” Edgar says, needling his way between us. “Tempers are high. Perhaps we could all use a little yoga. She is in downward dog pose, after all.”
A few men laugh, and I turn towards them, glaring until they stop, clearing their throats nervously.
I take a step back and see that Eve is looking up at me, her eyes pleading.
I’m drawing too much attention. Way too much attention. I’m fucking everything up.
“You’re right,” I say as evenly as I can while my heart is still on fire. “I just need a little air.”
I turn to leave, but stop when I hear Edgar tell Eve to continue doing as she was told. For a second, I contemplate turning around and doing everything I wanted to do to both Maroon Mask and Edgar, but I take a deep breath and walk out the front door.
* * *
Ilean against the brick front of the inn and blow smoke against the backdrop of the morning sky.
The sun is up now, the warmth burning through the layer of mist that hangs over the top of the trees. I try not to count the seconds as they pass. I try not to think about what Eve is doing inside. About what they are making her do.
I’ve never felt this helpless before. So out of control.
Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Maybe I should have rallied the Bratva and attacked the inn with everything we had.
Though, as the thought crosses my mind, two guards march around the corner of the inn, guns at their sides. I look to my left and see two more guards disappearing around the corner to walk the side perimeter.
There are no gaps in their vision. No noticeable flaws in their security.
Inside and out, there are guards or members of the Cartel watching at all times. There is no way in or out. No way out except through following their rules.
The door opens, and I hope it is Eve coming to see me, even though we discussed keeping our distance.
It isn’t.
It is the red-headed girl who cried yesterday. The one who inspired Eve to try and save every single one of the slaves. Maddie, I think her name was.
“Thought maybe I’d join you,” she says, holding up two cigars withCrooked Tree Innstamped on the side.
I flick the ash from my cigarette. “I brought my own.”
