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You're going to die in this hellhole.
Don’t look for him.
You're a little girl in a pond of sharks.
Forget your vengeance and run.
That was the sliver of logic left inside of my brain.
I couldn't heed the warning, though.
I was too fucked up.
Emotionally.
Physically.
I hadzerocontrol over my thoughts and actions anymore.
Something inside of me, I presumed my heart, demanded I fight back. It was the same thing that had driven me to plunge that knife into Trigger's shoulder that night.
Something inside of me had snapped, and I hoped that if I pushed hard enough, dug deep enough, I could make Trigger snap too. Unearth the man he had been before.
The man I knew would never have allowed such monstrosities to happen to me, and I prayed I could bring him back to life.
Because I didn’t deserve to be treated this way. None of those women in the whorehouse deserved it, either. Being born with a vagina shouldn’t automatically denounce our human rights. It was barbaric and I was done.
I had my father's blood running through my veins. I was the last remaining Northwood and that meant that half of everything Fabio Crellid owned was deservedly mine.
Strengthening my resolve and steadying my hand, I glided through the hallways, moving to the first floor and heading straight for where I knew I would find the noticeably absent men.
In the lair.
The sounds of women screaming and moaning filled my ears the minute my feet hit the first-floor landing, assuring me that I was dead on the money regarding their whereabouts.
After nine long years of living at the compound, I was acutely aware of the different types of screams that came from women when they were put in that room.
The cries and wails coming from the lair right now screamednew shipment.
Girls that weren't taken from the streets and willing to work, but taken against their will. It sickened me and I had to repress the urge to vomit.
For years, Fabio had forced me inside of that stupid office while heworked. A part of me thought he had me work there to keep my mind occupied and out of trouble while he waited for me to come of age for his son – as promised. But the other part of me knew that it was because he wanted me to listen.
He wanted me to be afraid.
And it had worked.
From a very young age, I had submitted to him without having a single finger placed on my skin out of fear of being taken into that room.
Out of fear of having exactly what Trigger did to me forced upon my unwilling body.
God, Trig…
Pain.
Betrayal.
Loss.
