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“How likely do you think it is that they never laid a hand on her and the Russian?” I ask Angelo gravely.
He contemplates my question. “Sage says they weren’t raped,” he says simply.
I heard Mia confirm it earlier.Thank fuck for that.
Sage showed up earlier to check out Mia and the Russian.
The Russian’s name is Katiya Petrov, the niece of our enemy in Bratva. I’m sure Aleksi Petrov is going to have some opinions about why the fuck his niece was tied up in all of this.
That’s one bloodbath we genuinely want to avoid.
“Those sick fucks were going to sell her, along with Katiya, to a brothel in the Middle East.”
I stare at him, unmoving. “They were never going to let her go?”
He shakes his head. “It was all a big game to everyone involved, and I will track down every last one of them. Believe me, their heads will fucking roll.”
“I’ll help you,” I say without question. “How is she holding up?”
“Tired, on edge. Traumatized, to say the least.”
“This is gonna take some time.” I agree. “Shit’s been real.”
“That’s why I want you there. We don’t need her flipping out and Rayne not knowing what to do. She’s still in shock and could have PTSD. She’s not saying much at the moment.”
We’re not worried about her going to the cops or the feds, we own them.
But we don’t need the media getting wind of any of it.
“Pretty fucked up, whichever way you look at it,” I say.
“Tell me about it.”
I hope she’s not permanently damaged. Then again, I wonder why I care so much.
What she doesn’t realize yet is that she will have the best help money can buy. We have a team of medical staff, including a top psychologist, Josie Kingston, who has worked for us for years.
Again, I don’t know why my heart pounds when I picture her terrified face.
It makes me want to burn the entire world down.
And that’s a scary fucking thought.
5
MIA
I’d forgottenwhat it felt like to sleep in a comfortable bed again. I was quickly reminded as soon as my head hit the pillow. Something as simple as a clean, comfortable bed seemed like the greatest luxury in the world when you’ve been held prisoner in a remote warehouse for countless weeks and barely saw daylight.
When I slide into the king-sized bed, it feels like heaven.
The shock of everything is still setting in, and I haven’t even thanked any of them yet. I could be in a cargo container right now, bound for the Middle East. I shudder as I fight the trauma of being held captive, not knowing if I were to live or die.
Sage, the doctor that treated me, said I was in shock and that my body will act in ways I’m not used to until I start to feel better. She was so caring and I felt at ease with her. I saw her visibly relax when I told her I hadn’t been raped or abused.
The one thing I’m grateful for is that the guards stayed away. It seems the brothels on the other side of the world don’t like damaged goods.
Not for the first time, I realize that I’ve been living in a bubble, not entirely comprehending that this kind of thing happens all the time.
