Enzo walks toward me, and the room falls silent as their eyes shift to me. I should be terrified of being in a room full of so many predatory men. Men who probably knew about my fate or have helped Enzo do similar things to other women. I don’t feel anything about the other men, only Enzo.
“Out,” Enzo says without tearing his gaze from me. He’s not speaking to me though, he’s speaking to everyone else in the room. His throat growls as he says the word in his deep, authoritative voice. His voice was always strong and powerful. It sounds much the same as I remember, but somehow deeper than before.
The women scatter, but their eyes give me a curious glance before leaving. I watch them from the corner of my eye. They are all beautiful and unbroken, unscarred, untouched.
The men in the hoodies and T-shirts leave next through doors in the back of the room.
The two men in suits linger. One opens his mouth as if he wants to question Enzo’s authority, but he resists the urge. They leave slowly after the rest.
Enzo worked for one of the most powerful men in all of Miami, maybe the world—definitely one of the most dangerous. It seems in the time I’ve been gone, he’s gained more power in the organization. He told me once if he killed me, he’d be free.
He didn’t kill me. So I guess he never got free.
What did selling me get him? Power, women who dance for him, men who shoot without asking questions.
Now that we are alone, my heart speeds. The last time he touched me, he almost killed me with his bare hands on one of his yachts. Then he saved me from drowning when he threw us overboard. I’m not ready for him to touch me again.
But I can’t back up and show my fear.
I take a deep, painful breath as my ribs expand and the broken bones dig deeper inside. I push my chest out, standing as tall as I can in my loose jeans and pale colored sweater.
“You should have killed me,” I say, my first words in days.
Enzo stops a foot in front of me. He doesn’t react to my words, but his eyes read recognition. He knows exactly who I am. The girl he should have killed, turned woman. Because now that I survived, I will get my answers. And I will ensure his life is hell.
I don’t know why Jarod set me free. Maybe Enzo gave him instructions when he sold me to him that I could only go free if I was broken enough to never want to return to Miami. Jarod grew bored of me and
set me free, thinking I was broken. But I wasn’t. I’m not. That was his mistake.
“That can be arranged,” his voice is harsh.
I grit my teeth as my legs begin to tremble beneath me. I don’t even have the strength to keep standing. Why would I think showing up here and demanding answers was a good idea? He’ll sell me again or dispose of me with a click of a gun. I’m nothing to him.
No, I’m something. He was supposed to kill me, not sell me. Whether he thought selling me was a better fate than death I have no idea.
And I’ll ensure he kills me before another man touches me. I’m not afraid of death. And I’m not afraid of Enzo.
“Then what are you waiting for—kill me,” I say. He won’t. I can see he has as many questions behind his eyes as I do. He wants to know what happened to me. How I escaped my master? Why I’m here?
He tilts his chin as if that will give him a better angle to view my thin-as-a-toothpick body. That’s all he can see though: how skinny I am. The broken bones, the bruises, and the scars are mostly hidden. Unless he examines my toes or fingers, he won’t see any broken bones. My nose has been shattered several times, but my left eye has a deep bruise that would be impossible to hide even from makeup.
“I could kill you,” he nods as if considering it. “Or we could play a game.”
My heart stills. I know exactly what game he is talking about—truth or lies. The same game I taught him last time. The game I won. Winning the game didn’t matter though. I ended up an empty shell of the woman I once was.
“I think I’d rather be dead.”
His eyes narrow and his jaw tenses. “Why?”
“Because in death I might finally be free.”
He walks toward me again, and I still, silently begging him not to touch me. My body screams on the inside to stay away, but I’m afraid if I speak, he will stroke me intentionally. My skin crawls at that thought.
He doesn’t touch me as he circles me like a hawk determining how to snatch its prey. After circling he stops in front of me.
“Death won’t free you.” He steps back, giving me space to breathe.
“Yes, it will. I’m broken, can’t you see? I am nothing. When you sold me to those men, you ensured my death. I should have died three years ago when you had your men take me before selling me, even after our arrangement. You didn’t give me the chance to leave Miami. You lied. You did this to me…” my voice cracks in a high pitched squeal, and I know tears are threatening. Do not cry. Not in front of this man.