“Why do you need her in here?”
Testing him, I give him a wink before moving the mouse on my computer to wake up the screen.
“We talked about this,” he hisses, giving more credit to my idea that he’s closer to my side of the law than he is men like Gonzalo Sevilla.
“You said not to break their spirits. Do you know how much it takes to put out the fire in a redhead? Plus, I’ll fuck her mouth and leave her pussy alone.”
His jaw flexes, and I feel his pain. My stomach twists and turns with my own words. I’m fucking disgusting. I don’t want to be the good guy pretending to be bad to catch the criminals. For once in my life, I want to be the good guy all the time.
I look back at my computer screen before he can read the anguish in my face.
“I want her here at nine in the morning, Angel. Not a second later.”
He stands tall for a second longer before turning around and cussing at me in Spanish.
“I guarantee I’m going to burn in hell,” I mutter after he slams the office door closed.
Chapter 9
Cara
Even in captivity, I’ve managed to grow complacent. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been touched, leered at, or threatened in days. Maybe I’m holding out hope that this is all just a dream, that what’s happening around me to other people is my subconscious trying to tell me something.
Maybe my complacency isn’t even that. Maybe it’s the lack of nutrients. Maybe I’m bone-tired and so overcome with exhaustion that I’ve been unable to keep my eyes open.
Whatever the reasoning behind getting caught off guard, it’s happening.
“Please,” I beg Angel as he crouches low, pulling the lock from my cage.
I don’t know how long it’s been since the girl beside me was taken—ten or twelve hours maybe—but she’s still gone, and now Angel has come back for me.
“Come on,” he grunts, reaching into the cage to grab me.
I slap at his hand, knowing if he gets it on me, I have no chance. Not that I really have one with my back plastered to the back of my cage. I’m a fool for allowing myself to feel even the slightest bit protected in this thing.
“Please,” I repeat, knowing I don’t have an ounce of pride left.
I don’t know exactly what I’m begging for or against. I can’t even give details.
I know I don’t want to die.
I know I don’t want to be raped.
I know I don’t want to be tortured.
But what if I have to choose? What if I can have one but not the others?
Would I even want to live if I’m raped?
Tears sting my eyes just thinking about how degrading and insulting that is to rape survivors.
How shitty it is to minimize their emotions and response to such things but thinking there are worse things that could happen.
I have no control over my emotions, or the thoughts racing through my head, but the only clear thing I know of is I don’t want to get out of this cage. Doing so can’t be good. Nothing good happens in a sex trafficking den when you’re pulled out alone.
I think about Lola and what has happened to her since we arrived, and I know I won’t respond the same way. I may have been strong by leaving Knight Salvation, but I did that under the cover of darkness, not while full-on facing someone who wants to hurt me.
“Out, now!” Angel snaps, and I feel almost betrayed.
He has been distant each time he came down here, almost robotic, as if he has a job to do and nothing more. He’s acted nothing like the man with the tattoos on his hands that makes comments about what he wants to do to us. Angel doesn’t watch us like prey like that man.
“Hey, asshole!” Lola shouts from several cages down. “Leave her the fuck alone!”
I shake my head, tears a constant stream on my face. How is she so selfless? How can she try to defend me when no one else in this room opened their mouths to defend her? She was brutalized, and we haven’t even brought it up or asked if she was okay. It’s as if we thought mentioning it would bring the same fate on us.
“Cara,” Angel snaps again as he reaches for me.
Stuck in my head once again, it allows Angel to grab a hold of my arm, and that grip is all it takes for him to drag me out. Not because I don’t fight, but because he’s so much stronger than me, a physical trait that’s obviously a benefit when stealing women.
“I don’t—Just leave me alone!” My throat is already sore from dehydration and hours and hours of tears rolling down the back of it. My words come out weaker than I’d like, not that I think he’d let me go if I’m louder or more assertive. Complying doesn’t seem like it will stop anything from happening.