Violent Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 2)

The men treated us like animals before the auction, and none of us expected a different treatment after they sold us. Like Markus said, the other girls face a much worse fate than me, and I have no doubt about that.

I take one last look at my reflection. The bruises on my face are almost gone, and my eye looks normal. My hair is freshly washed but uncombed, and I could use some good Chapstick, but other than that, I look like me again. I just don’t feel like me.

When I exit the bathroom, Markus is standing next to the door, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me. I’m a bit startled but not at all surprised. He’s like a shadow, always a few feet behind me.

“I’m going into town for some supplies. I can’t trust you yet, so you’re going downstairs while I’m gone. Grab some pillows from the linen closet,” he orders, pointing toward a narrow door next to the bathroom.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I’m learning that asking questions isn’t the best thing because I rarely get an answer I want. Still, I have to ask this one because it’s burning a hole in the back of my mind.

Markus shrugs. “You can ask anything you like, but there isn’t much I’ll answer.”

“Do you know what happens to girls if they are not sold at the auction?” I ask as I’m getting out the pillows.

His lips form into a thin line. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t a girl be sold?”

I nervously chew on my bottom lip. “There were five of us when the night started out. One girl was so scared, she tried to make a run for it. That guy, the one you… killed,” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling like I’ve got a lump lodged inside, “he hurt her, she was bleeding badly. The other man took her away. Do you know what happened to her?”

“She’s probably dead.” He shrugs, answering like he is telling me what’s playing at the movie theater today. “If she isn’t, they probably sold her to a brothel or to someone outright for less money than she would have brought them at auction.”

His words hit me like a punch in the gut. He basically just confirmed my worst fear.

Clinging onto the pillows, I follow Markus down the stairs in silence. I’m actually looking forward to being alone for once since all I want to do right now is cry. Cry for the girl who is probably dead.

At the bottom of the stairs, Markus stops. “Go pick a book.” He motions to the small bookshelf next to the fireplace. “I’ll be gone a while since the next town is hours away.”

Still shocked by what Markus just told me about the girl, I move around the living room on autopilot. I don’t even look at what book I grab. I simply add it to the grip I have on one of the pillows and walk down to the basement with Markus following behind me. When I reach the cell, I shiver. This place is so dark and cold. Lifeless—just like that girl.

Back in the cell, I drop the pillows in the corner and plop down on them. Markus stands in the door for a few moments, his gaze lingering on me as if he is having second thoughts about leaving. It would be nice if he took me with him, but I’m dazed by it. I’m his captive, not his girlfriend, as he likes to frequently remind me.

“I’ll be back later,” he finally says. The door closes behind him, and the sound of the lock clicking in place follows right after.

Only then, when I’m alone again, do I let the tears escape.I cried for a while until I finally picked up the book just to keep my mind off things. Again, I wonder why he is acting kind to me. Why give me a book and pillows?

Everything he does and says is a contradiction. He says he doesn’t care about anything I want or feel, but in the same breath, he is worried about my comfort. It doesn’t make sense.

I’m almost at chapter eight when I hear the lock disengage, and the door opens. Markus’s large body fills the doorframe a moment later.

“Come on, I’m hungry.” He frowns. Apparently, the time outside has darkened his mood.

Scrambling off the floor, I drop the book and try to keep up with him as he leaves the cell. He climbs the stairs like he is in a hurry, and I wonder if he is really that hungry or if something else is going on.

“Put the groceries away and fix something to eat. I have some work to do that can’t wait,” he tells me while taking a seat at the kitchen table. I try not to stare when I see the laptop sitting on the table. It’s the first time I’ve seen it, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of stuff he has saved in there?