Sweet Collateral

The shrill ringing of my phone cuts through the chirping crickets, bursting whatever bubble she has me in. Taking my phone from my pocket, I glance at the screen and frown at my supplier’s name flashing on the screen.

“I have to take this.” She says nothing, but the smile is gone, and she refuses to look at me. “Find your own way back.” I don’t wait for an answer, simply turn on my heel and walk back to the house as I answer the call.

It’s a quick conversation. A simple ‘no, you cannot have more of a cut’. I’ve just hung up and am almost to my office when Lucas stops me. “Raf— Boss, can I talk to you?” He glances at me, though his chin remains tucked to his chest. “Please.”

The kid looks like he’s about to shit himself.

“Today, Lucas.”

Taking a deep breath, he finally looks at me. “Anna needs some sleeping pills.” I lift a brow, and his face pales. “She…has nightmares, and she screams.” Yes, I’m well aware of the little bird’s demons. I also know how well young Lucas plays the White Knight, rushing to her aid every night.

“So, what? You want to knock her out?”

“She asked me for…” a nervous swallow, “some ketamine.”

I exhale a long breath. Shit. “I’ll handle it.”

He nods and scurries away. Looks like the little Russian may not be so hard after all, but if she wants help, she’ll have to ask for it. She’ll have to come to me.

9

Rafael

My office door slams open without warning, and I look up, glaring at whoever the fuck would come in here without knocking.

A very naked Anna limps in, her eyes feral as they land on me. She’s clawing at her already reddened arms, her entire body shaking. “I need…”

I tilt my head to the side, watching her trembling form. What happened to the emotionless little robot? She’s a mess.

I push to my feet and round the desk. “What do you need?”

“Just one line,” she begs as tears pool in her eyes. And so she comes to me, her icy façade shattering to cold powder before my eyes. “Please, Rafael. I’ll do anything.” She drops to her knees in front of me, and then her hands are on my belt. “This is what you want isn’t it?” she yanks at the leather.

“Fuck, Anna.” I grab her wrists in one hand, stilling her. She looks up at me, wide blue eyes so innocent, full lips that look like they were made for sucking dick. I can picture her staring up at me just like that as I fuck her mouth. Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and swallow a groan as my cock rises to attention. God, this is screwed up, even by my standards. Disgust rises in my throat; at myself, at her, at the entire damn situation Nero has put me in. This is someone’s daughter, lover, sister. At some point, I know this was probably my sister, begging a faceless man to give her drugs in exchange for her last shred of dignity. I drop to a crouch in front of Anna, and she just breaks, buckling in my hold. We end up on the floor, my back pressed against the wall and sweet Anna clutched against my chest.

She keeps scratching over her already raw arms, and I grasp her wrists, pulling them tight over her body. “Please,” she begs.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“I need it.” She lightly thumps her forehead to my chest. “I can’t do this. One line,” she cries.

“No.” I take her chin and force her to look at me. Her eyes are distant and unfocused, filled with the kind of horror I will never know. “Look at me,” She slowly focuses on my face. Those bright blue eyes meet mine, and fuck, she slays me without ever even knowing it. “Snap out of it. You have no choice but to do this.”

“I remember everything.” Her brows pull together in a pained frown.

“Choose whether you want to be a victim or a survivor, avecita.”

Her cheek rests against my chest, tears soaking my shirt. I refuse to let her pull away for what feels like hours, until her breathing evens out and she falls asleep against me. I glance down at her and catch sight of a tattoo on her hip and another on the inside of her wrist. Numbers. Slave numbers. She’s been through three different owners, which is rare for a girl as beautiful as her. The men who buy slaves like pretty possessions, and often won’t sell them to another because money is irrelevant; it’s the ownership. They’d rather kill them when they’re done than allow another to have them.

I hear footsteps coming down the hall before Carlos appears in the open doorway with a blanket in hand. He must have heard her. He hands it to me, and I wrap it around Anna, covering her naked body.