“Where am I?”
She’s probably concussed and confused. They might even have drugged her, although judging by the deep purple mark around her throat I’d say she was choked out. I dig my fingers into her thigh in an attempt to bite back the blind rage coursing through me. They took her. From my fucking house. Who would be stupid enough to take her from under my nose like that? I can think of only one person who so very desperately wants her back.
I hold her tighter. “You’re with me,” I say. ‘In the desert’ isn’t exactly a great explanation either. There’s a reason my home is built far outside the city. It’s easily defended, with a vast, wide open space leading up to it so that no one can sneak up to the front gate. It’s impossible.
Carlos opens the back door of the SUV for me, and I climb in, holding Anna on my lap. The car starts moving, bumping over the rough desert ground before pulling back onto the smooth road. Someone hands me a cloth, and I press it to the cut on her head that’s still bleeding.
“Anna.” I stroke my fingertips gently down her cheek and her eyes flash open, disorientated but aware. “What happened?”
“He wanted me to go with him,” she says, lifting her hand to her bruised neck.
Inhaling a deep breath, I try to calm myself. I’m pissed that they made me look weak, but I’m fucking savage that they touched her. My rage is palpable—burning so hot it leaves an acidic taste in my mouth. She watches me for a minute and then reaches up, placing her hand over mine on her face.
“You saved me.” The little bird has never looked at me with anything other than fear and loathing before. Definitely concussed. The blood from her forehead is still soaking into the cloth; the golden strands of her hair now a morbid crimson.
She closes her eyes and turns her face into my shirt, inhaling. “Did you just smell me?”
“I have a head injury,” she says without opening her eyes.
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Maybe.”
“Of course, the wounded little bird would crack a joke when she’s in the most danger.”
“I’m not in danger. I’m with you,” she says, her words slurring slightly. Her words have an unexpected effect as something akin to possession tears through me. Fuck. Not good. Not good at all.
“Anna.” I shake her. “Don’t fall asleep. Not yet. Stay awake.” She tilts her head back, and I shift my arm, resting her back against the car door. “Keep talking.”
“About what?”
“Tell me what your life was like before all this.”
“I don’t know.” Her brows pull together. ‘I lived in an orphanage with my sister.”
“Was she with you when you were sold?”
“No, she was sold three years before me. I don’t know if she’s alive or not.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you do it?” she whispers, her voice strained and hoarse. “Surely there are other ways to make money.”
It takes me a minute to realize what she’s talking about. “You think I deal in slaves.”
She nods.
“Well, you’re wrong. I don’t.” She keeps staring at me. I need to keep her talking, and I figure she won’t remember this anyway. “My mother was a whore for the Juarez cartel.” I catch Carlos’ gaze in the rearview mirror, a frown pinching his features. “She was a single mother, living in poverty in the worst part of Juarez. She had very little choice. And when my sister was old enough, she also became a whore, working the streets for money. Only my sister didn’t handle it very well.” I swallow hard at the memory of what Violet used to be. “She wanted to go to America and study to become a nurse, but you know better than me how cruel this life can be. She had no means of saving money. So, when one of my mother’s clients offered her a lot of money for her virginity, she took it. Of course, it wasn’t enough, so she kept working. Eventually, the reality of what her life had become was too much for Violet. So, she found an escape.”
“She became a junkie?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear it.
“Yeah. I started running drugs for the cartel, hoping I could make enough money to get her out, but…it was too late. She overdosed when I was eighteen.”
“I’m sorry. I thought…”
“You thought that I was one of those sick fucks who buys girls like you and whore them out.” I shake my head. “What was done to you and what my sister chose are two different things, Anna. My sister was a whore. You are a victim and a survivor.” I stroke her bloodied hair away from her face, still fighting the rage that’s threatening to overtake me.