Jorge’s gun isn’t the only reason we don’t force an escape. Even if some of us got free, where would we go? We don’t have money or identification. We don’t even have shoes. Margo swears that even if she and her sister and Jorge were dead, other men would find us. They would hunt us down like animals. Those of us who weren’t killed in the process would be sent to the whorehouse, sold to the worst customers to die in the worst possible way.
“Go on,” Tia says softly, her eyes soft and hazy the way they get sometimes.
I speak past the lump of fear in my throat. “The mouse, he got caught. The lion was angry and started to eat him. The small mouse begged him not to. He swore that if the lion let him live, he would one day return the favor.”
Tia pulls the bowl from me gently, and I look down to find my hands trembling. What I’m suggesting is what we’ve been too afraid to do. What I’m suggesting is almost certain death.
Almost.
There’s a chance we’ll succeed. How many lives is that chance worth?
“The lion laughed,” I continue, my voice shaky. “What could a tiny mouse do to save him, the great lion? But he was charmed by the mouse and decided to let him live.”
Tia’s silent a moment. “This story gives more credit to the lion than exists. Most would just eat the meal right in front of them.”
Maybe, but I already met this particular lion. I saw the way he looks at me, and though I’m not experienced, I know what it means with a deep-seated instinct. Sebastian Conti wants me—my body, my innocence. Maybe even my intelligence. You’re the smartest person in this shithole.
This lion wants to be charmed.
I take a deep breath. “Then one day, the lion was waking in the forest. His paw was caught in a hunter’s trap. He roared and struggled but could not break free. The mouse heard him from across the forest and ran to help. He nibbled through the ropes and the lion was free.”
“A brave mouse who would do this,” Tia says softly.
“I’m not afraid,” I lie.
“Perhaps. But you must be willing to pay the price.” In her eyes I see reflected the same deep-seated instinct, the years of experience in that brothel. We both knew what it would take to charm a man like that. My body.
I swallow hard. “Better that than let everyone die.”
“Do you really think he’ll kill us?”
“I don’t know. But he said he wouldn’t sell us. What else could he do with us?”
She shook her head, dread settling in her eyes. “Nothing good.”
“Then, I have no choice.”
“You do. I could help you escape from here.” Her voice is urgent. “You’re young. You speak English. You have the best chance of any of us to make a life for yourself outside these walls.”
And let them burn? Leave Tia? “I won’t,” I say fiercely.
A long moment passes, my words hanging in the air. Even if the men hadn’t come, Margo would punish all the women if they helped me escape. It would be a death sentence.
“All right,” she says, sounding resigned, as if she knew that would be my answer but didn’t like it. “Then, you have to find him. Convince him to let us live, however you can. Charm him with everything you have, little mouse.”
I look down at myself, my dirty shorts and thin tank top. “I’m not sure that’s much.”
“You underestimate yourself. And I’ll help you. But before we start planning, there’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“If you’re successful, he’ll let you live. He will let all of us live. But there’s a price to pay.”
“I know, Tia.” The last thing I want is a birds-and-bees talk from her. She’s like a mother to me. I’ve heard enough from the women to know what men like.
“Not only your body. Your everything. You’ll owe him. Understand? That’s the moral of the story. That’s what it means to free him from the trap.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Sebastian
The man in front of me owns a major media corporation, which in turn owns a series of smaller merchandise and storage facilities that account for twenty percent of the global arms trade. Naturally, it’s in my best interest to pay attention. But the smell of the crowd—sickly sweet pine needles underlined with sweat—makes me turn my head just a fraction, seeking a whiff of fresh air in the packed ballroom.
Of course there’s no fresh air to be found—not with a man reeking of smoke one foot behind me. And I don’t need to make another deal, not after my recent acquisitions, a hostile takeover of a local crime syndicate.
It’s in that second, with my face turned toward the staircase, that I see her.
She stands at the top, a goddess in red framed by the gilt entrance. The marble staircase spreads beneath her like a stage, and I’m immediately captivated by her fragility. She’s tall, her figure lithe and willowy. Her long hair shines beneath the chandelier, mahogany mixed with champagne and gold, in so many shades it defies a single name. I want to run it through my fingers.
