Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“I was never Muerto’s girlfriend,” I begin. “I was his captive.”
The muscles in Conor’s forearms flex as he folds his hands together, and I can tell he’s skeptical, but I don’t really care. This story has been bottled up inside for so long, it’s long overdue to be uncorked.
“Archer’s dad was in the military,” I tell him. “An old school friend that I hooked up with once when he was home on leave. We weren’t together, and I didn’t even know how to get in touch with him when he left. He died in combat before I could even tell him I was pregnant, so all the responsibility fell on me.”
Conor’s brows pinch together, and for a second, something softens in him. Something that makes me believe he can relate and gives me the courage to go on.
“I was a hairstylist,” I explain. “And I had a booth in a salon, but it was expensive to maintain. Being that I had a kid to look after on my own, I had to take a second job helping at a barber shop as the shampoo girl. It wasn’t glamorous, but it supplemented my income. I was making it work. But then one night Muerto decided to come in for a haircut.”
My fingers twist under the table as I recall that first time I saw him. Right away, my gut told me it was bad. The way he looked at me, I’ll never forget it. His eyes were soulless, a shade of black I’d never even seen until then.
“He wasn’t the kind of guy to ask a girl on a date,” I rattle. “The Locos had a mantra that I came to know well. Mata. Viola. Controla. It means kill, rape, control. From the second he walked into that shop, I was fucked.”
“What did he do?” Conor demands.
I stare down at the pale, cold fingers in my lap. “He stalked me. Harassed me. Told me I would be his whether I liked it or not. I was terrified, and I went to the cops. They said I could get a restraining order, but it would be difficult to prove. Somehow, Muerto found out and he went ballistic. When I went into work the next night, the shop was closed, and the owner was dead. Muerto’s crew had murdered him to send me a message.”
My throat clogs with emotion as I meet Conor’s eyes. “He had two young children and they just killed him like it was nothing. When I got home, there was a guy at my door. His friend Animal came to tell me that if I thought about going to the cops again, my son would be next. He knew where I lived, where I worked. He knew everything about my life. I didn’t have the money to run. I had nowhere to go without getting someone else killed. My only option was to get Archer out of there, so at least he would be safe. I took him to Lacey, and it was only supposed to be for a couple weeks.”
“In my mind, I became resigned to the fact that he was going to fuck me, one way or another. I hoped it would be once and he’d get it out of his system. But the first night he took me in an alley on my way home from work, he told me he wasn’t letting me go, and he meant it. He took me to their compound and locked me up in that room. For an entire year, I didn’t see the sun. I was left there to rot, only useful when he decided he wanted to toy with me. He fucked with my head, threatened my son, starved and beat me because it was a game to him.”
A tear splashes against my plate, and I realize that I’m crying again. It’s humiliating how much I’ve cried in front of Conor already, but when I look up at him, there is no more judgment in his eyes. All that’s left now is rage.
“I would kill that motherfucker,” he growls. “If he were still here, I would have made him pay for ye, Ivy.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I’m out. I get to see Archer now. That’s what I have to focus on.”
“What about the others?” Conor presses. “Did they ever touch ye?”
“Not if they wanted to live,” I laugh dryly. “Muerto didn’t share me. But I’m fair game now that’s he’s dead. That’s why I can’t let them catch me.”
“You won’t ever have to worry about that,” Conor assures me. “Those shitebags won’t live long enough to touch ye again. I’ll make sure of that.”
Ivy’s been in the bathroom for over a bleeding hour, and I can’t figure out what she’s doing in there. The whiskey has leached from my system, but I’m bristling with an edge I haven’t felt since Brady’s death. I want to go kill every one of those Loco fuckers and string their bodies from the streetlights in downtown Boston as a warning to anyone else who thinks about fecking with a woman.