“They call it the giver,” Adam answers.
“Cameras in each corner,” Haidyn observes, looking around. “What do they record and who has access to the feed?”
“They stream the training to potential buyers,” Adam says. “It makes them feel like part of the process.”
Saint snorts, shaking his head, and my blood rushes in my ears. Adam said there were tapes of Eve. Is this what he meant? I hated the idea, but this? This is beyond what I could have imagined.
“Stream? As in the internet? Anyone can see what goes on in here?” Haidyn demands.
“It’s a restricted site on the dark web that’s monitored closely by a team. They had to make sure each streamer was vetted. Can’t accidentally allow the police access,” Adam assures him.
Bill turns to face me, and my pulse races.This is it.“Eve was here,” I say and specify, “In this room.”
“How do you know that?” Saint asks skeptically.
“She’s a doll?” Haidyn asks, sounding confused.
I get it. Why would she be alive to talk about it? We don’t know much about dolls except that they’re either tortured, sold, or killed.
I haven’t told them much about my girl. Mainly because I couldn’t confirm it. She lied to them when she told us about Evan. They never took the time to question how she knew so much. Or what she knew that she wasn’t sharing with them. The only one I told about her being a doll was Sin, and he’s kept that conversation to himself.
“She was,” Bill answers, keeping his eyes on mine and ignoring Saint. “We have a video. Well, specifically footage of her arrival day.”
My stomach sinks atarrival day,and I take a step back as I observethe giver. It has belts of various sizes hanging all over it to restrain the victims in place. “How…” I clear my throat. “How long was she here for?”
“A year.” Bill is the one to answer.
I rub the back of my neck. A year. She spent a whole year of her life in this hell. It’s amazing she was ever able to leave. That she survived such an awful place.
“I want to see it.” That’s why they brought us here, right? To show me what she’s been through? If this is Bill’s way of trying to scare me away, it’s not going to work. As herfather, he doesn’t think I’m good enough for her. And I’ll be the first to tell him there isn’t a Lord in this world who’s good enough for Eve, but I can make her happy. I can give her the life she should have had. I will wash her past from her memory. They brainwashed her here; I’ll do the same. A year? I’ll give her the rest of my life, and I will devote it to making her feel loved and worthy.
“Kash—”
“You’re free to leave,” I interrupt whatever Saint was about to say.
If he doesn’t want to know, then he doesn’t have to stay. As badly as I don’t want to see it, I have to. She’ll never tell me. That much I know. No matter what I do to try and get it out of her.
Bill looks at Saint, and he sighs but doesn’t make any move toward thedoor. He then glances at Haidyn, who widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest. “Adam, play the video,” Bill orders.
We all turn to look at the wall in the direction the chair faces. It acts as one big screen for a projector that hangs on the opposite side of the room above where the counter is. It describes what Eve was telling us about that night in Tyson’s office at Blackout after the reception. How they force the dolls to watch porn.
It starts out showing a different room from the one we’re in now. It’s much larger than this one and has chains hanging from the ceiling. The walls look wet with condensation and there’s dried blood on the floor.
The door opens and a guy in his early twenties enters with a naked woman in his arms. It’s Eve. My girl. Even though she looks different, I’d recognize her anywhere. Her hair is an ashy blond and matted; her head hangs off his shoulder. She’s bruised and dirty, appearing lifeless. Her complexion is much paler, and she’s practically skin and bones.
He drops her to the floor like deadweight, and she groans, rolling onto her side, and curls into a ball. I let out a breath, knowing she’s at least alive.
The kid removes a black hood from his back pocket and tosses it to the floor next to her.
Isabella enters. “Name?” she demands, but the smile on her face tells me she already knows who the naked woman on the floor is.
The kid reads off his phone. “Everett Sinclair. Founder. One suicide attempt. One pregnancy but no children—miscarriage and has been sterilized.”
“Mm-hmm,” Isabella nods. Clearly already aware of Eve’s past.
My eyes drop to Everett, and she shakes, lying on the floor, grabbing at the thick metal collar around her neck.
“What do you want to do with her?” the kid asks, sounding annoyed.
