“Put her back in her cell.”
“Like this?” he questions, looking over her restrained body.
“I gave you an order,” Evan yells at the kid.
“Yes, sir.” He picks Eve up and carries her out of the room.
Garrett turns to face Evan. “I want to see progress.”
Evan grinds his jaw. “It will come,” he promises. “It takes time?—”
“I don’t think you understand who the fuck she is,” Garrett snaps. “She would rather die than do what you want. She wants to kill herself, and when she realizes she won’t be successful, she’ll push you to do it.”
Evan shakes his head. “It will work. She will be the best recruiter we’ve ever had.”
The video stops and I frown.
Recruiter.There it is again. It makes me think of the meeting that Bill and Adam called at Blackout. Why I’m on the run with her. They want to set my girl up as helping to lure others into sex slavery and blame her for those women’s deaths.
I don’t believe it.
She would never do that. Can a person be brainwashed? Absolutely. She’s proof of that. How she feels about being useless…unable to have a child…they brainwashed her to believe that. Too many years of damage to undo. But to force someone to endure the same abuse she survived? No. That is not who Eve is. Not who she wants to be.
Garrett was right. Eve would rather die or hurt herself than hurt someone innocent.
Getting out of the chair, I turn and come to a stop when I see my wife standing behind it, her watery eyes on my phone in my hand.
FUCK.
EVERETT
I’m tossed onto a cold surface and try to scramble away, but there is nowhere for me to go. I can’t see or hear. So I lie flat and kick out my legs.
When I don’t feel anything, I drop them to the floor and try to calm my breathing.
What happened? Where am I?
I was fighting with Evan and then…nothing.
Everything hurts. My face is pounding and it’s itchy. I can feel rough material all over my skin. Something is wrapped around my neck. A collar, maybe?
My hip is burning. Did they brand me?
I have no use of my arms or hands. They’re secured tightly behind my back. I’m hot. Can a person overheat? My face is sweating, and I can barely breathe. Whatever is in my mouth is big, and it has some kind of tube that keeps hitting the back of my throat that makes me gag.
I can’t die like this. In my own vomit. I will go down fighting. Not helpless.
“Eve?”
I blink, and my blurry vision rises to meet my husband.
He looks away and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry?—”
“When did you get that?” I ask with a shaky voice.
“While you were sleeping.”
“Why”—I clear my throat—“would you watch it?”
