Heat floods my face. "He's my father."
"He's a monster." I flinch. Knox sees it. He doesn't take it back. "What changed?" he asks quietly. "What made you run?"
The answer won't come. Until it was supposed to be me on the receiving end.
My father's voice echoes in my head. Virginal, obedient, pliable enough for a senator. She understands discretion.
I choke it back. "A girl I knew," I whisper. "Anna. Someone from his circles." Knox's eyes flick to me, then back to the road. "She started appearing with a man twice her age. Powerful. Connected." I swallow. "She smiled for the cameras. Then stopped smiling when they weren't there."
"And you realized you were next."
I don't respond. I don't need to. His hand moves, just an inch, reaching for me. My skin goes hot wanting it on me. But he stops, fingers curling back into a fist against his thigh.
"Sloane." My name is a command. "What happened to her?"
The lie rises out of habit, but the words won't form.
Knox's eyes pin me for half a second before returning to the road. "No bullshit," he reminds me quietly.
I force myself to breathe. "My father's… transactions," I say, the word tasting of ash. "The part of his business where people became inventory. Where girls were moved. Placed."
His breathing changes. "Placed where?"
"With men who paid for them."
The city thins behind us, neon fading into industrial sprawl. A semi roars past. Knox doesn't flinch, but his grip shifts, knuckles bloodless.
"And Anna?"
"She was brought in." My voice breaks. "I was there. In the room. I saw what happened and I couldn't stop it."
Images slam behind my eyes: Anna's face going blank, the way her hands shook, how she looked at me like I could save her.
"I tried to help her," I choke out. "I tried. But I couldn't—"
The auction. Anna went through it. I was supposed to be next. I let in the first man who looked at me like I was human instead of inventory.
"Where is she now?" Knox asks.
"With him. The politician. As far as I know, she's still—" I can't finish.
Knox inhales through his nose, controlled, as if he's keeping himself in check. "And your father was going to do the same to you."
"Yes."
His palm drags over his jaw. "When?"
"Three days." The words scrape out. "I had three days."
"Jesus Christ."
Silence fills the car, heavy and choking. The heater hums. Tires hiss across wet pavement.
Knox stays coiled. Watchful. A muscle ticks near his temple, as if he's grinding his teeth against something he won't say.
He glances at me. Just once. "So you ran," he says finally.
"Yes."
