Page 10 of Bought By Sin

Tattoos.

I blinked, trying to ground myself on the observation, as stupid and trite as it was. I’d seen countless tats on so many people, but I’d never had any myself. I’d never had a chance to make my fantasies of getting one to disguise the scars on my body come true.

He rounded the car, leaving the other man. Coming toward the driver’s door, he pushed my anxiety to escalate again.

Don’t panic.

This was my fate.

And I would survive it.

Breathing faster again at the idea of sharing space with this man, with my new owner, I frantically tried to center myself. Grounding myself with the slide of my thighs over the leather cushion of the seat, I finished off the last of my two-in and one-out respirations. I’d be damned if I let him see that I was struggling to get control of myself. I’d be furious if I let him see me vulnerable and scared at all.

Get a grip. Come on!

I set my teeth on top of my lower lip and fought to maintain a blank expression, staring straight ahead out the windshield as he opened the door.

A whoosh of hot air snuck in as he climbed behind the wheel. Then with a slight shift of his big body, he adjusted himself on the seat and pulled the door closed.

No squeaks whined with the hinges of the door. No stink of old piss, sweat, or weed clogged my nose as we sat here together. No grumbling protest of a rumble followed when he turned the key and started the engine.

Because it’s not the same.

Nothing will be the same again.

I’d been sold and owned by morons who ran small criminal groups and gangs. Filthy, reckless, undisciplined thugs. People like Tomas and Emilio who used beat-up clunkers and shitty trucks for smuggling runs. I was used to ripped vinyl seats and smoking engines. I was familiar with the bouncing sway of vehicles going too fast on unpaved roads full of dips and holes, all without shocks and any suspension systems.

He’s a Volkov.

They represented wealth. Power. Prestige.

He didn’t speak as he drove, steering toward the highway. The lack of silence might have been his attempt to make me nervous, expectant for a conversation, but I wasn’t bothered. I could wait out anyone on earth. My word was all I owned.

I’d been transferred like property to a dangerous man whose reputation was whispered with fear. A deadly enforcer who was usually rumored to be a control freak and a meticulous boss.

He owned me now, and of course my mind was racing at the unknowns that awaited me.

But I refused to say a single thing.

He’d asked me one cruel question back there in the desert. If I wanted to be free—dead or alive. His mistake was in assuming I’d ever feel alive and free.

I will. One day.

It wasn’t today, the afternoon of him being handed a contract for me.

I was far from free as he transported me from the site where Tomas’s body would be picked apart by the scavengers of the desert, steaming and burning under the harsh rays of sunshine.

Free?

He was an asshole to tease me about freedom.

I’d only be free when I could escape. When I could run and never have to deal with anyone of the likes of him or his Bratva members. When I could distance myself from the hints of any Cartels or gangs.

Feeling my skin crack on my forehead from where my flesh was starchy with dried sweat, I caught myself from showing a reaction. From letting him see an emotion or expression.

Blanking my face again and hiding my scowl, I doubled down on staring out the windshield again. As I locked my gaze dead ahead, though, I caught a glimpse of him. Of his eyes on me through the reflection in the rearview mirror.

His lips twisted.