Prologue

Somewhere in the desert north of Las Vegas, age 18.

I had imagined my death many times. The level of violence increased exponentially with each passing minute. The potential dangers ranged from the numbing effects of a drug overdose to the gruesome scenario of someone violently tearing my body apart. Although I wasn't particularly fond of the latter option, it seemed like a logical choice given the recent difficulties I had been experiencing.

Not that I gave a fuck.

If he wanted to inflict the highest level of pain imaginable, that would be the most effective approach.

Over the course of time, countless individuals have suffered unspeakable horrors, being torn apart and mutilated unjustly for crimes they never committed. The image of the legendary William Wallace sprung to my consciousness. The memory of learning about him in one of my primary school lessons came rushing back to me. The classroom setting and the teacher's voice explaining his significance were still clear in my mind. As a consequence of his defiance towards the Crown, he had suffered severe punishment. William Wallace endured the horrifying fate of having his limbs brutally torn apart, his body mercilessly eviscerated, and eventually his heart ruthlessly cut out, solely for expressing dissent towards the Crown. Personally, I thought it was a bit excessive, but the Crown had been determined to make a statement and they had definitely accomplished their goal.

Then there was Anne Boleyn. The second wife of Henry the VIII. Poor girl never had a chance. Nor did Margaret Scott, whom they accused of witchcraft in the Salem Witch Trials and subsequently hanged for her beliefs. And let's not forget that the Crown beheaded Mary Queen of Scots because she had a legitimate claim to the throne of England.

I guess, in a way, I was like all of them.

I refused to conform, to bend the knee, to acquiesce to an overbearing warlord that was hell-bent on using me for his own sadistic pleasure.

I had always been a headstrong kid. Outspoken with a firm knowledge of what I believed was right and wrong. I had never had a problem speaking my mind, railing against injustice, fighting for what I wanted.

Well, at least that's what I remembered, until my bitch of a mother sold me to him. Soon after, I learned rather quickly that pain was my future. That the only way to survive was to accept the agony of defeat but never surrender to it.

Pain was subjective. I could either wallow in it and let it consume me or I could rebel.

I fought the good fight and gave as much as I got.

It was that refusal that sealed my fate.

I just never thought it would take him three years to understand what I had been trying to tell him.

That nothing he did to me would break me.

So, color me shocked when I woke up this morning and found five of his men standing at the end of my bed, eager to remove me from his house with orders to kill me painfully.

I knew this day would come.

I welcomed it.

For three years, he tried to break me. Like some wild fucking horse, he tried everything in his arsenal. In the end, I was still his wild mustang. His one failure.

At least I was good for one thing.

I had paid off my mother's debt.

I hoped the bitch burned in Hell for selling her only daughter to the sick son of a bitch. Sometimes I wondered if she would have still done it if she knew what the fucker had planned for me? Then again, it didn't matter because she was a fucking junkie looking for her next fix. I was nothing more than a commodity she sold to further her addiction.

I learned early on in life to never come between a junkie and their next fix.

The ride from Los Angeles, California to the desert just north of Las Vegas, Nevada, was beautiful. Since coming to America, I had seen little of the United States. I remembered seeing the ocean after I landed at LAX, and the pretty drive from the airport to his mansion. After that, all I knew was every nook and cranny in his home. I couldn't tell you where the Hollywood Sign was, but I could describe in great detail every fucking room in his mansion.

The ride into the desert was a quiet one.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been able to sit in silence and just think. From the moment I arrived in Los Angeles, my life had been anything but quiet. Not even in sleep was I able to get a moment of peace. From the second I entered his domain, I was nothing more than fodder for his perversions, and when he wasn't trying to break me, he allowed his fucking lackeys to have their fun with me.

I became their personal punching bag, fucktoy, maid, whatever deviance they desired.

Even in that moment, as I laid on the ground and looked up at the millions of stars above me, they still tried to break me. None of them understood the gift they had given me. I was out of the mansion. Free of my confines for the first time in three years. I could finally breathe the fresh air, smell the sweetness of the desert fauna around me as I took in my new surroundings. Everything was so incredible, so stimulating, so new to me. My mind absorbed everything, starved to take it all in.

Nothing else mattered, not even the five men who were once again using my body for their own gratification.

I didn't care.

I felt nothing.

Removed so far from the reality of my current situation, it wouldn't have mattered what they did to me, because right then, my mind was soaring, taking in everything around me, like some addict getting a much-needed fix.

However, like every drug-addled fix, eventually came the downslide, and in my case, that came when the man rutting his dick into me like a sex-craved animal had his head blown off his shoulders.

Talk about a slap back to reality.

During my last three years in the States, I'd seen many men, women, and children die. Death was as normal to me as breathing.

Yet, this was different.

Maybe it was because I was wearing half of his brain matter, my body dripping, sticky with his blood. It could be because while I was awaiting death, I was finally free to enjoy the last moments of my existence in this beautiful place. Who knows? All I knew was that one of the five men raping me was dead. His heavy body weighed me down, and I was unable to get out from under him. The other men, however, didn't waste any time shooting back at the dark. Too bad for them they were horrible shots and one by one, I watched as they all fell to the ground.

Laying there, beaten and near death myself, I tried to ignore the knowledge that a dead man's dick was still inside me because at that moment my stomach wanted to rebel. I tried to swallow the bile that threatened to erupt as my eyes watched in horror when out of the darkness walked a man that could easily scare the Devil himself. Standing well over six foot six and covered in more tattoos than I thought humanly possible, with hair as black as the night sky. His sterling silver eyes pierced the area as he made quick work of the five men here to kill me. I didn't know if this man was here to finish the job or help me, not that I cared anymore. After the life I'd lived, I just wanted to rest and enjoy what time I had left on this earth.

Yet the second his sterling silver eyes found mine, the desire to live took root. There was something about the man that felt comfortable, protective, almost like he could wash away my past and make it anew.

It was an odd feeling.

I laid there as he kicked the dead man off me, exposing my naked body to the darkness of the night. He said nothing while he stared down at me, frowning. His eyes hardening into slits as he took in the sight of me. For the first time since I was a little girl, I wanted to cover up, to hide myself, ashamed of the state I was in.

Without a word of warning, the large, tattooed man picked me up and carried me away from the darkness that threatened to consume me, and I let him. He said nothing as he spirited me away, leaving death in his wake.

The ride from the desert to a hotel in Las Vegas was interesting, to say the least. I'd never been on a motorcycle before and while it was scary, I felt safe with him. He still hadn't said a word to me, and I was beginning to wonder if the man knew how to speak at all. When the bike slowed and parked in front of a hotel close to the city, I didn't know what to say.

I was still naked, covered in blood and barely coherent. People stopped and stared, shocked at what they were seeing. A young man rushed over with a blanket, quickly offering it to me, and the man holding me growled at him.

The young man dropped the blanket and ran away.

With his head held high, the large man carried me into the hotel like nothing was wrong, as if carrying a naked, bloody and beaten woman into a fancy hotel was an everyday occurrence for him.

The bright lights of the hotel blinded me. The whispers, gasps, and cries of the onlookers pierced my ears. Ashamed for the first time in my life, I hid from the world, burying my head against the man's chest.

He growled again.

Heading straight for the elevator, he said nothing when the doors opened and he stepped inside. The ride was quiet, reflective in a way, as I wondered how I came to be in this man's arms. I should have died out there in the desert and yet I still had air in my lungs. I was ready to die. In some ways, I wanted my shit life to be over with. I read once that Buddhists believed in reincarnation. That depending on how well they lived their lives, when they died, they would come back as something more, something better. Hell, I didn't know what was good about my life, but anything was better than the life I had right now.

I didn't bother looking around.

What was the point? I wouldn't be here long enough to enjoy anything.

For all I knew, this stranger was carrying me to my death. Not that I thought he was, but I realized it didn't matter.

Nothing really did.

I was just a passenger, a voyeur in this life, and at any moment, this horror story would end.

Water running captured my attention.

Looking up, I found myself sitting in an enormous bathtub with warm water slowly filling the tub. The big man, still silent as ever, moved about the spacious bathroom, opening and shutting drawers and cabinets, looking for something. Whatever was eluding him was pissing him off because, in the next instant, he stormed out of the room only to reappear moments later with a black bottle of what looked like shampoo. When he placed it on the edge of the tub, I saw it wasn't just shampoo but a body wash as well.

A 3-in-1 men's soap.

Leaving again, he returned later with an ice bucket, placing it on the floor next to the tub. Unsure what he planned to do with that, I sat there in the warm water and watched as he stared at the clear water, turning red.

He frowned, turning away from me again. He removed his leather vest, placing it carefully on the bathroom counter. Kneeling next to the tub, he grabbed a washcloth off the cabinet and soaked it in the warm water, getting it wet. Reaching for the black bottle of liquid soap, he squirted a large amount into the rag before turning to face me.

His eyes were hard. He still hadn't said a fucking word to me, but I knew what he wanted me to do. Leaning forward, I moved my hair out of the way as he began to wash the years of blood, men, and death off my body. I could have told him he would need another bottle of soap to do that. Nothing would fully erase the life I'd lived.

He filled the tub three times before he was satisfied I was finally clean. Through it all, he was diligent, meticulous, careful, making sure that he cleaned and washed every spot on my body.

He left nothing out.

Not. One. Inch.

Pleased with his efforts, he stood, holding a towel in front of him, waiting for me to comply.

Still, he said nothing.

Waiting for me to choose.

I stood before him while he dried every inch of my body, even my hair, which was too long and desperately needed a cut. But he didn't seem to mind. Not even when he pointed to a small bench, asking me to sit in his silent way. He stood behind me for what felt like hours, meticulously removing every knot, every tangle from my hair, until he could smoothly run a comb through it.

By the time he was done with me, I could barely keep my eyes open. All I wanted to do was sleep for weeks, undisturbed, and never wake up. Carrying me to the enormous bed, he placed me on it, then reached for the soft plush comforter at the end and covered me up. Rolling onto my side, I snuggled deeper into the softest bed I had ever slept on and smiled up at him.

I was asleep before I could even utter the words thank you.

A knock at the door roused me from my slumber.

Stretching, I yawned slowly, opening my eyes to find bright sunlight shining around the room. Sitting up, I didn't see the large, tattooed man anywhere. However, what I found was a black fluffy robe placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Reaching for it, I slipped from the bed and covered my naked body when I heard the knock again.

Leaving the enormous bedroom, I walked into a spacious and beautifully decorated living room. Everything was all white and clean. Even the carpet, white and plush, looked like no one had ever walked it before.

Someone knocked again.

Slowly cracking the door open, I peeked out to find a hotel concierge waiting with a trolley in front of her.

She smiled warmly. "Good morning, Miss. I've been instructed to bring you breakfast."

Unsure she had the right room, I muttered, "I didn't order anything."

"It was the gentlemen, Miss. He gave specific instructions on your care before he left."

"He left?"

"Yes, Miss. May I come in?"

Nodding, I stepped aside, held tight to the robe, and warily observed the woman roll in the trolley over to the small table near the corner. Walking behind her, I watched as she carefully laid out plates of food, glasses filled with orange juice, apple juice, and water. She even walked over to a chair, pulled it out, and waited for me to sit, before helping me scoot the chair closer to the table.

Smiling, she handed me a fork and said, "My name is Tracy. I will be your personal concierge for the duration of your stay. If there is anything you need, I will get it for you. The gentlemen was very specific that you receive three healthy meals a day and whatever else you need, I'm to ensure you get it."

"Um," I muttered, looking around the expensive room. "I can't pay for any of this."

"The gentlemen took care of everything, Miss. The room is yours for the rest of the week. He also told me that several packages will arrive later today. When they do, I will lay them out for you."

"I don't understand," I said just as my stomach grumbled, looking at all the delicious food. I can't remember the last time I ate anything.

When Tracy said nothing, I looked up at her and saw her concern. Without asking, she pulled out the chair next to me and sat. "Several of the staff saw you come in last night. We were worried. A few of us wanted to call the police, but we didn't, knowing that Mr. Scott would take care of everything. I am so sorry for what happened to you. I want you to know that no one here will harm you. You are safe here."

"Mr. Scott?"

Tracy nodded. "The gentleman who brought you here. He frequents our hotel often. He's a quiet man, rarely ever talks, but he's kind. What is your name?"

"Arianwen."

"And how old are you, Arianwen?"

"Eighteen."

Tracy sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair. "Mr. Scott will not be happy."

"Does Mr. Scott do this often? I mean, rescue young girls and bring them to his hotel room?"

Tracy smirked. "No, Miss. You are the first."

"He should have just left me to die out there."

"No, Arianwen. Don't ever say that. Life is precious. Rest, heal, and gain your strength. You survived to live another day. Don't let what happened stop you from living the life you deserve."

Unsure what to say to that, I simply nodded, picked up the fork, and ate.

Over the next few days, I slept a lot.

My body was sore, and by day three, I looked really awful. Black, blue, yellow, and green from head to toe, Tracy assured me I was healing. That I just needed to give my body time. The only problem with that was my time was running out. I didn't know how much longer I would be permitted to remain in this hotel room, and while I was eternally grateful for Mr. Scott and his generosity, I didn't want to overstay my welcome.

The packages Tracy told me about on the first day were clothes. Two new pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, and a brand-new pair of chucks. Along with a sports bra, panties, and a new backpack to carry it all; it seemed that Mr. Scott had thought of everything. I even found five grand at the bottom of the backpack.

Mr. Scott ensured I had everything I needed to start over.

The problem with starting over was I had no idea where I would go or what I would do. I never finished school. My mother sold me to Boris Petrovich when I was thirteen to pay off her debts. I could fuck, give a blow job, and be anyone's punching bag, but that was where my training ended. I didn't even have a birth certificate or social security card. The only thing I was sure of was I couldn't return to California. Not with him still alive and well. So, on my last night in the hotel, I came to a decision. There was only one place on this planet I would be safe from Petrovitch, and that was in New York City. I was sure of it because I knew Petrovitch never stepped foot there. He avoided the place like the plague.

With Tracy's help, she secured me a Greyhound Bus ticket and even went with me to say goodbye. I'd never had a friend before, but in my brief stay at the hotel, she'd become just that.

"You've got my number, Arianwen. Call me when you get settled."

"I will."

Looking around at the passengers boarding the large bus, she sighed. "Are you sure about this? The Big Apple is a scary place for someone as young as you."

"No scarier than what's behind me."

"I wish you would stay with me and my husband. We would love to have you."

"I can't. I do that and I'd be putting you both in danger. I need to go."

Tracy sighed again. "Alright. You've made up your mind and I won't try to change it. You have everything? Your ticket, clothes, the cell phone I got you?"

"Yep." I smiled, tugging on my backpack. "All safe and secure."

"Don't tell anyone you have cash on you. Not all people are nice. Trust no one. When you get to the city, use that list I gave you to find someplace to stay. Nothing too expensive, but something you can afford. That money won't last forever, so find yourself a good job. Restaurants, hotels, even a grocery store will do. Understand?"

I nodded, hearing the driver yell, "Last call for New York City!"

"I've got my list, and everything is written down. I won't forget."

Giving me a warm hug, Tracy flashed me a sad smile. "You better go find a seat."

Waving goodbye to the woman, I stepped onto the bus, brushing away a lone tear. I didn't know it was going to be so hard to say goodbye to her. Finding a seat, I leaned against the window and stared at her while the bus slowly pulled away from the terminal. I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever see Tracy again.

Cold and starving, I watched as a man threw a bag into the large dumpster behind the warehouse. I'd been in the city for close to a month now and Tracy was right. The money Mr. Scott gave me barely lasted a week. The motel room I paid a week for locked me out of my room the second I left, saying the I.D. I gave them was fake. When I told them I wanted my money back, the asshole told me to get lost or he would call the police. Not wanting to go into the system, or worse, get deported back to Wales, I left. The worst part was that all my clothes were in my room. That night, I slept on the streets for the first time, only to wake up to find my backpack gone.

I had nothing.

No money.

No phone.

No clothes.

I was utterly alone in an unfamiliar city, scared for the first time in my life. I quickly learned that life on the streets was survival of the fittest. For a while, I tried my best to find a job, any job, but when people took a good look at me, they quickly shut the door in my face. No one wanted to bother with a homeless teenager, let alone someone who had no identification.

I learned rather quickly which parts of the city to stay away from. Like the subway at night or Central Park where all the junkies roamed looking for their next fix. I evaded a few pimps on the streets, refusing to turn out exactly like my mother.

The longer I lived on the streets, the more desperate I became. Starvation became my constant friend. Nothing quelled the hunger that gnawed at me. The first time I ate out of a dumpster, it made me sick to my stomach. Now, it didn't bother me. I knew which restaurants had the best food and what times they dumped their leftovers.

One of my favorite places was the little diner on Pier 81. The place was nothing special, but the cook knew what he was doing. My problem tonight was that I found the place had shut down for renovations. There was no way I'd make it back to my second choice before the other street rats raided the dumpster.

It looked like I was on my own.

As soon as the man walked back inside, I raced over to the dumpster, flipped the lid and sighed.

Nothing.

Leaning against the dumpster, I slid to the ground and cried.

It had been three days since I'd had anything good to eat.

I was starving.

I couldn't do this anymore.

I didn't want to.

Hearing the water slosh against the pier, I wondered if maybe I should just end it all. Start over fresh in my next life.

"You're gonna catch a cold out here."

Looking up, I saw a large man standing on the back step of the warehouse, smoking a cigarette as he looked directly at me. He was tall, muscular and very handsome, from what I could see.

"Seen you around a few times."

"I'll leave," I muttered.

"Didn't say you had to," he said, blowing smoke into the chilly night. "You hungry?"

I nodded.

The man walked back into the warehouse only to return seconds later with a bottle of water and a sub sandwich.

Holding it out to me, he waited.

Slowly getting to my feet, I walked over to him.

With a shaky hand, I reached for the sandwich and water.

"Thank you."

"Take a seat. Keep me company."

He didn't have to ask me twice.

Sitting on the step next to him, I dug into the sandwich and tasted nothing better. I could have cried, it tasted so good.

"Fuck, girl, slow down. You're gonna make yourself sick."

"This is the first thing I've eaten in three days. I'm hungry."

"Well, there is more where that came from. My name is Montana. So, what are you doing living on the streets?"

"Got no other place to go."

"Parents?"

I shook my head, shoving the last of the sandwich into my mouth.

"Siblings?"

"No."

"Count your blessings with that one. I got three and they suck."

Looking behind me, I could hear the loud music coming from inside and frowned.

"Why are you out here and not in there?"

"Got into a fight with my woman."

"You hit her?"

Montana laughed. "Fuck, you're funny. Hell no. Tessa's just being a bitch. She's being pissy about something and won't tell me what."

"Maybe stop calling her a bitch," I snarked.

The big guy looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "You one of those liberal activist cunts or something?"

I shook my head. "No. Just know that some women don't like being called a bitch."

"You one of them?"

"Not really. I've been called worse."

Montana sighed, flicking the butt of his cigarette away from him. "Maybe you're right. Tess is always on my ass about how I speak. Guess it's my fault for picking someone more educated than me."

"I wouldn't know. I never finished school."

"Trust me. Having an education doesn't make you smart."

"Thank you for the sandwich."

"No problem." He smirked, nudging my shoulder with his. "You're not from the city, are you?"

"No."

"Well, from someone who has lived in this city his whole life, I can tell you that only the strong survive. This city is unforgiving. It will chew you up and spit you out."

"It already has."

"No, it hasn't. You're sitting here with me, aren't you?"

The door opened behind us.

Looking behind me, I stared in shock.

There, standing not even a few inches from me, was the man who saved me.

Mr. Scott.

The second his eyes met mine, he stiffened, then growled, taking a step back.

"Malice, meet the street rat who's been giving Shame a run for his money. Shit. Sorry, girl. What's your name?"

Gulping, I slowly stood.

I don't know what made me say it, but all I could think about was how silver his eyes were. Like molten, swirling silver.

I'd never seen eyes like his before.

"Silver."

"Cool name," Montana said, getting to his feet.

I couldn't look away from him as he glared menacingly at me. His fists balled tightly at his sides while his sterling silver eyes bored into mine.

"Silver, I need someone to help clean this place. You good with that? I've got a room you can stay in and all the free food you can eat. The brothers won't bother you."

Blinking, I turned to Montana.

"You're offering me a job?"

"For now, I'm offering you a warm bed and food. You can't be over seventeen, maybe eighteen. Can't have you doing much until you're legal, but yeah."

Malice growled again.

"So, what do you say?" I vaguely heard Montana ask.

Looking from man to man, I whispered, "Only if it's okay with him."

Looking at Malice, we both waited and when the man did an about-face and stormed away, Montana groaned. "Fucking Malice. Ignore him. He's an asshole."

"No. He's more than that," I murmured as I followed Montana into the warehouse.

Looking around the room, Montana said was mine, I didn't know what to think. It wasn't much. Then again, I didn't expect much. But there was a full-size bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a nightstand. Along with a private bathroom that had fresh towels and products at the ready. It was very nice of Montana to offer me a job, and I didn't take his offer lightly. I just wished I knew what he wanted me to do. If he was on the level about me cleaning the place, I would happily do it.

I would welcome the hard work for room and board.

The only thing that stopped me was Malice, or Mr. Scott.

He knew me.

Knew what had happened.

The man would barely look at me.

As the night wore on, the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn't stay. Not with Mr. Scott knowing about my past. It was bad enough he found me at my worst, but to see him every day, knowing what he knew. I just couldn't do it.

In fact, I was so tired of it all.

Tired of running.

Tired of being hungry.

Tired of being cold.

Tired of just plain existing.

I just wanted to sleep and never wake up.

Mainly, I couldn't bear to look into his silver eyes anymore.

Walking out of the room, I turned left and entered the kitchen. Standing there, seeing how clean everything was, I knew I didn't belong here. I didn't belong anywhere.

I was dirty, tainted, soiled for all time.

There was nothing clean about me.

Never would be.

I was nothing more than a soulless body with no more fucks to give.

There was no scenario where I came out on top.

Where I walked away, unscathed from my past.

Walking over to the counter, I reached for a knife and pulled it from its block. I felt nothing when I held the cold steel in my hand. I looked down at my wrist. After everything I'd lived through, everything I'd survived, I thought it odd. Just when it seemed my luck was turning around, I was going to end it all.

Sliding to the floor, my back against the cabinets, I tipped my head back as tears rolled down my face. I just didn't want to do this anymore. I was so tired of finding myself at the mercy of others. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone anymore.

The knife clanked to the floor and my arms suddenly felt heavy. Laying them beside me, I closed my eyes and wondered what my next life would be like. Would I have parents that loved me? Would I find happiness? Would I be wanted? I hoped so.

Dear God, I hoped so.

A growl sounded just as I was yanked to my feet. "What the fuck did you do?"

Barely able to open my eyes, I smiled. "You should have let them kill me."

"Shut up," Malice said, gathering me in his arms as he took me back to my room. Laying me on the bed, he walked into the bathroom, grabbing several towels before returning to me. Reaching for one of my wrists, he tightly wrapped the towel around to stop the bleeding.

"Please don't. Just let me go."

"No," he growled, wrapping the other as he ran from the room.

Laying there, I couldn't move, even if I wanted to. My whole body felt heavy, weighed down, and when he returned, I saw he carried a medical bag.

Placing it on the bed, he dug around looking for something when I muttered, "Why are you saving me again?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

Looking away, I closed my eyes and wondered why he was so determined to save me a second time.