CHAPTER TEN

MIRI

He didn't speak for long. A few words and it was too muffled to make them out.

It was a distraction, though. My eyes are sore, but so is the rest of my body. Sore and cold – it shakes uncontrollably as I wrap my arms around my knees and pull myself together. My head and vision now clear as whatever he gave me wears off.

I feel vile. Wretched.

But that's his doing.

When I was in this room before, it was pure terror. Elias was a monster, and the fear he instilled in me is still there, buried under months of healing. He had one intention for me in this room – to rape me and have his fun.

Well, he didn't have the opportunity. Reed saw to that and set all of this in motion.

I make a crooked-sounding laugh as I wind back all the events that've happened since my first visit here. Maybe, if Reed hadn"t stepped in, things would have been different. Reed wouldn't have gone on the run with Naja, and I wouldn't have been dumped and left in the first safe place they found. Reed might still be alive, and Naja and I might be together.

But then I remember that the horrors of this place weren't confined to what Elias wanted to do with his cock. We were going to be sold to who knows who. Separated and ripped apart for profit. All because that's what the Cortez family do.

There have been times that I've hated thinking of Naja. Hated wondering what's happened to her and what she's doing. But she saved me and did everything she could to protect me here. She risked everything for me – to get me safe.

She'd be broken to see that this is where I am now – right back where it started.

I wipe the back of my hand over my nose as I bring my emotions under control.

Shaw Cortez. That's my enemy now.

All this time worrying about being afraid of what might happen, of men taking advantage, and I let it happen anyway. I never expected them to come for me, though. The scar permanently blazoned on my foot was a mark they always said was one of ownership. But I was na?ve.

Fuck.

The anger festers as I run it all over in my mind. It's the same fucking building – the same room. Like some sick, twisted vengeance. It makes this worse, somehow. Like the damage they did the first time wasn't enough for them. They needed to drive the knife in deep and twist, hard and sharp.

No. I'm not going to just sit here. I owe it to myself and everything I've already been through to stand up and fight. Even if I'm frightened, but it's not fucking fair when I've been drugged.

I rub my eyes, wiping any last drop of moisture away. I've cried all I will. I've had my time to feel sorry for myself. Naja didn't sit and cry when we were here, so neither will I.

"Hey, Shaw? I want my clothes," I shout. They might be ripped, but they'll be better than nothing.

Listening, I wonder if he even heard me. But then the steel bolt creeks and slides back, and the door opens.

He looks towards me but keeps his eyes lowered. Gone is the confident guy I met and fell for. Gone is the man who brought me pizza and drew me a bath.

"Number?" he barks, holding my clothes in his hands.

It was humiliating. They didn't use our names; they assigned us numbers. Naja was Five.

I don't give him the satisfaction of an answer, but I stare at him. He looks agitated and maybe a little drunk, judging by the way he's using the door to hold himself up.

The drugs still make my limbs feel heavy and jumbled, like they aren't quite in control of their own movements, and it's debilitating. If I'm going to fight, I can't be weak. I'm already at a disadvantage, and I can't give any more ground, so I need time.

"You've already had your fun. Just give me my clothes back, or are you really that disgusting?"

His face contorts at my words, and I see a stubborn line on his lips. It's a reaction. And a victory. "You don't get anything without me deciding you do, got that?"

"Oh yeah. You're the big man in the room. Is that what gets you off? Is that what you need? At least Elias, was that his name? He didn't need to drug me first."

"He fucked you."

"Isn't that what Cortez men do? They fuck us over?" My voice is bitter and rough with emotion and pain.

He bursts into the room, the door swinging back on the hinges and smashing into the wall as he covers the space between us. He grabs my leg and yanks it, hoisting it up and tipping me back and off balance.

I wrangle and protest, but I feel like a fish on a hook.

"See this?" He looks at the scar on my foot. "This means you're ours to do with as we like. I say when you have clothes. I say!" He screams the words before releasing my ankle.

His rage is clear, bouncing off him. He spins around and runs his hands through his hair as he paces around the prison. And it gives me a moment.

My eyes flash to the clothes he dumped on the floor as he came in. Going for the door might be the better option, but I need to be smart. Play for time. Get my strength. So I scramble and reach out for the fabric that will at least keep the chill off.

"Hey!" He reaches and grabs me, but I wrestle with him, clutching my clothes as if they are the lifeline I need. In a way, they are. "Stop fighting!"

"Never!"

He lets go, and I clutch my win.

I assume he'll leave and shut the door, but he doesn't. He shuts us both in and bars the exit with his body, sliding down the door and sitting on the rotting floor as I am.

Without a thought for how naked I am and pushing the thoughts of what he's done to my body away, I start to dress in my spoiled clothes. It does the job and serves to form the first part of my mask. The brave mask that Naja once told me to wear to make sure nobody could see through. That's what I need now – more than back then. I had her then. There's no one to rely on here but me.

He doesn't move, just sits staring ahead, like he's brooding. So I take the time to calm myself and set my mind to work. Naja played Jackson to start with. It was the plan to get us free. Shaw has unfinished business with his brother or something that he's fighting. Maybe it's grief, and maybe I'm part of that process. But there's a difference between Shaw and Elias. Elias was cruel and vicious with us – all the girls – like he was having fun. Shaw doesn't look like he's enjoying this. He's making a show to me like he's in charge, but he's not the same.

At least, that's what I'm hoping.

They've taken everything from me. My freedom, my sister, and now the small shred of trust that I'd managed to build for myself. Shaw's ripped that from me in a way that's possibly more damaging than if he'd just taken me from the street and brought me here. He took his time. He enjoyed toying with me, pulling me into his lie, and having fun. And still felt the need to violate me further. Well, screw him.

"Did you kill my sister?" I start off quietly, wanting to draw him in.

"What?" he snaps, looking up at me with a scowl.

"Did you kill my sister? It's a simple question, Shaw."

He stares at me like he's trying to work out if he should tell me the truth. It doesn't matter right now. I can't do anything to change the outcome either way, but I do need to focus on me and how I'm going to rescue myself. I don't have Reed to rely on, not that he was very reliable. But I'd certainly choose him as backup if it were on offer.

Instead, I have Shaw. The man who put me here.

"Just shut the fuck up!" he yells, and I can hear the agitation in his voice.

He stands and starts to pace again, leaving the door unguarded. He's not happy, and a part of me wants to see the struggle he's having. I don't care why he's not, but I need to exploit his weakness like he's preyed on mine.

"Tell me!"

"We don't kill our property, Miri. What fucking dumb thing is that. We sell you. That's what we do. We take, and we make money from you. That's all you are! Profit! Fucking cattle!" He's shouting by the end, and his whole body changes like he's physically raging from saying the words and ready to lash out.

"So, she's alive?" I smile, and there's a moment of relief that there's something to hold out for.

He grabs my face in his hand and wipes at my lips. "You shouldn't smile. You might give someone the impression you're enjoying this."

I punch out at his arm, and he releases his grip on me as I spit in his face.

He takes a few steps back, and I jump to my feet, grimacing at their less-than-stable state. They shake when I try putting my weight through them, ready to push off towards the door.

Be spirited. Play the role. Don't be frightened.

The words ring in my head as I almost fall into the metal wall. But my hands still fumble with the handle before they grip and yank. It opens, but then it's jolted back closed. Shaw's hand blocks the opening, but I try again, rattling the metal.

"Don't make this harder, Miri," he whispers over my shoulder. Potent alcohol is on his breath, sweet and rich.

"I'm not sure you could make this harder, Shaw. You don't have it in you. That's why you seduced me. You wanted to play nice. You"re not like them, are you?"

Pain sears over my scalp as he grabs my hair and pulls, dragging me back into the room. He spins me, using the pain to control my direction before letting go. Once again, he's in between me and the exit.

His phone starts to ring, and he slides it from his pocket. He reads the screen and looks more angry than I just made him. "Fuck off! Fuck!" he roars, shoving it back away.

I study him. Taking in every movement and every reaction, I use it to amend and build the Shaw character in my mind. He was the charmer: kind, funny, handsome, with gorgeous deep blue eyes. He had me fooled so easily, even when I was on alert. He might use that fact against me – that I was easy to get into bed – but that was him at the top of his game. This side of him, he's wrestling. Sure, he did a great job of taking what he wanted – of showing me what a Cortez man is all about while spouting some crap about vengeance and ownership, but he's in pieces. He's brooding. He's uncomfortable. Nothing like those other men at all.

He leaves, taking his anger with him.

He might mask that behind his actions and his name, but he's not revelling in this. Not like his brother did. No, Shaw Cortez revelled in being the ultimate catch – the gentleman who would go to lengths to make my pleasure last.

That's my way out.

That's what I have to use.