Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I can’t expect her to talk to me if I’m not willing to do the same.
Merda!
I walk to the huge windows, and crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “Come sit, Jenna.”
Her eyebrows pull together as she cautiously walks toward the nearest couch, and taking a seat, her shoulders slump.
I glance out the window and stare at the trees.
If you want this woman, you have to share your past with her.
When my mouth refuses to open, I make a frustrated sound.
Deus. It’s difficult.
I shake my head, and as I look at where Jenna is staring at me from the couch.
Her lips part, and shock ripples over her face. A moment later, her features crumble into a heartbreaking expression, and I see the question in her eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper.
She lifts her arm, covering her mouth with her hand, then a tear escapes from her left eye.
Disgust rears up in my chest, and close on its heels, debilitating shame.
My voice is hoarse as I say the words out loud for the first time. “I was thirteen and starving.”
One tear after the other begins to roll down her cheeks.
The memories creep out of the deepest pits of hell where I buried them, and I shake my head hard as I mentally fight them back, refusing to let them take hold.
Long minutes pass before I’m able to talk again. “I heard how other kids were making money, and I was desperate. I thought I was willing to do it so I could get something to eat, but I was wrong.”
Five euros for a hand job. That’s what I was told, but those five euros cost me much more.
A soft sob escapes Jenna, and darting to her feet, she rushes around the couch, and I quickly uncross my arms just in time for her to plow into my chest.
“It’s okay,” she says, her voice clear and strong even though it’s trembling. “I understand.”
I engulf her in a tight embrace and press my cheek to the top of her head. “I’ve never told anyone and had planned to take it to my grave, but I need you to know that I…” My voice cracks, and I have to take a moment as destructive emotions move through me.
Jenna pulls back a little and lifts her face to me. When our eyes lock, she finishes my sentence. “You won’t do that to me.” I see the trust forming in her eyes, then she says, “I’ll take your secret to the grave with me. Along with my own.”
She lets go of me and takes a couple of steps backward, and I watch as indecision plays over her face.
“How old were you?” I ask in an attempt to make things easier for her.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and I patiently wait as she types before holding the device out to me.
Taking it from her, I read the words, and I clench my jaw so hard that my molars grind against each other.
17. 4 Men. 4 hours.
“Who?” I growl, my eyes snapping to hers.
She shakes her head, then she turns around and walks in the direction of the kitchen.
I look down at her phone and read the words again.
She was gang raped for four hours.
I was in the back of that cab for five to ten minutes before he threw me out onto the icy street.
Four hours. That’s a fucking eternity.
Indescribable anger pours through my veins.
I will find out who they are, and I’ll do the same to them that I did to Martim.
My phone rings, ripping me out of my thoughts. Pulling the device out of my pocket, I check the screen and see it’s John.
“What?” I answer, my tone brimming with the rage I still feel.
“Just checking how you are?”
“I’m fine. Did the trucks go out on time?” I ask.
“Yeah. So…where are you?”
We don’t have the type of work relationship where we chat about trivial things, and it has me snapping, “Get back to work!”
I end the call and shove my phone back into my pocket, then I walk to the kitchen, where I find Jenna busy chopping up vegetables.
She sniffs and uses the back of her hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks, then continues cutting a carrot.
Without saying a word, I move closer. I grab the pack of rice from where she left it on the counter, and removing a pot from the cupboard, I pour some rice into it before adding water and setting it on the stove.
“Are you okay with stir-fry?” she asks, her voice soft again.
I nod, and now that I know what we’re making, I pull a pan out of the drawer where it’s kept. I set it down before going to the pantry to get the olive oil and spices.
Jenna moves the bowl with the strips of steak closer to me, then continues with the vegetables.