Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Cold air, polished floors, and a receptionist with a voice so soft it barely stirs the hum of the fluorescent lights. Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the ache that never leaves me—I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest.
Hawk means well. He always means well. Even when he was chasing Jordan around like a madman, he meant well. It was all for me.
The private waiting area is lined with beige chairs and a single wooden shelf filled with books. Textbooks, mostly, though there are a few older ones, cracked spines and faded gold lettering. Someone’s tried to make the place look comforting, but it just makes me nervous.
Because that smell—disinfectant and paper—snaps me back in time so hard my lungs forget how to work.
For a second, I’m not here anymore. I’m sixteen again, standing in my father’s office, the heavy curtains drawn against the afternoon sun, the air thick with cigar smoke and something darker.
Jacinto Agudelo’s office is perfect. Always perfect.
The girls are so young. Each one dressed like a porcelain doll—tailored dresses, ribboned braids, little shoes that click softly against the tile. One of them carries a stuffed cat. Another bites her lip so hard I think she’ll draw blood.
“Choose,” he says.
My mouth is dry. “Excuse me?”
He nods to the row. “Pick one.”
I look at him, at the girls, back at him again. I open my mouth. No sound. I swallow hard enough to hurt and try again.
“Pick one,” I repeat, because I’m still not sure what’s going on. “For what?”
He nods. “Each of them comes from a respectable family. Healthy lineage, well-behaved, obedient. I’ve chosen them personally for Señor Vega’s pleasure.”
The world tilts. “For Vega?”
“Of course. You’ve been…indisposed.” He says it like it’s a minor inconvenience. Like I missed a dental appointment. “Vega is not a man who tolerates disappointment.”
“I’ll go to him,” I say quickly. “Please. Let me. I’ll—”
He shakes his head. “You’re contaminated, Daniela. He doesn’t want to touch you until the infection clears. You should be grateful he’s patient enough to wait at all.”
“Then let him wait!” I cry. “You can’t do this to them—”
He slaps the desk hard enough to make the pens jump. “Enough.” His voice drops to a growl. “This is not a discussion. You’ll choose which of them he’ll have tonight.”
I can’t breathe.
He smiles like a snake. “You’ve always had good taste. Consider it a test of character.”
I shake my head. “No.”
His sigh is almost theatrical. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
He opens a drawer and pulls out his gun—a silver one, polished so bright the light glints off the barrel. He points it at me like he’s done it a hundred times before. Maybe he has.
My heart races, but not out of fear that my father will use the gun on me. My fear is for the girls.
“Choose, Daniela.”
The girls start crying softly. One of them whispers por favor. The smallest one—she can’t be more than twelve—hugs her stuffed cat and stares at me with wide and terrified eyes.
I can’t move.
My father raises an eyebrow. “No? Then perhaps I should decide for you.”
He turns the gun toward the smallest girl.
“Stop!” I scream.
“She’ll do just fine,” he says, cocking the hammer with an almost casual flick. “Pretty, innocent. Vega likes them that way.”
“Papa, please—”
“You know what happens when you disobey me,” he says, eyes cold. “Do not make me repeat the lesson.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “Kill me instead,” I whisper.
He laughs. “Be reasonable.”
When I don’t answer, he shrugs. “Very well. We’ll start with her and then move on to the others until you make a decision.”
“No!”
The gun stays trained on the girl’s forehead.
“Choose,” he says softly. “Or she dies. And then another. And another. I have four more, remember.”
I want to die. I want to disappear. But I can’t let him do this.
“Please, stop,” I sob. “Please.”
“Choose.”
The room is spinning. I close my eyes and point at the one who looks the oldest to me, tears streaming down my cheeks. “That one,” I whisper. “The one with the braid.”
The girl gasps. The guard grabs her by the arm. She kicks, screams, begs.
My father smiles. “Good girl.”
The door slams shut behind them.
The sound of the nurse calling my name drags me back to the present. My pulse is hammering so fast I almost don’t hear Hawk say my name.
“Dani? You okay?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just…spaced out.”
He studies me, his brow creased, but doesn’t press. Thank God. He’ll chalk it up to everything else that’s going on—Belinda, Gordon Brown, my life in turmoil.
The nurse smiles politely and gestures toward a hallway lined with white doors. “Right this way, Ms. Agudelo.”
Hearing that name spoken aloud makes my skin crawl. I want to tell her not to call me that, but Hawk’s hand is already at the small of my back and he’s guiding me forward.