Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
How old were they when they died?
Was it a painful death, or were they taken out quickly as the men in Madame Victoria’s compound often threatened?
Did they think of me when they died?
So many questions have swirled around my head in the past few hours, but I haven’t been able to answer a single one of them.
The salty blobs I cleared away from under my eyes soak into the poorly made envelope when I gather it in my hands. The paper looks ancient and handmade. It almost crumbles under my weak touch when I pry open the seal and pull out the photographs from inside.
My breaths clog in my throat when I scan the first image. It shows Hailey graduating senior year. She is wearing her graduation cap and gown and posing between our parents. Her wolfish grin of satisfaction is huge but not as big as the people surrounding them.
My family was still suffering in this picture, but at least I know they survived my first six years of captivity.
The second image dries my throat to the point it is painful. It rattles my hands and my core.
“When was this taken?” I step back from the door before peering up at the monitor dangling in the corner of the space. Fresh blobs plop onto my cheeks when I spin around a photograph of a wreckage to the surveillance device. “Did you do this? Did you stage their accident?”
When my questions are answered with painful silence, I rummage through the rest of the photographs. They answer my questions, but they keep my grief high.
My parents are dead as Ghost advised, but he didn’t kill them.
They were struck by a truck returning home from Hailey’s high school graduation ceremony. It appears as if my father careened onto the wrong side of the road.
Hailey was the sole survivor.
A second after the lock on my door rattles, I lock eyes with Ghost.
“Why did you make out you killed them when they died in a traffic accident?”
He balks for barely a second before he enters my room to place a serving dish on a small table on the left.
“You said you spared Hailey’s life, but you didn’t.” I toss down the photographs of newspaper clippings of the accident. “You didn’t save her. You don’t even know who she is!”
I swallow some of my sass when he murmurs, “Then how did I know how to find her today?” He opens the dish, exposing a meal fit for a king, then shifts on his feet to face me. “And I never said I killed your parents. I simply announced your sister would join them in the family plot if you didn’t do as asked.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you ‘spared’ her.” I’m confused, and it is heard in my tone. “You can’t threaten someone then make out you’re their savior when your threat works as intended.”
My stomach was grumbling in hunger only minutes ago. Now it flips in devastation from Ghost’s reply, “Do you think trafficked women are only used for sex, маленький ягненок? That there aren’t other parts of their bodies people want.” Bile burns my throat when he lowers his eyes to the images splayed across the glossy white table. “She wouldn’t have survived without a transplant.” He returns his eyes to mine. “We ensured she had one.”
“Why would you save her? That doesn’t make any sense.”
The depths the Bobrovs go to make women fall into line is undeniable when he replies, “As I said previously, she is alive so you will obey. It is how things work around here.” The tick on his jaw announces he isn’t a fan of his reply, but he commences barking orders, stealing my chance to interrogate further. “You are to eat then rest until the morning. With your schedule corresponding well with our arrival, another insemination will take place in the morning.”
“Insemination?” He mentioned it before, but with my grief too strong for me to comprehend, it is only sinking in now. “You’re artificially inseminating me.”
I’m not asking a question, more summarizing, but Ghost bobs his chin. “You will have another four rounds before the window closes.”
“Window?”
He looks as ill as I feel when he murmurs, “Ovulation window.”
“I don’t… I can’t—”
Everything makes sense when Ghost interrupts my quiet ramblings, “Hence the donation of organs.”
I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t return his watch. I’m too busy taking in the differences between Hailey’s face in the graduation photograph and the video Ghost played at the altar. Her smile wasn’t as large as the people around her, nor was her face carefree, but it was far more radiant and alive than the video footage. She’s hurting—badly. I can’t make matters worse for her.
“I will do as you ask.” I don’t want to see any dishonesty in Ghost’s eyes when I plead, “Just leave her out of this.” So instead of facing him while asking, I plonk my bottom into a seat around the dining table and stab my fork in the tender red meat.