Page 20 of Ruthless Savior
"He said I owed the full amount then and there, since I’d missed three payments. With interest." My voice sounds small, distant. "I told him I didn't have that kind of money, and he said there were other ways to pay off a debt."
A small muscle jumps in the side of Ronan’s jaw. "What kind of ways?"
I can feel my cheeks burning, but I force myself to continue. "He said I was pretty. Young. Educated. That there were men who would pay good money for someone like me."
Ronan's knuckles are white where he's gripping his water glass, but his voice remains carefully controlled. "What else?"
"He asked if I'd fucked anyone." The words come out in a rush, like maybe if I say them fast enough, they won't be real. "I tried to lie, told him I wasn't a virgin, but he didn't believe me."
"Jesus Christ." Ronan’s accent thickens as he swears.
"He said virgins were worth more. A lot more. That he knew just who could find the right buyer for me, someone with specific tastes who would pay well." I'm shaking now, the memory of Neil's hands on my face making my skin crawl. "I told him I wouldn't do it, and he said I didn’t have a choice. That I was going with him, and if I wasn’t a good girl, he’d send someone to pay my mother a visit."
Ronan is very still, the kind of stillness that feels dangerous, like the moment before a storm breaks. "And then?"
“He drugged me.” I touch the crook of my arm. “I woke up in a bedroom in a strange house. He had a doctor come to examine me, confirm I was a virgin. He hit me again, for lying, and told me not to do it again. He told me if I was good, and worked hard, and pleased who I was sold to—this man, Rocco De Luca—I’d be allowed to go home when my debt was paid off.
I spent most of the time there drugged, before I was taken to the warehouse. They put me in the cage, drugged me again, and then—” I swallow hard. “Then I woke up here.”
Ronan takes a deep breath. “It must have been a shock to wake up in another strange house. I’m sorry.”
He sounds genuine, and I feel that urge to believe him—to trust him. I push against it. When Ronan finally speaks, his voice is rough with an anger that doesn't seem directed at me.
"Neil Sawyer works for the Italian mob here in Boston. When someone can't pay their debts, especially a beautiful woman, he passes them along to work off what they owe in whatever waywill benefit the don the most. Clearly, he thought Rocco—the don—would take a special interest in you."
Beautiful woman.The words hit me unexpectedly, sending heat through my chest that I don't want to acknowledge. I tell myself it's just a clinical observation, that he's simply explaining Rocco's business model, but the way he says it, with that accent and his eyes on me, makes my pulse quicken.
I push the feeling away. My new captor might be unfairly handsome, but that doesn’t mean I need to dwell on it.
"What kind of work?" I ask, though I think I already know the answer.
"The kind you're thinking of. And worse." Ronan's expression is grim. "Neil specializes in finding women who are desperate enough or isolated enough that no one will look too hard when they disappear. Women with sick family members, mounting debts, nowhere else to turn. When they inevitably fail to pay, Rocco sells them and benefits."
"Women like me."
"Women like you." Ronan pauses. “He wouldn’t have let you go when your debt was ‘paid’. It would never have been paid. If you survived that long. You would have been sold to someone out of the country, more than likely. They wouldn’t have let you go.”
The reality of what almost happened to me settles over the table like a shroud. If Ronan hadn't shown up when he did, if he hadn't decided to raid Rocco's warehouse for whatever reason…
"I need to go home," I say suddenly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "My mother is depending on me. She doesn't know what's happening, and she needs me to take care of her."
"You can't go home."
"You keep saying that, but you don't understand?—"
"I understand perfectly." There's steel in his voice now, the kind of authority that brooks no argument. "The men who took you will try to kidnap you again. The fact that I rescued you has put an even larger target on your back. Rocco doesn't just want his property now—because that’s what he views you as—he wants to send a message about what happens when someone interferes with his business."
I stare at him. "So what are you saying? That I'm supposed to just stay here forever? Hide while my mother fights cancer alone?"
"I'm saying that going home will only put her in more danger than she's already in."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What do you mean, more danger?"
Ronan reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. "Rocco's men went to her apartment this morning. They left this. I had men following him, so they picked it up after the men left. I assume they were looking for you, now that I know the context of what happened."
I take the note numbly, unfolding it, and my blood runs cold. It’s brief, written in sharply angled block letters, all caps.
WE KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES. WE KNOW WHERE SHE WORKS. WE KNOW WHERE SHE GOES TO CHURCH. TELL THE IRISH WE WANT OUR PROPERTY BACK.
