Page 65 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“What kind of help?”

“Rehabilitation.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Rehabilitation?”

“Some of our young women need some extra help to be put on the right path,” he says. “Mr. Ozol makes sure they get the help they need.”

“So you give innocent young girls to a man like him. A man you barely know.”

“It’s not like that,” Josiah protests. “The women are treated well. The place they’re taken to is a special place. A healing place. A holy place. They’re safe and happy there.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. If you don’t believe me, ask Elyssa.”

I stop short, my blood running cold. I can see it on his face: He was lying the last time we spoke.

He’s not lying anymore.

“Ask… Elyssa?”

“She knows. She’s seen it. She helped rehabilitate the women. She helped take care of their children…” He trails off, watching the expression on my face. “She didn’t tell you?”

I can’t remember. I’d tell you if I could…

I feel my throat constrict. But I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Is she playing me? Is she just a skilled actor, like Anna was? Or is she just as much a victim as all the women who fall prey to Astra Tyrannis’s dealings?

What is hiding in her broken brain?

I can’t say. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long was Elyssa doing this work?

“A year? Two?” Josiah guesses. “Maybe more. I can’t remember. But if you ask her, she’ll tell you. It’s not a—it’s not what you say it is. It’s a place where women can start over.”

I get to my feet and move towards the door. I’ve had enough.

“Wait!”

I turn back slowly. Josiah’s leaning forward, his eyes wide with hope. “I… I gave you what you wanted. I answered all your questions. Does that mean you’ll let me live?”

“For now.”

Relief floods across the man’s face. He’s aged decades in the last week since I arrived at his precious little Sanctuary. Not so long ago, he had the appearance of someone respectable. Now, he looks like hell warmed over.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I shake my head coldly. “Don’t thank me just yet.”

The relief dies slightly on his face.

“Answer me this,” I say. “Why?”

“Why what?” he asks in confusion.

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