Page 30 of The Seller

I try to convince myself that I don’t know he’ll be hurt, but there’s no question. They’re going to want information, and he’s not going to give it to them, and then they’re going to get violent. Still, I could leave him. It would be forgivable.

He’s a monster.

But I’m not.

I check the glove box of the car and find the inevitable weapon secreted there. I’m not super familiar with guns, in spite of having studied in the US, but I think I can fake it.

I step out of the car and hear shouts coming from the chapel, sounds of holy things being desecrated. Every step up the path is one in which I question my sanity. This isn’t the plan. The plan was simple. Get taken. Get sold. Get free. There was never any ‘save a human trafficker from my father’s goons’ step in there.

I push through the church doors and as I do I feel the impulse to cover my face, but I don’t. I want to hide badly, but my identity is the most effective shield I can have from these brutes.

Sure enough, they’ve won by merit of their superior numbers. They have Stavros tied to the altar. They’ve ripped his shirt open and fuck knows what they’re planning on doing next, but I don’t intend to wait to find out.

They don’t notice me at first. They’re too busy kicking his ass, pounding on him with their fists and boots, to pay attention to what is behind them.

I raise the gun and clear my throat.

“Let him go.”

A dozen assholes rotate on their axis to stare at me like idiots. Everybody in the church looks surprised by my appearance, but none as much as Stavros.

He’s in a bad way. He’s had the shit beaten out of him. They’ve only had him for a couple of minutes, but it doesn’t take long to hurt a man. That pretty face is swollen and bruised and one of his eyes is closing up. I don’t know what else has been done to him, but I’m guessing from the way he’s leaning to one side and breathing with some difficulty, that they’ve broken at least one of his ribs.

“Sirios!” The leader of the thugs exclaims.

I fucking hate that name, but of course it is the one they know me by. And now it’s the name Stavros knows me by. I can tell by his expression, bloodied as it is, that he already knows who I am just by that extra syllable.

He’s staring at me with his jaw slightly dropped, probably wondering how he didn’t figure it out before. It probably seems so obvious now he really looks at me and sees me not as his naughty little fuck captive, but as the daughter of one of the most powerful criminals in Italy.

“Let him go,” I repeat. “And nobody dies.”

The ringleader makes an ugly expression at me. “He’s scum, Sirios. Let us kill him. It’s time you were married. Let us take you to your rightful husband.”

“Rightful husband?” I sneer the words back. “No man has a right to me. Certainly not the one you work for.”

“You were promised to him. Of course he has a right to you.”

“It’s not 500 BC anymore,” I snap. “You can’t just promise girls in marriage anymore. They have choice.”

“So you want this man to sell you. So you can have choice?”

He’s confused, but that’s because he’s stupid. I have no intention of explaining myself to him, or to anyone.

“Let him go,” I say for the third, and final time. “Get the fuck out of here, now. Or I’m just going to start shooting you all one by one. Anyone want to guess who will be first?” I sweep the gun back and forth casually around the room. My finger is resting lightly on the trigger. Very poor trigger discipline, but excellent menacing behavior. Men like these always underestimate ladies. They might not believe I would kill them on purpose, but they absolutely believe a hysterical woman is capable of pulling the trigger and killing them.

“We’ll go,” the thug says. “But it’s only going to make him angrier if he has to find you. You should come with us.”

“I don’t care,” I say simply. “His anger isn’t my problem, and I know he has dozens of other girls to stick his old cock into. Tell him to forget about me.”

“They don’t have your blood.”

Men always have to fucking argue.

“I thought you were going,” I say coldly. “And make sure you actually go, or the next person to get shot will be you.”

He calls his men to him and they file out, leaving Stavros hanging from his arms on the altar. This is some fucked up medieval shit. I run to his side and cut the cable ties keeping his arms up. One side seems okay, but the right hand side of his body is more badly hurt. He’s stiff and obviously in pain, as much as he tries to hide it from me.

“We need to go. Now.”

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