The Forbidden Secret (Forbidden #2)

Chapter One

Evelina Bianchi

I had not seen the outside world beyond my cell for what felt like weeks.

Weeks.

I had spent my time counting the cinder blocks in my cell.

Two hundred and twenty-three. It would be less if I had counted only the whole blocks.

I noted everything about the guard rotations, but without a window or any way to tell the time of day, keeping any notable pattern became increasingly difficult. Even the meals were inconsistent. Someone would regularly bring breakfast and dinner. Sometimes, a guard would offer a snack for lunch, and occasionally, I would be given a to-go container from some fast-food restaurant.

Occasionally.

Usually, they gave me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and carrot sticks—a meal that I used to love that quickly grew despicable.

A woman in boxer shorts and a thin tank top sat on a bed across from me now. She constantly hugged her knees to her chest and cried. I wondered about her story and how she got here, but I didn’t ask. None of the girls ever talked or shared stories. Sometimes, they whispered when the nights grew cold, and the guards left their shifts early, but even those words were brief and impersonal.

It was only because of those whisperings that I knew what my fate was to be.

“Another sale is in three days,” one of the women said from down the line of cells.

“Who are they auctioning this time?” I asked.

Nobody answered. Nobody knew until the day of the auction when the victim was taken to be cleaned, shaved, and paraded before a blinking camera. Then, they came back here until someone came for them.

Someone always came for them.

And those women were never seen again.

I was here longer than anyone else had been. I had seen the process over and over again.

I knew that I was in some kind of human trafficking ring, and I knew my father had been the one to put me here. With three sisters, I always knew the day would come when I became useless to my father, but I never would have expected him to do something like this.

Every day, I sat on the edge of my bed, waiting. It was all I could do.

But today? Today, the wait was over.

I stood in front of a camera with a blinking green light and didn’t move. I clenched my jaw, trying to decide the best moment to fight. I had seen how lackadaisical the men were with the women who followed them willingly. I had been compiling a plan the whole time I had been here and knew the best way to go about this—the best way to escape.

And escaping was exactly what I would do.

They told me nothing about the sale as I was escorted back to the cell, but the guards seemed impressed. They mumbled to one another in a language I didn’t understand. Maybe Russian?

My cellmate sat on my side of the room when they shoved me inside, and I paused as I looked between her and her usual spot. She nodded toward me, and I obeyed, if only to see what had prompted the change in her.

I sat beside her on the small cot, and she met my eyes. “They say you were sold for the highest price this year. A half million,” she whispered so quietly that the guards didn’t notice. Her words had a slight accent as she listened to the guards and repeated their words. “Clide Newton.”

The name meant nothing to me.

“They say you are the daughter of a mafia lord.” Her forehead crinkled.

“Something like that,” I mumbled back. If he considered me his daughter, I wouldn’t be here.

I had done everything to stay out of his sight. I spent my entire life hiding and keeping my life behind closed doors.

Her eyes were wide as she continued listening. “He buys many girls,” she said.

“I don’t care,” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t care. ”

She sealed her lips, and I buried my face in my hands. Not even a fleck of color remained on them. Not a hint of paint. Not even a small remnant of charcoal. An empty silence filled my head as I considered what I had to leave behind the day my father dragged me into a transport van with no explanation or show of empathy.

“They are coming for you soon.”

I stood and walked to the other side of the cell, hands raised above my head as I forced myself to take a deep breath. I wouldn’t let them take me. I had too much to lose and too many people relying on my safety.

My Uncle Mauro’s self-defense lessons flashed through my mind, and I knew what I had to do as I paced back and forth, trying not to make eye contact with the dozen women who stared at me with sad, remorseful glances.

They looked at me as if I was already dead.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The metal of the cell door swung open, and two guards marched inside, reaching for me. I shrugged off their touches and followed without any struggle, which seemed to appease them as they walked toward the exit of the building.

I had felt the breeze outside when the door at the end of the hallway opened, though I hadn’t seen it.

I just had to reach that door, look around, and run.

The man to my left spoke to the other casually, using a tone that suggested he felt anything but threatened. I walked with hunched shoulders to show the lack of threat I posed, and it seemed to work as I kept my eyes down and followed them into the crisp night air.

Night.

For the first time in a while, fresh air tickled my nostrils, and the haze of the night sky filled my vision, polluted by the city light around us but still more beautiful than I had imagined.

Would I be able to express the emotions of this moment in a painting once I escaped? Would the sadness and hopelessness convey itself if I managed to fully encompass this still life? Or would I paint a glimmer of hope with the colors and vibrancy?

I exhaled and surveyed my surroundings, including the minivan that sat about twenty yards ahead of me, the lights on and illuminating the pot-hole-covered parking lot in front of the van.

It was now or never.

If they got me in the van, I would not stand a chance. But here—the city swarming with people around me even at this late hour—there was an opportunity. I took three more steps before steeling my resolve and turning toward the first guard.

He glanced over at me, his expression showing a lack of concern that proved I had done my job well. I reached toward him and pulled his gun from his holster without a second thought. I had never killed before and had never expected my artist’s hands to do something so brutal and merciless, but what choice was there?

If I were to be trapped under the thumb of this Clide man, I would be leaving too many people behind. If I let them do this, more people than just me would suffer.

The cherub face of a three-month-old baby girl flashed behind my eyes—a little girl who relied on me for income and safety. She needed a mother, and I had been absent for too long already. I had been paving the way for a safe life, and I had come so damn close.

I wouldn’t let that safety dissolve. She deserved the world, and I would give it to her.

I turned the gun on him and removed the safety, not allowing myself to hesitate before pulling the trigger.

I watched the shock in his eyes as the gun exploded, and he fell backward. The terror and surprise resembled the look I had seen in the eyes of a dozen girls before they were whisked away from the cells, so I felt no remorse for him as the second guard’s arms wrapped around me. One of them pinned me to him, and the other grabbed my wrist in a bruising grip that had the gun clattering to the ground.

I bent my knees for more leverage as he pulled me backward, and I slammed my heel into his shin, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. I reached for his gun, too, but he had seen my intentions and shifted away too quickly. He reached for me, grabbing a fistful of my hair as rage filled his eyes.

The pain of the grip had me reaching up and grabbing his hand to loosen the pressure, but he dragged me back toward the van.

I screamed.

The guard cursed again and pulled me closer to him, covering my mouth with his sweaty palm. I opened my mouth and bit down hard enough that I tasted blood. As he tried pulling away, I continued biting until he had released my hair, and I toppled to the ground.

I gave myself no time to adjust as I scrambled to my feet and took off sprinting, ignoring the small rocks that tore at the bottom of my feet. I stumbled over what felt like a shard of glass, but I kept going.

The door to the van slid open, and I didn’t bother looking over my shoulder as I heard it rev and take off after me. If I could find somewhere to turn and hide—somewhere a person would see me—I could escape and be home free. I could go and get my daughter and…

And what?

Beatrice wouldn’t be safe with me—not if someone was hunting me. Beatrice and I had flights booked. I had expected to have her out of the country within the week—no paper trail left behind. I had our fake passports and the funds I needed to support us for years.

I had a life planned for us, and now I was running for my life and guaranteed to be hunted to the ends of the earth. If not by my father, certainly by the man who had spent half a million dollars to buy me.

Something crashed into my back, and I went down hard. The weight above me shouted in Russian, and three others replied from mere feet away. I struggled, trying and failing to break from his grasp. He pinned both arms behind my back, and I thrashed, screaming as a hand came around my mouth.

“Shut up,” one of the men shouted at me.

But I wouldn’t stop fighting. I couldn’t.

They pulled me to my feet, all four men keeping a close eye on me as they walked toward the van they had moved closer. I kicked and pushed, but the man holding me lifted my body from the ground and carried me, only mildly struggling as I put all my effort into fighting.

I could smell the car freshener in the van now, and I kicked the window, hoping to shatter it. It didn’t budge as I used my legs to push myself away.

“Stop fucking fighting,” he shouted again.

His voice was overshadowed by the distant sound of a gun and a gasp from behind me. Then another shot. A third one.

“What the—”

The man holding me fell backward and released me. I slammed hard into the ground again, but I was up and moving in less than two seconds. I didn’t know what had happened, but I wouldn’t stop and find out. I just needed to get to a more populated area and—

Another sleek suburban stormed into the parking lot, headlights beaming on me. It jolted forward, and I froze as it approached quickly. I expected it to slam into my body, but the breaks squealed as it turned. “Get in,” a woman shouted.

I took a step back, but her hoarse, deep voice shouted again.

“Get in the fucking car, or they are going to come out here and kill you for what you did. Now.”

Maybe it was ignorance or the fleeting adrenaline, but something in her voice sounded sincere. Realistically, what other choice did I have? If I tried to run on foot, they would likely find me before I reached the main road. I needed this woman’s help.

I leaped into the SUV, heaving from exertion as it took off, and I hunched over. I gagged, but nothing came out of my mouth as I forced myself to calm down.

Finally, after a long moment, I looked around the dark interior.

The dark-haired woman in black leather sat across from me, examining every inch of my expression. My gaze drifted to the figure beside her and—

No.

This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything I had just gone through.

My eyes locked on the gold chain around his neck—the same gold chain that had brushed my chin as he pounded into me. Large, calloused hands clenched into fists on his lap, veins protruding from the pressure of his grip.

The same hands that had pinned mine above my head.

A pink mouth, now set in a thin line, had traced gentle caresses across my skin. Between my thighs. Across my nipples.

And his eyes—the same life-hardened, crystal blue eyes that had once taken in every inch of my bare body—met mine with an expressionless, stony gaze.

His eyes were exactly as I remembered them, only now, they didn’t show a trace of the passion he had shown a year ago. He showed no sign of even remembering me.

Zeke had been there when I had most needed a release, leaving me consumed by the throws of passion after a night that should have never happened.

Under different circumstances, I may have believed it was all a dream.

When I returned to the mansion where we’d had our night together, I found it abandoned. When I Googled his name, I found no trace of him ever existing. When I called his number, it was no longer in service.

I knew he didn’t want to be found.

As I sat before Zeke, bruised, shaking, and fuming, I cemented my decision.

He would never know about his daughter, who shared his crystal eyes and dark complexion.