my miserable story. “My parents died in a car accident when I was nine. My father was drunk. So was my mother.” I close my eyes and zone out, forcing the memories back but bringing the words I need forward, reciting them robotically. “I had no other family so was fed into the foster care system. Three foster parents tried and failed to bring me under control. I was too angry at my parents for being so careless with their lives and leaving me all alone.” Danny’s lips falter for a split second, before he continues dotting my skin with his lips, weaving his fingers into my hair. As if his kisses have the power to heal. “I was teased at school. My pain wasn’t my own. Everyone else seemed to control it—my mother and father for dying, the bullies for enhancing it. I started cutting myself because that pain I could control.” My voice remains even and strong, but my grief returns, as strong as it was back then. “I was put in a children’s home. The bullying went on and I continued to hurt myself. Every time someone was cruel to me, I cut myself. They put me in therapy. I did one session and ran away.” I take a breath. I’ve never told this story. Ever. “A man found me in a homeless center where I used to go every Sunday to get hot soup. He was kind to me. Put me in a hostel with a dozen other young girls. Some were pregnant. Young girls who’d gotten themselves into trouble and had run away from home. Or so I thought.” Danny’s mouth stops again, and this time his body stiffens above mine. I smile sadly to myself, because he already knows what’s coming. I should have realized back then, but I was young, naïve, and desperate. “The first week was fine. All hot meals, clean clothes, care, and attention. Then the men started coming. The first time I was raped, I just lay there, frozen. It was like an out-of-body experience. I remember telling myself that if I shut down, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Just like I did when the kids at school teased me for being an orphan. That it would be over quicker if I didn’t resist. I was pregnant by fourteen.” Danny’s on his way out of my neck again, and this time he doesn’t let me stop him. His face is expressionless, though he can’t hide the swirl of anger gaining momentum in his shrewd eyes. “It was a blessing and a curse,” I continue quietly. “The men who came to the hostel didn’t want the pregnant girls. I was left alone. Then one day I watched one of the other girls give birth to a little girl. I watched them pull it from her womb and take it away. A month later, she was back in the game. I realized then that the only thing I had that I loved was growing inside of me and the second it took its first breath, it would be taken. I didn’t want to lose all over again. So I ran.”
Danny’s eyes close, his chest expanding from an inhale. Even his jaw is tight. “But they found you.”
“I was in labor. Couldn’t fight, couldn’t run. They took me back to the hostel and I had my baby.” For the first time, my voice cracks, and I fight fiercely to keep my emotions in check. “I held him for a few minutes, and they were the best minutes of my entire life. Then they took him away.”
His head shake is mild as he scans my face. “How did you get away?”
“I didn’t. After I gave birth, I hemorrhaged. I was broken. They had no need for me anymore. But . . .” I pause a beat. “But I still had my looks and my body, even if I’d lost my soul. Nox took a liking to me. I was given to him as part of a deal. Nox was young. He dealt in women and drugs but he had no money. No respect. No power. I helped change that.” I take a breath. “He blackmailed people. I was his secret weapon. It was all I was good for. Dazzling men. Making them stupid. Distracting them. He’s so hungry for power and respect, Danny. He’s evil. Dangerous.”
“And my family killed his family.”
“What?”
“Fifteen years ago. Carlo went to Romania. He’d heard the Dimitri family were planning