Could this be the same man who had once beaten an investor bloody for brushing his hand against her leg?
He didn’t answer—only pressed room cards into her palm. “You owe me this, Linnea.”
Nausea rolled through her, her fever from the leukemia stoking her skin hot and cold. Still, she forced herself upright and walked toward the first investor’s room. She had no choice.
---
The door clicked shut behind her.
A portly man advanced, eyes glinting. “So this is the woman Soren kept for five years. Tender indeed. He’s ruined you already—why pretend to be pure for me?”
Her scream went nowhere. The lock held.
He shoved her onto the bed, tearing at her dress. The wound on her back ripped open, white-hot pain shooting through her. She thought she’d learned to live with agony—until the moment his weight crushed down and a sob forced itself past her teeth.
Delirium dragged her under. She was twelve again, clutching her mother’s hand as they bent over a starving boy collapsed by the roadside.
Mom, he’s so pitiful. Let’s take him home.
She had pulled him to his feet, dabbing blood from his face with her handkerchief, never minding the stains on her pink princess dress.