Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I don't know how much Russian she speaks, but I'm guessing she's picked up quite a lot. She hasn't said much about her family or her background, but she's biracial, with strong Eastern European and Puerto Rican roots, I think.
How the fuck she ended up in Tarasova's hands, I don't know. Most of his cartel slaves are Eastern European immigrants. He preys on people with no family or connections, people no one would ever come looking to find. But she's very obviously not an immigrant he lured over here. She's American.
I'd very much like to know how he got his hands on her.
"I…" Her gaze sweeps over my face again, uncertainty blazing in her eyes. And then she nods. "Okay."
I smile at her, unable to help myself. For someone who's been through what she has, she's sweet as hell.
I help her into the elevator behind Roman, tucking her into the far corner with her back against the wall. Despite the charitable size of the elevator, once Gunner and Sanders step in with us, she ends up crowded into the corner, my body almost flush against hers.
Once again, I find myself fighting to control my body's automatic reaction to her. My dick presses against my zipper, my skin humming.
Cristo, she smells good.
She tips her head back, staring up at me. She has a tiny tear-shaped scar right above her left eye. There's another at the right corner of her bottom lip. Both appear as little white marks against her soft, brown skin. The sight of them pisses me off. Anyone who mistreats women or children doesn't deserve to live.
The pulse in her throat flutters wildly as she stares at me. Her breasts rise and fall in rapid movements, her breathing still too quick and shallow. Her eyes are haunted and full of fear. But for one split second, I think I see something else flare to life there. Desire. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, burned out by the panic beating at her. But that little glimmer has my heart pounding against my ribcage.
I skim my nose along her crown.
She whimpers softly.
I force myself to pull back, fighting like hell for control.
Roman mutters something to Gunner, who nods and hits the button on his mic, letting the guys downstairs know we're on the way down with her. A second later, the doors slide closed and the elevator jolts.
Faith jumps, a distressed sound leaving her throat.
"Veruyu v Boga, Otsa vsemogushchego, Tvortsa neba i zemli," I murmur, clenching my fists against the urge to scoop her up in my arms and carry her to safety.
She eyes me uncertainly until I nod, silently encouraging her to translate it for me…though I'm no longer sure if this exercise is for her benefit or mine.
"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth," she whispers, translating as flawlessly as I expected she'd be able to.
"Good. That's very good." I smile, reaching deep to find the words of the prayer I haven't uttered in years. "I v Iisusa Khrista, Edinogo Ego Syna, Gospodа nashego, kotoryy byl zachat ot Dukha Svyatogo, rodilsya ot Marii Devy."
"And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary," she repeats, her gaze still locked on my face. Her breathing slows little by little, evening out.
"Stradal pri Pontii Pilate, byl raspyat, umer i pogrebyon," I recite.
"Jesus Christ," Sanders mutters under his breath.
"Shut the fuck up," Roman snaps at the younger man.
"Say it, angel," I order Faith, turning to glare at Sanders when she flounders.
"Um, s-suffered," she whispers and then looks at me for confirmation. I nod, which seems to give her the courage to keep going. "Suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried…"
"Soshel v ad, v tret’i den’ voskres iz mertvykh."
"He descended into hell. On the third day, He rose again from the dead," she says, barely flinching when the elevator jolts to a stop.
Roman murmurs something to Sanders and Gunner, who both nod. The doors slide open and Roman steps out into the hallway, Gunner and Sanders on his heels. Gunner sticks his foot in the door to keep it open. Once they do a quick scan, Roman motions us out.
Faith trembles as we step out into the hallway. Aside from the two agents stationed at opposite ends of the hall and a massive bin that looks like an industrial-sized laundry basket on wheels, the hallway is empty. The entire area is closed to the public, used only by staff to get equipment and food from one place to another. The hallway smells like a school cafeteria.
"This way," Roman mutters, turning to the right.
"Voshyol na neba, sidit odestvnuyu Boga Otsa vsemogushchego," I whisper to Faith, tugging her close to my side as we follow behind him.