Chapter 4

Dad yanked me up by the back of my collar, hauled me back to the pigsty, and hurled me to the ground.

"How dare you fucking run again!" Mom charged over and planted her foot on my back, forcing my face into the muck.

Thomas stood just a couple of paces away, leaning on his walking stick, watching coldly.

Mom panted heavily before turning to him and forcing a smile. "Can you do us a favor and teach her a proper lesson, Thomas?"

Before he could respond, the phone in her pocket rang. It was a video call from Chloe.

Mom answered the call, and Chloe's face appeared on the screen. She was leaning against her headboard in a silk pajama set, a fruit platter beside her. "Mom, is that troublemaker acting up again?"

"You bet she is! She took off a moment ago, but your father caught her."

Chloe tilted her head and pouted. "There's no point in beating her up, Mom. People like her can't be beaten into submission. Besides, what if she escapes and calls the cops? You can't keep an eye on her 24/7, can you?"

Mom froze for a moment. "What do you suggest we do then?"

Chloe smiled, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Mom, think about it. Why do those women trafficked into the mountains eventually stop attempting to run away? It's because they have kids.

"If my sister gets knocked up by someone in the village, where else could she possibly run? She'll stay in the village obediently and serve as my blood bank. Then, we can draw as much blood as we want. How convenient is that?"

In a heartbeat, all the blood in my body rushed to my head.

Mom's eyes lit up. "Darling, Chloe has a point!"

Dad leaned over and caught the last few sentences. He abruptly smacked his thigh. "Right! Didn't the village chief mention that there's a guy at the east end of the village who was just released from prison? He served ten years and has two lives on his hands!

"A man like that hasn't been with a woman in ten years. If we toss her to him, he could have his way with her tonight..."

He took one look at me and smirked. "We'll be killing two birds with one stone!"

I bit down hard on the rag. I was well aware of who Mom and Dad were referring to. It was Caspian Brown.

When I was eight years old, two drunk men from the neighboring village had held a knife to my throat and demanded money. Caspian had charged at them and brought one of the men down with a single slash of his knife.

The other man had retaliated, slashing Caspian from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear. Caspian hadn't even bothered to wipe the blood away. He'd simply struck back with another slash.

Caspian had taken two lives and was sentenced to ten years in prison.

On the day he was taken away, the entire village turned out to see him off. I chased the prison transport vehicle for over a mile before Thomas finally caught up with me at a fork in the road and carried me back.

After that, every year on my birthday, I would receive a letter from him. It always contained one single sentence. "I miss you, Quinn."

Three days ago, he'd finally completed his sentence and been released.

Dad dragged me toward the east end of the village by the back of my collar. When we reached Caspian's corrugated-metal shack, he pounded on the door. "Open up! I've brought you something good!"

The door swung open, and a man's silhouette filled the doorway.

Dad slapped a wad of cash against the doorframe. "This is my disobedient daughter. She's yours now; just make sure you don't kill her."

Without uttering a single word, Caspian accepted the cash.

Mom inched closer to the door, crouched down, and clamped her fingers around my chin. "This is what happens when you refuse to behave. Let's see who's going to save you this time!" she jeered.

The door closed from outside, and darkness swallowed me whole. I heard his footsteps drawing closer. Then, he stopped right in front of me.

The very next second, his hand clamped around my throat. He lifted me off the ground and pinned me against the corrugated-metal wall.

My back hit the freezing metal, and my toes left the ground. For a moment, I couldn't even breathe.

With his other hand, he yanked the rag out of my mouth. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a hoarse whimper.

Caspian closed the distance between us until I could feel his breath against my face. Then, he stiffened.

He instantly released his grip on my throat, and his voice trembled as he called out, "...Quinn?"