Chapter 2

Arthur's private seaside villa sat on the edge of a cliff, completely cut off from the world.

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks carried in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. To me, it sounded like my mother's lullaby. My blood was starting to simmer.

He didn't make his move right away.

The first night, he cooked seafood pasta from scratch, cut my food into small pieces, and placed the fork in my hand. Mr. Perfect. Except he poured red wine for himself and juice for me. "Alcohol isn't good for you," he said. He hadn't asked.

After dinner, he led me through the villa by the hand, describing each room as we walked. His voice was pleasant—like someone reading a bedtime story to a child. But his hand never let go. When we reached the windows, the sea breeze blew in and I pretended to stumble. He immediately caught me from behind, arms around my waist. Too tight.

"Careful." His voice was low, his chin nearly touching my ear. "It must be hard, being on your own all the time."

"Mm... not being able to see anything, it really is helpless."

"You won't have to be alone anymore."

His heartbeat didn't speed up at all when he said that. I could hear it perfectly.

That night I slept in the guest room. The door wasn't locked—but footsteps passed through the hallway every thirty minutes.

The next morning, there was a glass of fresh orange juice and a white rose on the nightstand. A handwritten card tucked underneath:

"To my most special guest. —A"

I leaned in and smelled the rose. Beneath the petals, his fingerprints carried the faintest trace of formaldehyde. Those hands had dealt with something last night.

In the afternoon, he offered to paint my portrait. He positioned my shoulders, tilted my chin up. "Open your eyes a little wider... yes, hold that pose. Don't move."

I sat still for forty minutes.

So when he brought me a cup of warm milk that evening, I wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Something to drink? How about some warm milk?"

"Sure, thank you."

I sat on the sofa with my hands folded on my knees, the picture of obedience.

When the cup reached my hands, I caught a faint bitter note underneath the milk.

A high-concentration central nervous system depressant. Three milligrams would paralyze a full-grown elephant while keeping it perfectly conscious.

He wasn't cutting corners.

I raised the cup and took a big sip, completely unsuspecting, right under Arthur's watchful gaze.

"It's good." I smiled.

Arthur didn't answer.

He'd finally stopped smiling. Or rather, he was finally showing his real smile—nothing but raw hunger in his eyes. Probably looked a lot like mine at that moment.

The difference was, he didn't know that.

Ten seconds later.

I let the cup slip from my fingers on cue.

Glass thudded against the carpet. I slumped into the sofa, breathing hard.

"Arthur... my hands—why can't I move my hands?"

My voice cracked with a sob.

"Shh, don't be scared, Selena."

Arthur walked up and stood over me.

He reached down and grabbed my jaw, forcing my face up.

"You have no idea how perfect you are. A blind girl, no connections, no one who'd even file a missing persons report."

He pulled a set of heavy-duty zip ties from his pocket and bound my wrists behind my back. Quick, practiced.

"You know why I got into ocean conservation?" Arthur leaned close to my ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Because the ocean is the perfect dump. The girls who don't cooperate end up as fish food. But don't worry—your eyes are too pretty to waste. I'll have them removed intact. There's a buyer in the Middle East who's already put up a nice price."

I lay on the sofa, shaking violently.

"No... you can't do this..."

"Buck!" Arthur barked into his radio. "Get the basement ready. Fresh merchandise tonight."

"Copy that, boss."

Arthur threw me over his shoulder and walked toward the hidden door leading to the basement.

In the dark, the corner of my mouth curled up.

The drugs didn't work on me, obviously. The chemicals broke down into water the second they hit my stomach acid.

But I couldn't kill him yet. This was just one of his bases. Someone at his level had to have a much bigger network behind him.

Which meant a lot more wicked hearts out there. And my sisters were still hungry.