Chapter 3

I had a crescent-shaped birthmark on my forearm. Every outlaw in Deadwater knew it.

I bit down on the zip tie around my wrist with savage determination, heart hammering with desperate hope.

Just a glimpse—that's all Billy would need to recognize me.

Sensing something off, Billy stopped flipping his butterfly knife and walked closer through the oil-slicked floor.

The second my sleeve rode up—

The heavy steel shutter door crashed open.

Richard stormed in, his eyes locking onto my loosened restraints with frightening precision. "What the hell are you playing at?"

A strangled sound tore from my throat as I jerked my chin frantically toward Billy.

But Eleanor caught sight of the blood-smeared distress signals I'd scrawled.

Her face went white. She shrieked, practically shoving Billy out the door.

I watched helplessly as Billy turned away, cigar clamped between his teeth. The iron door slammed shut.

Then a vicious slap cracked across my face. Her diamond ring tore through my cheek, leaving a burning trail.

Eleanor sneered down at me. "This little bitch thought she could signal some backwater criminal."

Richard, immaculate in his custom suit, said nothing. He grabbed a heavy hydraulic wrench from a rusted toolbox. His shoe ground into my wrist as he seized my fingers one by one and methodically crushed them.

The sound of bone splintering echoed through the cramped space. "This is what happens when you don't listen."

Blinding pain whited out my vision. I arched upward and sank my teeth into his wrist with everything I had, determined to tear a chunk of flesh from my so-called father.

Richard roared. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head into the rusted support beam. The impact left me bleeding and limp on the concrete.

Eleanor rushed over in her stilettos, shooting Richard a furious glare. "Watch it! If she dies, what about Celeste's bone marrow transplant?"

Richard kicked my ribs repeatedly, pressing a handkerchief to his bleeding wrist. "Gutter trash like her? She's too mean to die easy."

I swallowed the blood pooling in my mouth and pulled my lips into something feral.

Through the crimson coating my eyes, I stared him down like a Texas wolf backed into a corner, grinding my jaw in open challenge.

Just give me one opening. One. In Deadwater, I'll make damn sure they never find the pieces.

That look pushed Richard over the edge. "Looks like you still haven't learned."

He snatched up a coarse hemp rope, looped it around my neck like I was livestock, and yanked me upright. Then he swung the wrench handle and shattered one of my molars.

As he drew back to break another—

The door opened.

A fragile figure in a pristine white dress slipped in behind old Arthur.

Richard immediately released the rope and kicked me aside, positioning himself protectively in front of the girl as if my blood might contaminate Celeste.

Eleanor rushed forward, delighted yet alarmed, trying to usher her daughter out. "Baby, why did you fly all the way to this hellhole? Get out—now. This filth will make you sick."

Celeste's pale face radiated gentle concern. She shook her head and slipped past Eleanor, white shoes spotless against the filthy floor.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gazed at my broken form.

"Oh, Willa... you're in so much pain. If you'd just sign, this would all be over. Once I'm better, we could all go home to the Upper East Side..."

I stared coldly at that face—compassion barely masking her triumph.

I spat blood and tooth fragments straight onto her pristine dress.

They'd dragged me across half the country to this lawless wasteland and brutalized me for one reason: to break my will so completely that I'd become Celeste's walking organ bank.

Everyone knew the princess had some rare disease. She needed bone marrow and blood transfusions every few months.

Celeste screamed and collapsed theatrically. Richard kicked me over in fury while Eleanor grabbed a rusted sickle, ready to pry my mouth open.

But then Celeste composed herself. She stopped them both, and something venomous flickered across her angelic face.

"Daddy, Mommy—don't blame Willa. But... maybe there's another way to make her agree to save me."

Eleanor's face lit up with manic joy. "What way? Anything to save you!"

Celeste nodded sweetly. Her eyes drifted past them—and locked on my stomach. Her smile turned cold.

"The doctor said even if we don't match, it doesn't matter. As long as we use a newborn with direct blood relation to Willa—extract the umbilical cord blood and stem cells—it'll cure me just the same."

Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Richard burst into wild laughter. He stepped outside and called Arthur in.

Pointing at me gasping in the blood pool, he announced with arrogant finality:

"Go find the most deranged, most worthless man in this town. As long as he can get her pregnant within a year—and she keeps producing until we get usable stem cells—I'll double your sponsorship fee."

Arthur stood backlit in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he studied me for a long moment.

Finally, he gave a cold nod.

Soon, to grind my dignity into the mud, I was assigned to the town's "night watchman"—some man they called the village idiot.

The night before they were to shove me into the abandoned house, Arthur came alone. He crouched beside me without a word and reached for my sleeve.

The moment he pulled up the fabric—

He saw the fresh cigar burns on my arm. And beneath the scars, a distinct crescent-shaped birthmark.

Arthur froze. His calloused hands trembled violently. He looked from the mark to my mangled face and back again.

"Christ... I'm a goddamn fool." His eyes went red, voice cracking. "One of our own girls..."

I watched his retreating figure with utter despair.

Celeste walked in, arms crossed, and ground her shoe into my hair. "You didn't actually think you could escape, did you?"

"Thought some stupid birthmark would save you? Don't worry. You'll die here. That's a promise."

The next morning, they shoved me into a dark mud-brick room like livestock—a reeking red cloth forced over my head.

All ten fingers crushed, hands tied behind my back. I didn't have the strength left to bite through my tongue. Despair pulled me under, cold and inevitable.

Outside, Celeste's shrill cackle pierced the air. She was shrieking at the bodyguards to set up cameras, voice trembling with sick excitement—she wanted them to rip off my veil and film me kissing that drooling idiot.

Heavy footsteps shuffled closer. I clenched my broken teeth, waiting in the suffocating darkness for my dignity to be shredded.

I had no idea what kind of monster they'd found for me.

The cloth ripped away.

Blinding light slammed into me. I went rigid, bracing for what was coming.

But nothing happened.

My vision cleared. A man stood there, clapping his thick hands—then suddenly froze.

He wiped the drool from his mouth, staring at my battered face with childlike confusion.

Then recognition hit. His whole face lit up, like a kid on Christmas morning:

"Willow! It's Willow!"