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International waters. Down in the belly of a smuggling cruise ship, a rotten stench hung heavy. Crowded stowaways were going feral, fighting over spoiled food. In the corner, a lump of mangled flesh rose and fell faintly—like something already dead, not even bothering to move. Thick iron chains locked her legs. Gauze wrapped her ankles and wrists, yellowed and filthy, the blood on it long dried and crusted. Her tendons—hands and feet—had been cut. She’d been dumped on this ship to rot. For three days, she’d fought to stay alive, and all she’d gotten in return were curses and beatings. But she wouldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t bow to fate. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Damien Gibson’s back—cold, decisive, walking away. He’d said, “Serena Harlow, don’t ever let me see you again in this life.” “Mike, do it.” A raspy voice carried from somewhere in the distance. Then his buddy’s uglier laughter followed. “Boss said we had to wait till we hit international waters before we touched her. I’ve been holding it in for three damn days.” Serena’s heart slammed. She stared over, on guard. Several huge men reeking of sweat and rot were coming straight for her. She staggered up, dragging the heavy shackles, backing away—out of the cabin, all the way onto the deck. “Baby, what’re you hiding for? Once we hit Southeast Asia, you’re getting sold as a slave anyway. Might as well let us have some fun first.” “The hell you dragging your feet for? We still gotta film it and turn it in!” Serena’s face went bone-white. In her eyes, a dying kind of despair exploded. She wasn’t stupid. She understood exactly what they meant. Someone had ordered this—wanted them to humiliate her on the ship, then post the video online so she’d stink for life. Selling her like livestock wasn’t enough. They wanted her name crushed into the dirt, too. Yeah. It was all her own fault. But Damien… your heart was still too vicious. You knew I was innocent. You knew how much I loved you. E
