Boris
She should’ve been dead. Wrapped in plastic. Shipped back to her father with a note stapled to her chest: This is what happens when you cross me.
But Liam wanted to play savior. Break her. Tame her.
Now she’s gone—and everything we’ve built is hanging by a thread.
I look out over Broader, this dusty little town that made me rich. Not from oil. Not from cattle. From bodies. Women. Children Inventory.
They come in scared. They leave silent. And I get paid. But Kat saw too much. She saw the holding house. She saw the routes. She saw the faces. If she talks—if she breathes a word to her family in Italy— We’re not just exposed. We’re hunted.
I slam the door to the office so hard the frame cracks. Liam’s soft. He thinks this is about revenge. It’s not. It’s about control.
I’ve got
