Eden
Day Seven
Dressed like a black-caped version of Death, Zola crept from the kitchen to the nearest house of men. With the amount of drugs the American woman had doled out, her rapists should be sleeping like hibernating Russian bears, but she needed to be cautious, just in case one of the rats hadn’t finished his soup.
She’d been on this cursed island for a month, ever since she’d gotten on the wrong side of Baron Sokolov. The malicious white-haired man had removed her from her post as the Russian ambassador to India, and cut off her finger and tongue, before sending her here. Hoping her son, Pyotr, a gifted covert operations warrior, would find her, she’d held onto hope like a life preserver, fantasizing about rescue every time the men had r***d her.
The men had a rule against s
