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Tears Of Salvation: Chapter 6


Two years ago, when Isabella saved Ana.

I’ve been back from St. Monarch’s for two weeks when the yearly auction is held.

The mansion is draped in luxury, servers scurrying everywhere to prepare for the guests. I glance at the elevator that leads beneath the house. That’s where the girls are being kept in rooms and where the auction will take place. I’ve only been down there twice before, but it was enough to see what horrors take place beneath the house I call my home.

“Don’t embarrass me tonight,” Mother suddenly says as she comes up behind me.

I turn to face her and let out a sigh. “Do I have to attend?” I whine like a spoiled brat.

She gives me a cold glare. “Yes.”

I shrug and walk toward the elevator with her. “I’d rather go clubbing with Nadia and Gloria.”

Mother puts in the key, activating the elevator and the doors slide open. Once we step inside, her gaze sweeps over the revealing red dress I’m wearing. “Now that you’ve completed your training, I expect you to get involved in the business.”

“Nope.” I give her a sweet grin. “I plan on making up for the lost time. The training was tedious. I feel I deserve a couple of years off for the torture you had me endure.”

Mother’s eyes narrow on me. “How did I manage to raise a spoiled daughter? I despise that you don’t take after me.”

The elevator doors glide open, revealing a chamber with an octagon-shaped stage in the middle of the room. Chairs with bidding stations form a half-moon circle around the podium where the girls will be paraded.

Shrugging carelessly, I walk into the somber space. “You should’ve thought about that when you fucked my father.”

Mother’s face tightens with anger, and then she sneers, “You’re right, I should’ve. But, like you are now, I was young and stupid.”

I grin at her again. “See, I’m like you after all.”

I’m given a look of warning, and then the guests start to arrive, escorted down by Hugo, my mother’s lover and right-hand man.

My features turn to solid steel as I watch one depraved person after the other fill the room. Watching as the cesspool of humanity gathers, hatred begins to tremble in my chest.

I wish I could end them all with one blow, but knowing that’s an impossible task, I play the role of the Princess of Terror and dutiful daughter.

Soon the bidders take their seats, and then the auction begins. My heart bleeds as the young girls and boys are paraded, but it’s when the last girl is offered for auction that my muscles tense.

She’s fairy-like, giving me the impression that she could be killed by a simple slap, never mind whatever the winning bidder has planned for her.

My heartbeat speeds up as I listen to the bidding climb higher until she’s sold for one point two million dollars. Then, my focus turns to the man who just bought the girl, and stepping closer to my mother, I ask, “You must be happy with the price he’s paying?”

She hardly spares me a glance as she sneers, “You’ll probably spend it all in the next two weeks.”

I let out a fake amused chuckle. “Don’t mind if I do.” I let my gaze roam over the attendees. “Who are these people?”

“Mostly businessmen and bored wives of millionaires.” Luckily, Mother gestures to the man who just purchased the girl. “Mr. Sawiris is in construction. He’s been known to bury his slaves under the latest building he’s constructing.” Mother smiles at me. “Once he’s done with them, of course.”

The blood chills in my veins, but somehow I manage to keep up my act.



I’ve followed Sawiris to Medellín, where he’s spending the weekend before heading back to whichever hole he calls home.

I only have two days to free the girl. After that, she’ll be lost forever.

My heart is thundering in my chest as I climb over the wall of the mansion where Sawiris is staying. I’m dressed in black pants, a long-sleeve shirt, boots, and gloves, blending in with the dark night around me. I also have makeup on that makes me look like I’m in my fifties, with a grey-haired wig, so I’m not easily recognizable. Creeping toward the back of the house, my mouth goes dry from the adrenaline pulsing through my body.

You can do this, Isabella. This is what you trained for.

My muscles tense when I spot the two guards stationed outside the patio’s sliding door.

Once I’m close enough, I burst into action, darting forward. Jumping into the air, my legs wrap around the first guard’s neck, and as I flip him, I hear the satisfying crack. His body drops to the gleaming tiles as I land on my feet.

The second guard pulls out his gun, and I dart to his left as he fires off a silenced shot. The palm of my hand meets his nose but not hard enough to shove the bone back into his skull. He stumbles but catches his balance just as I deliver a solid punch to his jaw. Another shot is fired, missing my right leg by an inch.

Grabbing hold of his shoulder, I use his solid frame to swing my body behind his, and then I wrap my arm around his throat and my legs around his waist. I tighten my grip, cutting off his air supply. With grunts, he drops to his knees, and then he slams me back against the tiles. The force vibrates through my body, but I don’t loosen my hold.

It takes a moment before his grunts grow quiet and his body goes limp. Then, shoving the bastard off me, I grab his gun, and training the barrel on his forehead, I pull the trigger. I pick up the other guard’s weapon and shove it behind my back.

Opening the sliding door, I step into the living space. A guard comes running from a hallway to my right, and I quickly fire a shot that hits him in the neck. Then, swinging around, I plant another bullet in a guard’s chest as he comes racing down the stairway.

I check the clip, taking note that I have seven bullets left. Shoving the clip back into place, I stalk to the stairs and swiftly ascend the stairs to the second floor.

I search through the rooms, thinking how stupid Sawiris is for only having six guards. The remaining two are stationed at the front of the house, and I know it’s only a matter of time before they realize something is wrong if they haven’t been alerted by the gunfire yet.

Reaching the main bedroom, I kick the door open just as Sawiris is busy choking the girl.

The sickening scene shudders through me. The girl’s naked and beaten, which tells me I’m too late. 

Sawiris glances over his shoulder, irritated that he’s disturbed while raping and abusing a girl that doesn’t look much older than eighteen.

His eyes widen, and then I pull the trigger, burying a bullet between his eyes. His body slumps over the girl that’s in too much shock to even make a sound.

Rushing to the bed, I grab hold of Sawiris’ body and toss him to the floor. For a moment, bile builds up in my throat when I take in the broken state of the poor girl.

I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier.

“We have to get out of here.” My words don’t seem to register, and I can’t blame the traumatized girl.

I grab some of Sawiris’ clothes, quickly dressing her in a button-up shirt just so she’ll be covered. “We have to go. Come on,” I say as I pull the girl to her feet.

Grabbing hold of her arm with my left hand, I pick up the gun from where I set it down on the bed, and then I drag the girl out of the suite.

The moment I step out into the hallway, I’m prepared to kill anyone who gets in my way of saving this girl.

I pull her behind me as we begin to walk to the stairs. When we reach the front door, I murmur, “Stay behind me. If anything goes wrong, just run.”

I feel her shuffle a little closer to me, and I give her arm a comforting squeeze.

Opening the front door, my eyes search for the other two guards. The one’s taken partial cover behind a pillar slightly to my right, and as he glances from behind the pillar, I pull the trigger.

I yank the girl out of the house, and as we race down the stairs to the driveway, I spot the other guard up ahead by the gates.

That’s the mistake many wealthy people make. They hire idiots.

I fire two shots, and as his body drops to the ground, I throw the gun to the side and pull the other weapon from behind me. Rushing to the guardhouse, I press the button for the gates to open, and then I drag the girl off the property to where the unmarked van I bought two days ago is parked.

I shove her into the passenger seat, and once I’m behind the steering wheel and we’re driving back to Bogotá, I take a couple of deep breaths.

I glance at the girl who’s cowering against the door.

“You’re safe now. I’m taking you to a house where you can recover. After that, you can go home.”

Finally, she lifts her eyes to me. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“Why did you help me?”

“I hate sex slavery.” I keep my answers short, not wanting to give her too much information about me.

Silence falls between us, and I can feel the pain she’s in, trembling in the air.

Halfway to Bogotá, she whispers, “I’m Ana.”


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