Page 24 of All The Pretty Little Lies

Confusion washes over me. If not Oscar and Zaire, then who? The realization that I'm in the hands of complete strangers hits me like a bucket of ice water.

Swallowing hard, I gather what little courage I have left. "Who are you?" I ask, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound strong.

The laughter intensifies, echoing off the walls and seeming to close in around me. It's as if my question are the punchline to some sick joke I'm not privy to.

"Who we are doesn't matter, sweetheart," the gravelly voice from earlier responds, now uncomfortably close to my ear. "What matters is who you are, and what you're worth."

Fear grips me, and I begin to plead, my words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Please, let me go. I-I won't tell anyone about this. My family—they'll pay whatever you want. Just please, don't hurt me."

A calloused hand roughly grabs my chin, forcing my head up despite the blindfold. "Oh, we know they'll pay," he says, his breath hot against my face. "But why settle for a one-time payout when we can milk this for all it's worth?"

The other voice chimes in again, "That's right, darling. Your life—and that virgin pussy of yours—are far too valuable to just send you back to daddy or your dear fiancé."

My stomach churns at their words, the implications sending waves of terror through my body. I try to pull away, but the hand on my chin tightens its grip.

"You see," the gravelly voice continues, "we're in the business of making money. And you, Ms. Rossi, are going to make us very, very rich."

The realization hits me like a freight train, leaving me breathless and trembling. They’re going to traffic me.

"What do you mean?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Let me explain," the gravelly voice continues, releasing my chin. I hear him pacing around the room, his footsteps echoing ominously. "You're not just any rich girl, are you? You're Vesper Rossi, the jewel of the Rossi crime family. Do you have any idea how many people would pay a fortune just to have a piece of you?"

The other man chuckles, a sound that makes my skin crawl. "Oh, the bidding war we could start. Rival families looking to humiliate the Rossis, perverts with too much money and a taste for the forbidden, intelligence agencies hungry for insider information."

"And let's not forget," the first man adds, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "the ultimate prize - your hand in marriage. Imagine the power someone could wield with you as their bride. The connections. The influence. It's intoxicating."

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a thunderous reminder of my vulnerability. I try to speak, but my throat constricts, choking back the words.

"But why stop there?" the accented voice muses. "We could auction off different aspects of your life. Your virginity to the highest bidder, your skills and knowledge to another, your future children to someone else. The possibilities are endless."

The room feels like it is spinning.

"And don't think daddy dearest or your Russian prince will save you," the gravelly voice warns. "We have friends in high places: eyes and ears everywhere. One wrong move from them, and you'll disappear forever."

I feel a hand stroke my hair, the gesture mockingly gentle. "But don't worry, princess. We'll take good care of you. Keep youhealthy, beautiful...marketable. After all, damaged goods don't sell as well."

Suddenly, I feel a sharp prick in my arm. A needle. Panic surges through me as I realize they're drugging me.

"Sweet dreams, Ms. Rossi," the accented voice says, already sounding distant. "When you wake up, your new life begins."

TWO YEARS LATER

OSCAR

Two years.Seven hundred and thirty days of searching, hoping, and coming up empty-handed. Each sunrise brings a renewed sense of determination and each sunset a crushing wave of disappointment. I can't give up. I won't give up. Vesper is out there somewhere, and I'll tear this city apart brick by brick if that's what it takes to find her.

The neon lights of Boston's underbelly flicker and hum as I make my way through the rain-slicked streets. The Second Sons have eyes and ears everywhere, but it's never enough. Every lead fizzles out like a dying ember. But I can't stop. The weight of this guilt sits heavy on my chest, a constant reminder of my failure to protect her.

I pause outside of a seedy bar, its windows clouded with years of grime and cigarette smoke. My reflection stares back at me, a stranger with haunted blue eyes and a perpetual frown. I barely recognize myself anymore. The Second Sons have grown. What started out as a way to save Vesper and our families from Victor Petrov’s influence has become our refuge. Even though Victor still hasn’t connected the dots of our plan to rescue her, my father had quickly fallen out of favor with our uncle after failing him. With my father out of power, our family fell onto hard times. The opulent estate my parents had loved now belongs to one of our cousins, Victor’s new second. With no money of their own and no power, my parents abandoned Boston and returned overseas, leaving Zaire and I to fend for ourselves. Thankfully, we had a nest egg due to some underground side work we’d been doing while at the academy. We had a small fortune saved up, and we’ve managed to grow it to keep us, Alex, and Talon living comfortably.. We may be outcasts and bastards, but we have something that every other heir doesn’t, freedom.

"Oscar," Zaire's voice crackles through my earpiece, tinged with exasperation. "It's time to call it a night."

I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling up inside me. "Not yet. I've got one more contact to check."

"Brother," Zaire sighs, and I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, tattoos rippling across his forearms. "It's been two years. We've looked everywhere. She's gone."

"Don't say that," I growl, my hand curling into a fist at my side.

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