Page 42 of Where Broken Wings Fly

There were no photographs from our wedding. It was a private affair on the well-guarded grounds of Sanchez Mansion, tucked away in an expensive corner of Mexico City. I heard the whispers that day from his staff as they watched on, silent and culpable.

Another wife.

I hope this one lasts longer.

It was the single worst day of my life, even beating out the late, snow-swept night I found my father dead in a clutter of discarded drug paraphernalia. Mr Sanchez was determined to rival that slice of despair with his own personal brand of pure evil.

I can still taste the tears that soaked my cheeks as he dragged me to his playroom for the very first time. There was no point in running, even when he tore my flimsy white dress and yelled vicious curses that broke my courage before he broke the rest of me.

Sixteen years old.

A child to anyone else.

It didn’t stop him. From the conveyor belt of women he shipped in for years after our wedding, it became clear that Mr Sanchez likes them young. Trafficking me across the globe against my will wasn’t enough for him.

He grew tired of breaking me, over and over again. No amount of depravity was ever enough for him. Abandoning the computer, I try to stand and end up falling to my knees. My lungs are so tight, so constricted, that I feel like my chest is on fire.

The walls are closing in on me as Lola’s office melts away, replaced by the familiar dark-red walls of the playroom. What if he somehow tracked our movements? Or if he uses his fortune to hunt us down? I know how determined he is when it comes to inflicting misery.

As much as I fucking hate myself to admit it, I would rather take Arianna and plunge us both off a cliff before returning there. At least we’d both be safe in death. He can’t hurt my little girl if she’s dead at my side instead.

“Willow? You up here?”

Creaking footsteps ascend the steep staircase up to Lola’s office. I tighten my arms around my trembling legs, making myself small and invisible. It doesn’t stop Zach from kneeling down in front of me, his fruity scent and light voice revealing his identity.

“Open your eyes, babe.”

“Go away,” I squeeze out.

“Not happening.”

Gentle fingertips coast along my jawline, encouraging me to look up at him. When I manage to pry my eyes open, I’m looking into the green depths of Zach’s orbs. The forest stares back at me in a canopy of olive-tinged vines.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“Arianna woke up,” he explains with a faint smile. “She couldn’t find you. I was talking to Lola when she came downstairs crying.”

“Is she okay? Let me up.”

“Lola’s got it under control.” His hands grip my arms, preventing me from running away. “I’m more concerned about you. What are you doing up here alone?”

Knocked off balance by the soft croon of his voice, I find no desire within me to lie. Something about Zach invites trust; he’s non-threatening in every sense of the word. In fact, there’s an almost childlike lilt to his smile.

“I was making sure we’re safe.”

“How?” he asks.

“My husband hasn’t reported our absence to the authorities. The media would know by now if he had. We’d be splashed all over the news.”

“The media? Why?” Zach frowns.

“He’s kind of a big deal in the business world.”

A tangled strand of light-brown hair falls across his eyes, and I fight the urge to swipe it aside so I can drown in the warmth of his presence again. The realisation is like a cold bucket of water on my head. I can’t touch him.

I’m running from a sadistic son of a bitch with enough money and power to bend the will of God if it pleases him to do so. The last thing I need is another person up in my business, making this mess even more complicated.

“Why did you come looking for me?” I ask him instead.

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