THE moment Catarina paid the driver and returned to the warehouse, she realized the front door was intact. Ridley knew the combination to get in. He’d observed her unlocking the door many times, and he must have given it to the police so that they made no noise on entry.

Pressure built and built in her chest. So much pressure. Her heart hurt. Her soul hurt. Her eyes burned and her throat swelled. She heard screaming. Real screaming. Raw. Vocal cord–shredding screaming. She screamed for her dead mother. For April and her family. For Marcel who had slapped her face. For the terrible price she’d paid for trying to escape when she was seventeen.

Mostly she screamed to try to find a release from the terrible hurt that cut through her like a knife. She found herself on her knees, her throat so raw she was afraid it was bleeding. She crawled through the darkness to her bedroom on her hands and knees with the vague idea she’d gather her clothes and leave.

She knew she was in shock, her body refusing to function, when she couldn’t find the strength or desire to push herself from the floor and get to work. She crawled to the corner and wedged herself there, drew up her knees and wrapped both arms around them, rocking back and forth. And she wept.

The tears weren’t silent at all—they were full body-wracking sobs—soul-wrenching, agonizing sobs. It hurt to cry. Her abused throat protested, swelling so that she had to cough between the choking cries. She couldn’t stop once she’d started. She had twenty-one years worth of tears to cry and she shed them all.

•   •   •

ELI Perez slipped into the warehouse. The moment he pushed open the door he heard her. The screams dying away to be replaced by a woman crying. He couldn’t even call it crying. He had never heard such anguished screams or such broken-hearted, soul-destroying sobbing. He had caused that. There was no doubt in his mind.

Swearing under his breath, he made his way unerringly through the warehouse to the bedroom. He had the eyes of a cat and could see easily in the dark. He moved quickly to the open side of the room.

His first glance took in the bed. The sheets and blankets had been ripped to pieces, shredded the way he’d shredded Catarina’s heart. He swung around, carefully scanning the warehouse. She hadn’t had time to rip those sheets and blankets, to tear the mattress to shreds. He’d been one step behind her and had heard her anguished screams and then the sobbing. She hadn’t touched those blankets. That could only mean one thing. Rafe Cordeau had already found Catarina, and the problem that was Rafe Cordeau was much worse than any of them ever suspected.