Rose’s POV

The text came at 9:14 p.m. the next night.

One line. An address on the industrial side of town. No name. No explanation.

I stared at it for eleven minutes before I got in the car.

The cuff was gone—I had worked it off with a butter knife and a lot of swearing—but the red mark around my wrist remained. Every time I moved I felt the ghost of the metal. Every time I sat down I felt the dull ache between my legs where Jeff had opened me twice in one night.

I wore a skirt again. Shorter this time. No panties. I told myself it was...