Captive Of The Ruthless Warlord Boss

From the back cover

Betrayed by my own uncle for a stack of hundred-dollar bills, I was drugged at the Miami airport and trafficked to a heavily armed mercenary compound in the Darien Gap.

Stripped of my dignity, I was scrubbed with industrial bleach and graded as an "A-class asset." I was supposed to be a gift for Axel Sterling, the ruthless warlord who owned the estate, but he took one look at our trembling line and coldly declared he had no interest in women.

To vent her frustration, the estate manager, Bea, decided to make my life a living hell.

She locked me in a pitch-black solitary cell, starving me for days. She dragged me out only to force me to watch runaway girls get torn apart by massive mastiffs and swamp crocodiles.

She wanted me completely broken and begging, a mindless toy ready to submit the moment the warlord returned.

Sitting in the freezing mud, covered in blood, I was pushed to the absolute brink of madness. I couldn't understand why I was being kept alive while the others were sold off to the cartels. Was it really just because I had recognized a fake 1792 colonial map in his foyer?

When Axel finally returned, Bea shoved me onto the burning asphalt, throwing an oil-stained rag at my face.

"Wipe them clean! Or I'll throw you back in the pit!"

She hoped my clumsy panic would trigger his extreme OCD and get me killed. But I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.

Recalling my university antiquities restoration classes, I treated his mud-caked combat boot like a priceless 16th-century manuscript, perfectly lifting the dirt without a single scratch.

The warlord stared at my filthy, battered body, his dead eyes finally sparking with a dark, calculating interest.

"Stand up. Come inside."