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Summary
“Let me go!” she says.
“No,” Charon says. “Look at me.” She refuses, turning her head away with clenched teeth. He yanks her head forward, his hand on her jaw. “I said look at me,” he says, his voice far too even for the vitriol she feels for him, for his kind. Slavers. “You try that again and you will get killed.”
It gives her pause. But just barely.
She bites back, practically spitting the words at him, “You mean you’ll kill me.”
“No,” the ghoul says, releasing her arms. “I am trying to keep you alive.”
“Whatever,” she says, but he sighs.
“Don’t try to run,” Charon says, sounding far more weary than she could have imagined from him. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? He got a little doll for the bargain price of twenty times what her entire net worth had been when she’d been captured. He says, almost gently, “The collar on your neck is made for people like you. For fighters.”
The way he says it— it almost seems— proud?
She scoffs.
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After being captured by Paradise Falls slavers, the Lone Wanderer is sold to a ghoul from the Underworld.