Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(54)

“I’m kind of afraid,” I whisper to Farren as I avert my eyes.

“Good.” He places his hand on the door handle and opens the door. There’s no going back now. “Fear will keep you alive, Essalin.”

Farren steps away from the car, and I watch as he strides toward Dawson. Farren is much taller than the older man, far broader in the shoulders. Now that I take a better look it appears Dawson’s suit has some sort of shoulder pads attached to make him look bigger. Even so, Farren dwarfs him. And despite Farren’s casual attire of a fitted black tee and faded jeans, he’s far more suave and put together than squirrely Dawson.

I sit dutifully in the passenger seat, watching and waiting for a sign from Farren to join the men. The air conditioning is off, and though the windows are down, it’s stifling in the car. Even so, I begin to shiver. I rub my arms, trying to generate heat. I wish I’d worn something less revealing. My too-short white shorts and skimpy red camisole have me feeling far too exposed. But this outfit is what Farren directed me to put on.

I’m playing a role, I remind myself.

When Farren reaches Dawson, the two men shake hands. I hear Dawson say, “I see you brought your young, pretty thing with you. Does this mean we’ll be playing with her today?”

Farren tenses, only a bit, but it’s enough that I notice. Dawson, however, pays no heed. His cold, obsidian eyes bore through the windshield glass, focused on me like there’s nothing between us. He says a few words to Farren that I can’t make out.

Farren then startles me when his voice rings out, gruff and commanding, “Essalin, come here.”

Warning bells go off in my head, urging me to stay put. But since I trust Farren implicitly, I obey his command.

When I’ve just about reached the men, Farren grabs my arm roughly. He yanks me to him. He wraps his arm around me and moves his hand to my chin, his thumb digging into my jaw. “Say hello to Mr. Dawson,” Farren growls in my ear.

I know this isn’t Farren. He’s also playing a role. But his rough handling has me whimpering instead of doing what he’s requested of me.

The pressure of Farren’s hold increases and he tilts back my head. “Essalin, do as you’ve been told,” he hisses.

Dawson chuckles, and I reluctantly squeak, “Hello, Mr. Dawson.”

“I see you have a strong-willed one here, Mr. Shaw.” Dawson says, smiling coldly. He steps closer to me, and Farren pulls me into his body protectively. “Those are always the most fun to break,” Dawson remarks.

This gross man is so close to me that his fetid breath fills my nose. I long to turn away, but Farren’s hand stays put on my jaw, holding me in place. His grasp tightens, like he knows what I’m thinking. I have a feeling turning away would be a very bad idea.

Thankfully, after one extremely long minute, Dawson steps back. Farren loosens his hold, and his fingers stop digging into my skin.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

My relief is short-lived, though, when Dawson says, “Let’s have a look at her.” His tongue darts out and he licks his lips in a reptile-like fashion. “Lift up her shirt.”

Fear turns to outright terror. Farren knew something like this was in store. That’s why he couldn’t arm me. A sob escapes me as Farren’s hand slips under the hem of my camisole, lifting…and revealing.

I start to cry, and he whispers in my ear, “Shh, trust me.”

He continues to lift my shirt higher.

The dry desert air would normally feel like a warm caress, but with my camisole bunched up all around my neck, all I feel is icy and exposed. But my humiliation is not enough for Dawson. He rubs at his crotch and rasps, “Unclasp her bra. I want to see more.”

I start to shake and press myself as far back into Farren’s chest as I can. Despite Farren’s calm movements and demeanor, his heart is pumping faster than normal. I know then that we have to pull this off…or Dawson will kill us. And though I suspect Farren is armed, killing Dawson must be a last resort, due to the potential fallout. This insidious man has influential connections. His reach is long. And though Haven is supposedly safe, Farren won’t take any chances.

Resigning myself that this is how things are going to roll, I go lax in Farren’s arms. He unclasps the front closure of my bra and peels away black lace, exposing my breasts.

“Very nice,” Dawson grunts. “Do you mind if I touch?”

Tears roll down my cheeks. Is this what Haven endured? If so, this kind of shit was probably just the tip of the iceberg.

“This one’s not for sharing,” Farren—to my relief—replies.

I’m momentarily calmed, until Dawson growls, “I’ve shared plenty with you, Shaw.”

I don’t know if Dawson means women who were brought here have been shared with Farren, or if he’s referencing the fact that Farren has “stolen” girls from him. My only solace is in knowing that the young women Farren “stole” from Dawson—and maybe slept with in order to keep up his cover story—were ultimately rescued and returned home.

“I said no sharing,” Farren states firmly.

Dawson shifts his weight and grumbles, “Fine.” And then he adds with a sinister grin, “Do you want to come into the house and f*ck her in front of me? I’d be happy with that.”

What? No, no, no…