DELIVER(59)

The clock on the dash read 3:58 PM.

“Take 35 south until he calls. He’ll tell you where to go from there.”

She nodded, gut churning.

He placed a hand on her jaw and a kiss on her opposite cheek, over her scar. She held miserably still as he kissed the corner of her mouth then fully on her lips. The skin around his mouth was colder, harder than Josh’s smooth complexion. The movements of his lips forced, pried, and dug in. The scent of his breath wasn’t unpleasant, but it was…wrong.

His hand fell away. “Come back in one piece.”

“I always do.” Key in the ignition, she started the van and backed out. He stood in the driveway, hands in his pockets, his expression tight, worry rimming his eyes. If she never returned, that would be the last look she saw on his face. Her chest hurt, a complicated pain.

Ten minutes outside of Temple, she pulled into a vacant parking lot, tucked the gun in her thigh-high boot, and climbed into the back. A whisper in her head begged her to not to deter from the routine. Slaves always rode in the back. Would he cause her to wreck in an attempt to escape? What if she was pulled over by a cop?

She didn’t listen as she yanked back the sheet and removed the gag. “I can’t…I don’t want you back here…like this.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. What the hell was she doing? She raised her eyes, clung to the calm strength in his. “Will you try to run?”





Chapter 28




“Not going anywhere without you, Liv.” The intensity in Josh’s eyes slammed into her chest, knocking her shoulders loose and freeing her lungs. She hadn’t trusted another person since Mom, and experiencing that feeling again was thrilling. And stupid.

She released the straps and waited, frozen beneath the gravity of her decision.

He rose, sidling past her, the chains straining across his back and arms, his jeans molding distractedly to his ass. He dropped into the front passenger seat. With a glance at his wired hands, he faced the windshield and let his head fall on the head rest. “Will you buckle my seat belt?”

Her heart hit the floorboard. More restraints. More trust she didn’t deserve. Maybe some day they could drive to an unknown destination without shackles and stomach-curdling anxiety. They could sing along to music on the radio and talk about the future. They could dine together in a restaurant, and maybe he would hold her hand.

Her hopes died in her chest. She’d surrendered her chance at love the day she roller-bladed to Van’s car. There would be no carefree car rides or dreams about the future. There was only her videos and his chains and the man who awaited their arrival.

As she drove, he sat sideways in his seat, arms locked to his chest, watching her with a maelstrom of thoughts turning behind his eyes.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

“Why does Mr. E require ten weeks of training?”

This would be difficult to explain to a guy who didn’t fit the hostage mold. “He allows the stages of captivity to run its course. Panic and denial consume the initial seconds to hours. Hostility and escape attempts happen in the first few weeks.” She swallowed. Never had she considered allowing captives to ride up front on their way to an intro meeting. Two weeks into their confinement, and their eyes burned with a desperate need to escape.

The pale green eyes studying her were patient, thoughtful, and nothing she was accustomed to dealing with. He rolled his lips. “And after the first few weeks?”

She stretched her neck, eyes on the cars zipping along beside them. “True acceptance is gradual and doesn’t fully materialize until the first couple months. Acceptance is necessary for the kind of slave Mr. E is selling. One who can follow his Master around without noticeable restraints.” Complete and total submission. Broken and hopeless.

“Eight slaves in seven years, if you count me.” His steady gaze warmed her face. “Nine, if you include yourself. That’s little over a captive a year. What do you do the rest of the time?”

“We hunt. Our selection process is based on the buyer’s requirements, family and social situations, but most importantly, the captive’s ability to conform. The latter takes months of surveillance to determine the ideal candidate.”

He shook his head. “You watched me for weeks and—”

“I knew.” Her stomach clenched, conflicted and lost. “I knew you weren’t the right choice for this.” She met his eyes and found her way. “You were the right choice for me. When I saw you, I couldn’t walk away.”

A smile tipped the side of his mouth. “There’s my girl, honest and open. Was that so hard?”

Her chest lightened, her pulse pumping in an untroubled rhythm. “You’re easy to talk to.” And easy to love.

As she drove, she explained what she knew of Mr. E’s network, how he never had contact with the clients, and how he’d created a referral system for new buyers. “Each buyer must pass along a reference at the intro meeting. It’s Mr. E’s requirement in the contract. Since I’m the only one who meets face-to-face, Mr. E preserves his and the clients’ anonymity. Once the delivery is made and the transaction is sent, we never hear from them again.” There was so much more to that last part.

His silence pulled at her skin, scratching with unasked questions. No doubt he was thinking about how impossible it would be to find her previous captives. If he asked where they were, she would lie to him the way she lied to herself. They had to be dead to her, because the truth was too risky, for him and everyone involved.