DELIVER(66)

She returned her phone to her boot and kept the gun aimed on the woman as she backed toward the door, her feet gliding smoothly and confidently. “I need a phone number for the delivery.”

Traquero stared at his wife like he wanted to run to her. “Maybe I want a different boy. One who doesn’t look at you like that.”

She stumbled and resumed her backward walk. “They all look at me like that. You’ll change your mind when the training is done.” She held the door for Josh and followed him out.

For five minutes, she drove, silent, eyes darting to the side mirror. He wanted her to fall apart the moment she hit the gas. He needed to see her, not the damned Deliverer. The stink of fear and sweat oscillated through the dark interior, but somehow she held it together.

His nerves stretched, and his pulse refused to slow down. He tried not think about the battered wife, the botched deal, or Traquero raping her from behind, but his thoughts surpassed turbulent. His hands ached in the wires. He wanted out of his chains. He needed to hold her. He felt so damned useless. “Liv? Talk to me.”

She turned off the road and followed a long dirt path through a thick cluster of trees. Deep within the grove, she stopped and turned off the engine, her eyes hidden by the moonless night.

Wrestling with the scarf, she untangled it from her hair and tossed it to the side. The screen on the phone in her hand awoke, casting a soft light over the dash as she knelt in the space between their seats. A flash of pain sparked in her eyes. “I have to call Van.”

He clamped his teeth together. He knew she’d need to check in. The nightmare was never-ending.

She connected the call, her gaze watery and heartbreaking. She squinted at the screen, at Josh, then switched it to speaker and set it on the dash.

“Already talked with the referral.” Van’s voice prickled across his skin. “He wants a girl. The usual requirements.”

Kate was still at the house, waiting for her delivery day. So another girl would be ripped from her life. Dread clamped his stomach.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Van said, blandly.

Leaving? A rush of possibilities jump-started Josh’s brain.

She touched his fists with trembling fingers and untwisted the wires. “I didn’t secure the deal.”

“What do you mean?” The question dripped from the phone, a slow ominous reverberation.

Her face paled in the screen’s dim light, her expression tight. “He wants a heterosexual boy to come for him on demand. It didn’t happen the way he wanted.”

“What the f*ck did happen, Liv?”

She sucked in a sharp inhale. The wires loosened between their hands. Circulation rushed to Josh’s fingers in biting stings, but the sensation dulled with the rush of her next words.

“He f*cked my ass, Van. Then he f*cked me again by rejecting the deal.” She pulled the wire free and flung it at the back of the van, her teeth grinding so violently he could hear the enamel scraping.

The line went quiet for a heartbeat, two… The sound of shattered glass crashed through the speaker. “Goddammit, Liv. God f*cking dammit.” Heavy exhales. “Get home. Now.”

She winced then recovered with squared shoulders. She unscrewed the quick links connecting Josh’s chains and paused on the last one. “The videos.”

“There won’t be any f*cking videos.” The line went dead.

She ducked her chin, hiding her face. A surge of anger rocked Josh backward. He knew Van didn’t have any control over the videos or what would happen to their daughter, but he sure as hell wasn’t putting his ass on the line to fight for her. Josh suspected he was more afraid of losing Liv and this fragile arrangement than anything else.

The chains fell off his chest and arms and pooled around his waist. His freedom swept through him in ragged breaths.

She gazed at him with stiff lines of determination on her face, an expression he’d seen a hundred times, the unwavering glare that tortured him, aroused him, conjured his nightmares, and filled his dreams.

He memorized each twitch of her lashes, the delicate point of her raised chin, every faltered breath. He was consumed with having her and terrified to lose her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He reached up to brush his fingers through her thick dark hair.

She recoiled before his hand made contact. A blank mask fell over her face, a wall of ice slamming between them. She moved to the driver seat and faced forward.

His momentary calm burst into a roaring fire. Hands fisting, heart pounding, he didn’t know what do with the fury burning through his veins. He tagged his jeans and boots from the floorboard and jumped out.

He dressed as he walked, jerking on his boots, kicking branches out of his path. His muscles heated, and sweat slicked his bare chest, chilling in the night air. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry for her. The abuse done to her body. The helplessness of her situation. His inability to free her.

He slammed a fist into the nearest tree trunk. Again. Again. Pain ricocheted through his hand, down his arm, and fed his breaking heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her silhouette standing a few yards away. A slender shadow, shrouded by darkness. And in her raised arms, she held a gun, trained on him.

He threw another fist. Absorbed the burn. Expelled the rancor. He knew she was holding a gun on him to prevent him from running and putting her family at further risk. Regardless, she wouldn’t shoot him. Not because she needed a slave, but because she loved what was hers with a self-destructing passion. He faced her and held out his arms. “I’m yours.”