DELIVER(87)

A low, agonizing hum vibrated her chest. He wouldn’t lie about that, and the realization tore through her in a barrage of buckshot. “Oh no, Van.” Her chest convulsed, and a sob climbed her throat. She stroked his cheek, staring at the blood soaking his shirt. “Oh, God. What have I done?”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment and snapped open, glassy with pain. “It’s okay. There’s no—” His spine arched, and he moaned. “No contract.”

She gulped at the thinning air and pressed her hands to the bullet hole. “No contract? No hit man to collect on your death? Or Mr. E’s?” She glanced at Josh, his eyes wide and locked on Van.

“A bluff.” The corner of Van’s mouth wavered as if attempting a smile. Sweat trickled down his temples. His gaze landed on Josh, and his lips bowed downward.

A bluff. She knew Van’s coercions intimately, and this wasn’t one of them. He would never f*ck around with Mattie’s life. Tears rose up and burned trails down her cheeks. “If he doesn’t hire hit men then who killed Mom?”

“He arranged it.” His voice quaked. “His job—” His chest caved in, and his teeth snapped together in agony.

Warm streams of red pumped over her fingers. The steel in his eyes dulled, his complexion a pallor of white. He was losing too much blood. Josh disappeared behind the bar, banging things around in the cabinet.

The paper crinkled in Van’s fist. “You love him?” His chest stilled as if he weren’t breathing at all.

She didn’t glance away as she nodded, slowly, confidently. If anyone understood the connection between captor and captive, he did.

He closed his eyes and released a slow, easy breath.

Josh returned with an armful of dish towels, pressed them against the wound, and lifted Van’s shoulder to see beneath his body. Van hissed, his lips pulling away from clamped teeth, his eyes rounding in shocked pain.

“There’s no exit wound.” Josh lowered him to the floor and held the towels in place.

She caught Josh’s eyes, and they shared a harrowing look. The bullet was still in there. She reached in her back pocket and handed him the phone. “The code to unlock it is 0054. Call 911.”

“No cops,” Van murmured. He raised the wadded paper in his hand. “He’ll know.”

She flattened the edges of the news clipping, watching at Van’s shallowing breaths, and read the first sentence of the article.

Austin Police Chief, Eli Eary, stood at the podium during a recent celebration to honor his career…

“Mr. E.” Van’s voice jolted through her.

Her veins seized with shock, her body shivering. “Eli Eary? The police chief who handled my disappearance? He’s Mr. E?”

Van nodded, his hand gripping her knee. “My dad.”

She choked, her throat thick with tears, panic sprinting through her blood. She gave the paper to Josh and wrapped her hand around Van’s cold, sweaty one. Her thoughts wheeled violently around the axis that was her arrangement. “That’s why he gave me to you, why he’s so lenient with you.”

It also explained why Mr. E hadn’t punished him for his stunt at the intro meeting with Camila. He’d simply banned him from future meetings and deliveries.

Van’s eyes flashed, his voice straining. “He turned me into…this.” His lips curled into a weak snarl. “He killed your mother. I never—” He coughed and slapped a hand over Josh’s, adding pressure to the towels. “My mom was one of his.”

“One of his…” She searched his red-rimmed gaze and found a haunting, deeply rooted pain. “She was a slave?” She looked at Josh, seeking his reaction and perhaps his comfort.

Josh pressed one hand on the towels, the other settling on her back. His gaze formed a grim mirror of her own, creasing at the corners.

Was that why his mother fell into a life of drugs? Because she’d been a slave? Resentment engulfed her, shaking her limbs. Mr. E had ruined so many lives.

“Came back to kill him.” Van panted. “Needed your help.”

Across the room, the dolls waited at the table, his morbid things to remember her by. Her lungs shuddered. “Then you were going to disappear. You were going to let me go.” Guilt ravaged her insides, twisting and fraying.

“Have to kill him.” His eyes glassed over, his gasps weakening. “He’ll avenge me.” He choked. “He’ll kill Livana.”

“Livana?” The unfamiliar name hit her where she breathed. A name formed from two… “Mattie’s real name is Livana?”

He closed his eyes, his nod so devastatingly subtle beneath his short, bucking exhales. She was losing him.

“Van? Where’s Livana?”

“She’s…” His eyes flickered open, unfocused, and confused. He reached for her face.

She leaned in to meet his hand, eyes blurry, heart collapsing. “Van.” Her voice rasped, clogged. “What’s Livana’s last name?”

His clammy fingers fumbled over her scar, across her lips, and lingered on her chin. He opened his mouth and strangled on an incoherent noise that died in the air. His eyes drifted closed, and his hand dropped.

“Nooo.” She scrambled atop him, fingers trembling over his bloodless face. “No, Van. No, don’t go,” she screamed.