Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(30)

“Get that contraption off my drive before it leaks any more oil.”

His Harley did not leak anything. Pissed, but not wanting to risk an arrest and doing jail time, Damián revved the motor, glanced at the open door Savannah had disappeared through, then peeled away. He turned back to see the black streak of rubber very visible in the overly lit tiled driveway. He gained a sense of satisfaction knowing that, every time her sugar daddy saw that patch of rubber, he’d remember Damián. His spirits lifted a little.

But the haunted look in Savannah’s eyes as she mouthed her thanks would be what burned in his memory forever. Had he made the right decision to leave her here? Mierda. He should have given her his phone number, in case she needed him. Not that he would have expected her to use it.

Madre de Dios, he hoped she’d take better care of herself.

Damián would just have to hold onto his memories of what had been the most perfect day of his life, with the most perfect woman.

*

Savannah sank to the floor, laying her flushed face against the cool tiles. Her stomach still threatened to revolt, but she knew there would just be more of the dry heaves she’d experienced for the last fifteen minutes.

What she’d worried about for the past month seemed a certainty now. Two missed periods. Morning sickness.

She was pregnant. Her hand moved lower, from her stomach to the area over her womb. A baby. Tears prickled her eyes, then dripped onto the floor. She had to protect this baby. Who would help her?

Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

Damián. I need you so much.

She only knew Damián by his first name. She’d tried to get an address or phone number from the hotel’s business manager, but the woman wouldn’t give out confidential employee information. On former employees either.

Her father had beaten her so severely the night Damián had brought her back from their special day at the beach cave over two months ago. If only the torture had ended there. By the time her Master and Lyle had ended the beating, probably because their arms were tired, her father had had to carry her to her room.

She’d been afraid he was going to rape her again for the first time in a long time. Then he’d told her he wouldn’t want to catch a disease from that Spic. Savannah shuddered. Her father and Lyle were the only diseases in her life.

Too sore to move for the next couple days, she hadn’t carried out her plan to end her life. Then, when she had been able to get out of bed, the possibility of seeing Damián again someday kept her from going through with it.

Not a day went by since Damián had brought her back here that she didn’t regret letting him leave without her. But Damián couldn’t have known. She hadn’t told him what her life here was like. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to trust him?

Because of her shame. Thank God he hadn’t noticed the brand in the dark cave. She’d never want anyone to see that.

But something had changed that day. No, not just something. Everything. She’d begun to live again. To experience life. Damián had roused long-buried feelings inside her. She’d been numb for so long. Opening herself up to the experience of being treated with respect and cherished by a man, if only for a short time, had made her feel worth something more than a body to be used for sex.

As she had guessed, allowing herself to feel had only succeeded in making her punishment even more intense. However, now she had a new safe place to escape to during the beatings. In Damián’s arms at the beach cave. She knew the cave wasn’t just her imagination now, but a real place, where she could hear the waves crashing on the shore, see the dusky light of sunset, and feel his arms around her.

Magical.

No, safe.

She stroked the skin over her bare abdomen. And now she needed to protect what had resulted from that beautiful day. Sitting up, she pulled herself to her feet by holding onto the rim of the pedestal sink when her weakened legs threatened to give way. In the mirror, she saw that red splotches dotted her cheeks and neck from the strain of the dry heaves. She took a washcloth and wet it with cold water. Holding the cool cloth to her face, she closed her eyes and the image of Damián’s face gave her comfort.

She would leave. Today. But where would she go?

Maman. I can’t do this alone.

A distant memory flitted across her mind. The Christmas before she’d left, Maman had taken her down to Solana Beach to attend midnight Mass in the Eden Gardens neighborhood. Maman spoke both French and Spanish and loved to hear the Christmas Mass said in one of those languages. Savannah had only been seven then, but remembered it now as if it were yesterday. Maman told her the sermon had been about the Blessed Baby and the importance for members of the community to help young women who were in trouble to find safety and shelter to have their babies. At the time, Savannah hadn’t known why having a baby would cause a girl to be in trouble.

And suddenly the answer for herself seemed so clear. Of course! She’d go to the Catholic church in Eden Gardens. They would help a young girl they perceived to be “in trouble,” even though this baby actually was the impetus Savannah needed to get herself out of trouble. And her father would never look for her in a barrio neighborhood like that. She’d take on a new name—perhaps the English version of her Mama’s maiden name Pannier. Savi Baker. He’d never trace her.

If the people of the Hispanic community were anything like Damián, she’d be okay. Perhaps she could tutor kids or somehow be of help to them while she waited for the baby.