by J. Kenner
He glanced at the sleeping woman and sighed. He knew Xena wasn’t going to want to talk about it. He also knew that she had to.
“I’m worried about you, too,” he told Ella, returning his exhausted mind to the call. “They have their eye on you. And they knew about the cabin. Possibly they followed Xena, but she told me how she covered her tracks, and it was solid.”
“Fuck.”
“Most likely, nothing will happen. But they know she was your assistant, and once they learn how long she’s been with you, they may assume you know where she is.”
“Right.” She exhaled loudly. “Okay, so what—”
“I’m sending someone. You’re probably in the clear, but I don’t want to take chances. I’ll text his name and information as soon as I confirm he’s available.” Any of the team at the SSA could do the job, but he wanted Winston Starr. The former West Texas sheriff had an easy manner and serious skills. The best thing about him was that no one ever saw Winston coming.
As soon as he ended the call with Ella, he dialed his friend.
“Do you know what time it is?”
Liam scoffed. “I know you’re up. Don’t cowboys always rise before the sun?”
“I’d try to find a snappy comeback,” Winston drawled, his Texas twang more pronounced than usual. “But you’re not worth the effort.”
“I didn’t really wake you, did I?”
“Hell, no. I’m at the gym. But I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I’m in a mood. What do you need?”
“How does an all expense paid trip to Vegas sound?”
“Hong Kong, DC, now Vegas.” He chuckled. “When Stark and Ryan convinced me to take this job, I didn’t realize I’d be getting so many frequent flier miles, too.”
“Got you out of West Texas, didn’t it?”
“I got myself out of West Texas, my friend. And as for Vegas, why the hell not?”
They quickly worked through the details, then added Ryan Hunter to the call. As the head of Stark Security, he needed to both be in the loop and sign off on the plan.
Ryan answered on the first ring, wide awake. “Christ,” Liam said. “Do none of you sleep?”
“Didn’t realize you were such a slacker, Foster.”
“I need my beauty rest,” Liam quipped, before explaining the situation. Ryan approved, and Winston promised to leave within the hour and text Liam as soon as he was settled with Ella.
“Until we wrap this, I’d like to keep someone on her twenty-four/seven,” Liam added, knowing full well what he was asking. The SSA was still a relatively new operation, and the mission statement didn’t focus on bodyguard services. Even if it did, the agency simply didn’t have the manpower yet, particularly because Ryan and Stark were very selective in who they brought onto the team.
“Pull who you need from the Starfire’s security team,” Ryan instructed Winston. “And if we hit a snag, we’ll figure it out. You coming in today?” The last question was directed at Liam.
“Yeah. We’re holed up at the moment. We need to get some sleep, then we’ll head back to LA. I’d like the whole team available. Say one o’clock? And I’ve already got a project for Mario. I’ll ping him next and get him working his magic.”
Once the call ended, he shot Mario the details of the assignment and the log-on for the cameras, figuring he’d call the kid when he woke up if he didn’t find a reply waiting on his phone. Might as well let at least one person sleep until morning.
The kid pinged him back in less than a minute. On it.
Liam just shook his head, then laid back and closed his eyes, only to open them moments later when the smell of coffee roused him.
Except it wasn’t mere moments later. He’d gone to sleep in the dark, and now light was streaming in through the gap in the cheap, ugly curtains. The aroma was coming from a white paper cup, being held by the beautiful—and once again clothed—woman sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling at him.
“Tell me you didn’t walk down to the office.”
“Crappy coffee maker. I found it under the bathroom sink.”
He pushed himself up and took the cup she offered. She was right; it was crappy coffee. But it was hot and it was caffeinated, and that made it perfect. “What time is it?”
“Just past eight.”
He frowned. “We should get going. All the way to LA riding tandem on the Ducati...” He shook his head. “You’re going to want a few breaks.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, then looked down at her hands, which were twisting in her lap. “Listen, I’m sorry about jumping you last night.”
“Are you? I’m not.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, fearing that was exactly what she didn’t want to hear.
But then he saw the tension leave her shoulders, and heard her soft, breathy, “Oh, thank God,” and an unexpected but not unwelcome flood of relief flowed over him, too.
He took her hand in his. “And just so you know, you’re stuck with me now. It’s an old security agent code. Once a woman jumps you, you’re bound to protect her.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”
“It’s my thing.” He stood up, still holding the half-finished coffee. “Susan,” he said, intentionally using her given name to underscore his words, “those men are dangerous, and they’re not going to stop. I’m going to help you no matter what. It will be easier if you simply tell me what’s going on. The full story. But even if you don’t say a word, one way or another, I’ll figure it out.”
He used the tip of his forefinger to tilt her chin up, then waited until she’d met his eyes. “You’re more than just my mission now, and I will keep you safe.”
Her lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. “This time it’s personal?”
He held her gaze. “Yes.” The word was flat, even, and very true.
She looked away before she reached for his coffee and took a sip. It was an oddly intimate moment, and he couldn’t deny that he liked it.
She glanced down at the cup, then handed it back to him with an embarrassed smile. She was still seated on the edge of the bed, and now she put her hands on her knees, her eyes on the floor.
“I don’t want to tell you. I haven’t even told Ella. Not all of it, anyway.”
“Maybe it’s time.”
“Yeah. Maybe it is.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew in two deep breaths. Then she sat up straight, faced him dead on, and said, “First of all, my name isn’t Susan.”
Chapter Eleven
I don’t want to tell him this. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to let any of it into my head.
Except it’s never really left my head. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been carrying a nightmare around with me for eleven long years. I may have escaped the house of horror I’d been locked in for what felt like a lifetime, but I never escaped the memories.
To his credit, Liam hasn’t said a word in response to my revelation that I’m not the woman he thought I was. He’s giving me time, which I guess proves what a mess I am if it’s that obvious I need a moment to pull my shit together and figure out how the hell I can tell him my story without making it sound like I’m looking for a career writing telenovellas.
Finally, I get into bed, my back against the wall, my knees up, and the covers over me. He hesitates, then sits at the foot of the bed, watching me warily.
“My name’s Jenny. Jenny Smith. Seriously,” I add, when his brow twitches. “Boring name, and it used to fit my pretty boring life.”
“I find it hard to believe you were ever boring,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m from Missouri. My dad had a high school education and managed a convenience store. My mom worked part-time at a day care center. I made average grades, was horribly shy, and dreamt about blossoming one day and becoming a famous actress.” I let my shoulders rise and fall. “Like I said, boring.”
“I don’t know,” Liam says. �
��Sounds normal. And that’s not the same thing.”
“Maybe, but I spent a lot of time fantasizing about escaping and being discovered. I skipped over the whole auditioning and performing part in those fantasies, of course. But that’s the point of fantasies.” I shake my head. “God, I was so naive.”
“What changed?”
“Everything,” I say, then wave away my words. “Sorry. That’s actually true, but I’ll talk you through it.” I don’t want to. I don’t want to share my humiliation with him, not to mention my fear. But I know he’s right. If he’s going to help me, he needs to know everything. And the bottom line is that I do want his help.
If it weren’t for the attack on Ella in Vegas and us in the cabin, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I would have been happy to stick with the status quo, living in semi-hiding by riding on Ella’s coattails.
I don’t know. But now that things have changed, I don’t want to go back. I want to get free.
But what scares me the most is that my newfound resolve isn’t just because I want to escape the ever-looming threat. It’s because of the man. He’s given me hope. A glimpse at a real life. I don’t mean with him—I won’t allow myself to think that boldly—but a future. A real one in the real world, and hopefully I’ll find someone to share it with.
“Did I lose you?”
His gentle words pull me back to the moment. “Yeah. Sorry. My mind started wandering.”
“You were boring,” he says, both prompting me and making me laugh.
“You make fun, but it’s true.” I draw a breath. “Anyway, when I was a junior, my mom died. Cancer. She’d been feeling bad for a while, but blew it off, thinking she was just tired. By the time she went to the doctor there wasn’t anything he could do.”
I close my eyes, fighting back my tears. “That was the one part of my life that wasn’t boring,” I whisper, then look at him. “My parents were great. They loved me and I loved them, and we all actually liked each other, too. And my mom and dad? God, they were so in love it was disgusting. Major PDA, you know. I used to think it was cringe-worthy, but now…”
“Your father must have been a wreck,” Liam says gently.
“Understatement.” I wipe my runny nose. “That was the beginning of it all, not that me or Daddy knew it at the time. But looking back—I can’t even mourn my mom’s death without mourning my own life, too. Because burying her set everything in motion.”
“How?”
“Daddy spiraled down. I mean, he really went off the rails. I was just starting to think about college. I would have been the first in my family to go. And then one day my dad came home and said that he’d sent in my picture to some modeling agency. He said he knew it wasn’t the same as acting, but maybe it was a start.”
I look at Liam, expecting him to say something, but he’s silent, so I press on, wishing that he’d derailed me.
“He told me that the agency wanted to meet me in person. In New York. He seemed so excited, and I was, too. I mean, me. Shy Jenny Smith who was halfway invisible in school.”
“It’s not unreasonable,” Liam says. “You’re both stunning and unique, and you definitely have the build and height of a runway model.”
“All of which I told myself on the days when I feared that the whole trip would be a waste of time. But they actually paid for the plane ticket. The agency, I mean. And the hotel. And when we got to the office, there were all these posters of models and framed pages from advertisements and it was all so very, very legitimate.”
“Except it wasn’t.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips and hug my knees tighter to my chest. “No.” I open my mouth to speak, and then close it again. “I’m sorry,” I finally whisper. “It’s just that it was—”
“Sex trafficking,” he says, and my entire body sags with relief that I don’t have to say it out loud or explain or any of that.
“I’m sorry to say I have some knowledge of that,” he continues. “I mentioned Dallas and Jane before? Well, their kidnapping wasn’t part of a sex trafficking ring, but Dallas started an organization. More of a vigilante group. Deliverance. And part of its mission was to rescue victims of kidnapping, trafficking, anything of that sort.”
“You were part of that?”
“I was. I’d still be except that Deliverance doesn’t exist as such anymore.”
“So you ended up at the SSA?”
“That’s about the extent of it. And you? How did you survive?”
I swallow, not wanting to go back to the topic, but knowing I have to. And the small diversion has calmed me down, so that it’s easier to talk about.
“They told my dad I had talent and that they were certain I’d be a star. They had an apartment building for their candidates and told him that the board had decided to grant me a scholarship to train as a model—most girls had to pay they said.”
“Your father believed them.”
“I never blamed him for that. I thought so, too. They were very convincing. And me and my dad were pretty naive.” I suck in air. “Right, well, anyway. My dad left that first night and said he’d be back. But he wasn’t. And after a while—it was really subtle—they started to suggest that he’d left me there because he didn’t love me and didn’t want me around after Mom died. And then…”
I pause because I have to swallow, and I realize I’m crying. “They got me hooked on drugs. Pills they forced us to take to get our food. Supposedly appetite suppressants so that we could get model fit, but that was bullshit. And then suddenly my photo shoots were nudes. And my head was swimming all the time. And there were parties and these men, and they’d choose me and touch me and—well, they did things to me.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes. I do. They made me have sex to survive. I had no control over anything. My life. My clothes. Sex. Anything. They’d tie me up and let men use me. Sometimes one. Sometimes many. Sometimes for days on end. Sometime the men would be gentle, but not usually. I was a fucking sex slave, and they were in charge of everything, even down to tying my tubes—I told you I wouldn’t get pregnant—and doing that laser hair removal thing on me so they didn’t have to worry about getting me waxed. Fuckers.”
I’ve been mostly talking to my knees, but now I look at his face. It’s tight; I can see the anger and tension. And a single muscle in his cheek twitches. The sight warms me, because he cares. He genuinely cares, and I blink again, staving off more tears.
“Anyway,” I continue. “I tried to escape. We were right in the middle of Manhattan, but I might as well have been on the moon. It was a nightmare. I was high all the time. Or drunk. And I hated it but I was so miserable and lonely that high was better than living in the real world. Especially since they kept telling me that my father left me there because he didn’t want to deal with me after my mother died, and if I just made the investors happy my life would change.”
“You believed them.”
“Not at first. But more and more I started to think it had to be true. And then—oh, God—after about a year they brought me into a room and my dad was there. And he saw me and started crying. He apologized for not knowing what they would do to me. He told me he’d tried and tried to get me out, but they were powerful and he kept hitting walls, and then they grabbed him. He’d been locked up in the same building as me for almost three months, and I didn’t even know.”
“Jenny…”
“No. Please. Xena. Jenny was a fool. A stupid little girl.” I look at him defiantly. “I’m Xena now. I’m a goddamn warrior.”
“Damn right you are.” He takes my hand, then gently squeezes it. “Tell me what happened.”
“They told me I was never getting out, and that neither was my father. And then—and then they shot him.” I gasp as that horrible memory cuts through me. “And then they brought another girl in. I had no idea why. I was still in shock. And they told me that she wanted out, too. And they shot her as well. I just stood there, completely numb. I didn’t do a damn thing
.”
Tears streak down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away. “And then the head guy, he looks at me and he says, “How about you, Jenny? Do you want out, too?”
I force myself to look at Liam then, and I’m so goddamned ashamed. “I couldn’t say yes. They gave me an out, but I couldn’t say yes. I chose the pain and the degradation and living like that because I couldn’t—”
“You chose life.” His voice is gentle, and his eyes glisten. “And you were right. Because you did get away.”
“I did,” I agree. “I figured out ways not to take the pills. To not drink at the parties. I hadn’t made enough of an effort before because I didn’t care. My dad had thrown me away, after all. But when I learned the truth ... well, I didn’t want to be numb anymore.”
“You got clean?”
“Not completely when I was in there, but mostly. But after I got out, yeah. I got help in California. Counseling for all the—well, everything. And I started going to AA.” My heart is pounding and I’m breathing hard. “I’ve been clean for years now—no alcohol, no drugs, because they fucking got me addicted and now I can’t even enjoy a glass of wine without risking sliding back. I don’t think I would—I really don’t—but I’m damn sure not going to take the risk. But those assholes had no qualms about stealing every bit of control from me.”
“But you did get away. How? For that matter, when?”
“A few days after I turned twenty-one.”
His eyes widen. “They had you for four years?”
“Just about. Later, they moved me to a country estate where they held these elaborate sex parties. It was all very surreal.”
“How did you get away?”
“I pretended to be docile. And I pretended to be high. They pay less attention to the older girls. We’re pretty beaten by then. And so one night I was supposed to entertain this old prick who wanted to walk the grounds. He—well, let’s just say he was very nature-oriented. And we were deep in the woods and he had me bent over, and there was a rock, and—” I shrug.
