by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin
“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.
Anguish took hold in a series of wails, raging in her throat, shaking her limbs. He’d tried to save Mom. He was a fucking victim of his own father’s greed. Why had she thought he’d kill her? He never would’ve done that. He loved her.
Oh Jesus. Fuck. Fuck. Look what she did to him. “Oh, Van. I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t take it back. The bullet. The blood. She clung to his limp body, weeping, nose running, her heart shredding.
Arms came around her chest and pulled her to her feet. She elbowed him, dropped to her knees, and hugged Van’s waist. He gave her a few more minutes to release a torrent of sobs. Then his arms were back, wrapping around her and dragging her up.
He half-walked, half-lifted her to the sink, dragging her blood-soaked hands with his under the water. “I know you’re not thinking clearly, Liv, but we need to make a decision and act quickly.”
She wept in breathless starts and stops, staring at the pink-tinted water spiraling down the drain.
With his body wrapped around her back, his hands slipped over hers, rubbing her arms and rinsing away the evidence. “We have two choices. One, we go to the cops. Mr. E is brought in for questioning. His corruption may be embedded amongst his peers or he may be working on his own.”
“And Mat—Livana? If he were incarcerated, he could still kill her.” Goddammit, she hurt. Her head. Her heart. This shit with Van shouldn’t hurt this badly.
He tore off some paper towels and dried their hands and arms. “Two, we look up his address and stop him ourselves. By whatever means possible. Right now. Before he tries to call Van. It’s the safest option for Livana.”
Turning to face him, she gathered strength from his eyes and curled her hands around his neck. “Then it’s the only option.”
“Agreed.” The resolution in his taut expression matched his voice. “Mr. E tracks both of your phones?” He pulled her phone from his pocket.
“Yeah. Leave it on the counter.” She scrutinized their clothes for blood. Both in dark t-shirts, the smudges were inconspicuous. With a final glance at the blood-soaked body on the floor, she pressed a fist to her chest and blinked away the watery ache in her eyes.
“There’s a handwritten Austin address on the back of the news article.” He held it up. “Mr. E?”
She closed her eyes. “God love you, Van.” And goddamn him. He wasn’t making it easy to walk away on sturdy legs. She grabbed his car keys from the counter and headed toward the garage. “Van’s phone stays here. Mr. E is in contact with him hourly.”
Josh remained a breath behind her. “If his phone is here, Mr. E will know he’s here. You’re hoping he doesn’t call?”
She punched the code in the keypad and grabbed two long scarves from the hook beside the door. “Yeah. It’ll buy us some time to make the drive to Austin. Or if he does try to reach us, maybe he’ll think we’re asleep.” Van was asleep. Forever. Fuck, she should’ve been relieved, but the ache behind her breastbone burrowed in with brass knuckles.
Fifteen minutes later, she parked Van’s Kia in the Daddy’s Grill parking lot outside of town. The sun clung to the horizon as the gray cast of night crept in. She left the engine running. “I’ll be a minute. Try not to let anyone see your face.”
He glanced through the tinted windows at the three cars in the lot and said, sarcastically, “I’ll do my best.”
Inside, the waft of cigarettes and bar-b-que thickened her inhales. She stood before the only pay phone in the area, pumped it with coins, and lifted the receiver.
“Who is this?” The smooth, feline voice answered on the first ring.
“It’s me.”
Silence.
“This isn’t—” Liv cleared the rasp sticking in her throat. “This isn’t my usual call.”
“No, I don’t expect it is.” Camila’s tone was casual, but worry lurked beneath the surface.
“I need the house cleaned.” The tears broke through. She wiped them away. “There’s a mess on the kitchen floor.”
A gasp pushed through the line. “Your boy?”
“No. This one was never mine.”
“Oh.” A pause. “I feel like I should be happy.” Camila sniffed. “I feel…”
“Same here. I’m on my way to finish this. You have about an hour before the house gets crowded. Two hours tops. Code is 0054.” In a perfect scenario, they would kill Mr. E and sneak off into the night. If she were busted during an assassination of the police chief, she would use the slave house as evidence in her defense. But she didn’t want to explain two bodies. If she failed in her attempt, she didn’t want Van discovered by Mr. E. “Is the time-frame doable?”
“It will be.” She thought the line disconnected, but Camila’s voice came back. “Be careful.”
“Thank you.” For everything. The phone went dead.
She drove in silence for ten minutes before Josh breached the conversation she’d been expecting. “I’m trying to understand what you’re feeling right now and what you felt for him exactly.”
“I’m not sure I will ever understand it.” Van protected her from Mr. E in the best times, and her body bore his bruises on the worst days. Above all, he gave her a daughter. “I loved him and hated him with damaged devotion. He was embedded in my life for seven years. You don’t rip that away and feel nothing.”
He nodded, unbuckled his seatbelt, and gave her exactly what she needed. Twisting in the seat to face her, he slid a hand over her belly and clenched her hip. His other hand combed her hair from her nape, gripping the strands at the back of her head. With his body curled around her side, he dropped his head on her shoulder, the warm tendrils of his breath twining around her neck. He didn’t move for the length of the drive, and it was in that loving clench that she found the strength to forgive herself for killing Van.
Forty-five minutes later, they sat in the car, glaring across the street at a two-story home. Middle-income neighborhood, manicured lawn, well-lit walkway, and hanging flower baskets, it resembled every other house for ten blocks.
Dusk had settled. Cars lined the curb on both sides of the sparsely lit street. Van’s Kia blended in, but if Mr. E glanced at the car from his front window, he would spot them. The Kia was a generic car, but he knew what Van drove. He could make the connection if he were suspicious enough.
Josh caressed a warm palm over her thigh. “Mr. E hasn’t spent a dime of his illegal money, huh?”
She wrinkled her nose at the simple lines of his lackluster home. “He’s a police chief. How would he explain million-dollar luxuries?”
His strong profile watched the street. “He could’ve cut ties, retired to the French Rivera, and lived off of his fortune. Why is he doing this?”
She blew her cheeks out. “Maybe he likes trafficking humans. The power. The corruption. Maybe he’s just greedy and wants more money before he retires.” She grabbed the two black scarves from the backseat and coiled one loosely around Josh’s neck. “Better than chains, right?”
He leaned in and stole a kiss. “I love your chains, Liv.”
A flutter lifted in her chest. She looped the second scarf behind her neck. They would sneak in with their faces concealed, shoot the greedy motherfucker, and leave before anyone noticed. Easy as gutting all the other millionaire slave-owners.
Across the street, the front door opened. Josh gripped her hand as an older man strode along the walkway, shoulders squ
ared, eyes on his phone. The outdoor lighting accentuated the streaks of silver in his black hair. She recognized the police chief in the news articles.
The road was free of traffic noise. If she rolled down the window, they’d be able to hear his footfalls. Could she shoot him at this distance? A shiver licked down her spine. “What if he’s texting Van? Or me?” Her blood pressure skyrocketed. “What if he’s on his way to the house? Fuck, what do we do?”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Deep breaths, Liv. We’ll follow him.”
When Mr. E reached the SUV parked in the driveway, the front door opened again. A little girl ran out in blue-jeans and light-up sneakers with long brown hair winding around her shoulders. Her tiny chin pointed up, her eyes alight with laughter.
Fear and joy collided in a rush of nausea. “Josh. Her smile…Oh God, her smile.” She slapped at the button that rolled down the window just in time to hear, “Daddy! Daddy, wait up!”
A disgustingly familiar chuckle bounced down the driveway. “Come on, Livana. We’re in a hurry.”
Chapter Forty
“No, no, no, no.”
Liv’s whisper seeped into Josh’s pores and chilled his bloodstream. Hooking his arms around her chest, he pulled her away from the window. “Are you sure that’s her?” He hoped to God she was wrong.
“Yes.” Her voice was a tearful hiss, whipping through the dark interior of the car.
He pressed his lips to her cheek in an attempt to soothe her, holding tight to her heaving body. “If he’s going to Temple, I don’t think he’ll bring your daughter with him.” The daughter Mr. E raised. His son’s daughter. His granddaughter. It made the decision to kill him a cluster of confusion.
He dragged his nose through her hair, his head swimming. Fifteen days ago, he’d sat in his Christian Ethics class, rooted in the belief that murder was a grave moral evil. A capital crime punished with eternal damnation. That was before he’d met Mr. E and the buyers’ network of soulless greed. Before his convictions had been tested.
He stroked his thumbs along her rigid arms. He certainly hadn’t felt unclean after shooting the bodyguard. Killing that man had been a last resort, one that saved her life. As for Mr. E…the bastard strangled Liv. Bashed her head against the wall. Enslaved Van’s mother. Trained his son to kidnap and torture people. He was beyond saving.
Hell, there were countless examples in the bible that justified homicide to protect one’s self and the lives of others. A heady sense of responsibility heated his blood and tightened his muscles. Liv was his to protect.
Across the street, Livana interlaced her tiny fingers with those of a man who trafficked sex slaves. A man who followed through on his threats, evidenced by Liv’s dead mother. A reminder that, once again, there were no nonviolent options left. As long as Mr. E lived, that little girl’s life was in danger.
As Mr. E looked down at her, it was difficult to interpret his expression in the dim light. If there was love there, even just a microscopic tenderness, what would killing the only father she’d ever known do to her?
A soft mewling noise rattled in Liv’s throat, her round panicked eyes locked on Livana’s affection toward Mr. E. “Oh God, Josh, why did he raise her as his daughter?” She pressed a hand to her abdomen, rubbing, her body shaking.
His arms locked around her belly, hugging her close. He wanted to believe Mr. E raised Livana because she was his granddaughter, but he suspected the reason was more perverse. What better way to keep his arrangement with Liv tightly fastened than to keep her daughter as close as possible.
“What if he figures out Van is gone? Oh God, he has my daughter, and I killed his son.”
“He’ll investigate why neither of you are answering your phones before he eliminates the only hold he has on you.” Maybe Mr. E considered Livana his daughter, but it wasn’t a mercy Josh would count on. The man had abandoned his own son to a woman who was too stoned to prevent her child from being raped. What kind of life was Mr. E giving Livana?
He buried his rising panic and kissed Liv’s head. Leaning her backward against his chest, he lowered their bodies below the windows.
The front door opened a third time. A blond woman stepped out, slender frame, hair in a pony tail. She was maybe a decade younger than Mr. E given her swift strides, the muscle tone in her arms, and her trendy jeans and blouse. With her purse in hand, she strode toward Mr. E. “I’m starving.”
Mr. E stared at his phone. “Change of plans. I need to be somewhere.” His gaze shifted to Livana who yanked on his hand in a futile attempt to move him forward. He untangled their hands and patted her head. “I’m going to drop you and Livana off at the station. We’ll pick up dinner on the way, and you can eat there.”
For a heart-stopping moment, he glanced at the street, his eyes probing the lines of parked cars. Then he climbed in the driver’s seat.
Josh’s muscles ached with tension. “Why would he take them to the station?”
“He’s paranoid.” She stroked his fingers absently. “For the first time in seven years, we’re not answering our phones. My mom’s murder gives me a damned good reason to revolt, and he knows the first thing I’d do is search for Livana.”
The woman clasped Livana’s arm, holding her in place. “We’ll just stay here.”
“Get in the car,” the voice barked from within the SUV.
The woman jumped and hustled Livana into the backseat. As she slid into the front seat, the engine started, and the brake lights illuminated the driveway.
“Shit. He’s backing up.” Liv slumped lower on his lap, dragging him down by his shirt. “Josh, he’s going to Temple. We need to be there.”
His pulse raced. “Shh. It’s okay.” He hugged her against him. “As soon as they leave, we’ll head back. We’ll beat him there.”
She pressed her face against his chest, nodding, her body trembling. “She’ll be safe at the police station. We’ll kill him at the house and…Jesus, what if he doesn’t come? It’s a huge risk.”
He stroked her hair as the rumble of the SUV grew closer. “This is a blessing, Liv. We’re captives. We’ll end this where he imprisoned us. It’ll be self-defense. We won’t have to run or try to cover it up.” He would see his parents again. She could live a normal life. His muscles clenched, his heart thundering. He wanted that for her so badly.
The rumble came to a stop beside them. Was the darkness and the tinted windows enough to conceal them? He popped open the glove box where the guns were stored and held his breath, his pulse drumming in his ears. Her fingers dug into his ribs, her body heaving against his.
The engine growled and the soft whir of tires on asphalt sounded the SUV’s retreat down the street. He blew out a shuddering exhale.
She melted against him, rubbed a hand up his chest, and curled her fingers around his neck. Raising her head, she blinked at him with watery eyes. “I—” she kissed the spot over his heart, leaned up, and kissed his lips, softly, breathlessly “—you.”
His heartbeat catapulted, strumming every cell in his body. “You, too, girl.” His mouth moved against hers, and during that brief, stolen connection, he felt her lips curve up.
For the next hour, they detailed their plan. The setup. The strike. The aftermath. When they pulled into the driveway in Temple, they had the story they would give to police ironed out and rehearsed.
She used the remote to open the garage door, and the emptiness within tingled down his spine. “Where’s the van?”
Her forehead furrowed as she parked the car and closed the doors. “Camila would’ve taken it to transport…” She rolled her lips, chin quivering, and rubbed her nose. “To transport the body.”
The tingle on his spine receded, replaced with a fortitude to do anything needed to ensure they survived the night. He handed her the LC9 from the glove box, grabbed the PT-22, and followed her to the kitchen door. His muscles burned through his strides, amped up and ready.
Her pass code released the door, and he slipped in
before her, gun raised in two hands. He had three bullets left. He’d only need one, unless someone was waiting for their return. Did Mr. E have a larger network? Would he have called someone to meet him here?
The silence in the kitchen stood as still as the dark. She moved behind him, her footfalls trailing to the sink where she flicked the switch. Light flooded the room.
The yellow linoleum floor showed no evidence of blood. The matching yellow sink was also scrubbed. The chairs were pushed in at the table. No body, no bloody rags, and no dolls.
“I’m glad they took the mannequins,” she whispered.
No joke. In the end, Van had surprised the hell out of him. Perhaps Liv’s influence in Van’s life had altered his journey to one of redemption. Nevertheless, the memory of that man would be an eternal prickle creeping over the back of Josh’s skull.
She lingered above the spot where Van had bled out, eyes on the floor, her arms wrapped around her tummy. Her pallid expression produced a sympathetic ache in his chest.
Trusting that her friends had been thorough, he gave her the two phones from the counter and pulled her by her hand up the stairs, his gun out as he scanned the sitting room and hallway. The absolute stillness of the house was both reassuring and nerve-wracking.
She checked her phone as they climbed the stairs. “He sent one text, a little over an hour ago. All it says is, Where is Van?”
“He would’ve sent that around the time he came out of his house.” At the top of the stairs, he entered the code with his gun hand. “You’re not texting back, right?”
“Of course not.”
Good. No communication would force him to show up. “What about Van’s phone?”
“I’ve tried every code I can think of to unlock it.” She walked through the outer chamber and snagged a black costume from the cabinet. “It’s a no-go.”
Fifteen minutes later, he knelt in the middle of her room, facing the closed door, his naked body prickling with goosebumps. With his wrists crossed behind his back, he was her slave.
She stood by the keypad, phone in one hand, the LC9 concealed in her thigh-high boot, the sheath of her minidress clinging to her curves. Holding her body motionless, she was his Deliverer.
