by Vivi Anna, Sylvia Day, Delilah Devlin, Cathryn Fox, Myla Jackson, Lisa Renee Jones
“Good girl. I knew you were smart.” The woman chuckled, but it brought no warmth to Sangria. “Take the turnpike off Ventura and make your way to Rochester. Someone will meet you there.”
Sangria turned in her seat, scanning the boulevard, looking for parked cars, or buildings from which someone could be watching. She saw nothing but passing vehicles and large flashy billboards. Maybe her vehicle was tagged with a tracker.
“This will be the last communication we have.” The woman paused, and then stated acidly, “Unless there is a problem. And Sangria, you better hope that never happens.”
The woman clicked off, leaving Sangria close to hyperventilating. Ripping the communicator off her head, she shuffled across the seat, opened the passenger door, and jumped out onto the shoulder. Instantly the oppressive heat suffocated her. Although it was nearing dusk, there was no relief to the stifling summer weather.
As she took in some cleansing breaths, sweat started to dribble down Sangria’s face and neck, soaking the collar of her white cotton t-shirt. But she knew it wasn’t just because of the temperature.
She knew there would come a time when she wriggled into something way over her head. A person didn’t do the job she did and not know that they teetered on the edge of immorality and danger. She just didn’t realize how instantly it could sweep over her, pulling her down into a terror-filled void.
Leaning against her vehicle for support to try to ease her strangled breathing, Sangria quickly went over her options. And realized she pretty much didn’t have any. If she didn’t show up at the pickup address, she knew that no matter where she went, the ice woman on the phone would track her down and eliminate her. The fact that Sangria didn’t know the woman’s identity and hadn’t taken any money seemed to her inconsequential.
The only thing she could do was to pick up the package and safely deliver it to the Vegas destination. She had executed thousands of deliveries without issue. There was no reason that this one wouldn’t be the same.
Pushing away from the vehicle somewhat relieved, Sangria almost believed that. If it wasn’t for the cold creeping along her spine that ended on her skull, causing her short bone-white hair to stand on end, she could almost believe anything.
Two
The pickup had gone smoothly.
She met with two burly men dressed casually in shorts and tank tops at the corner of Rochester and Selby just as she was instructed. When she pulled up to the curb, they hefted the shiny metal case into her Hummer and handed her a black duffel bag. Without a word, they walked around the corner, jumped into a nondescript four-door sedan, and drove away.
After they had driven away, Sangria had jumped out of her vehicle again and slid under it on her back to check the under-carriage for any tracking devices. She had found two.
Swearing that she’d been so reckless and stupid for not inspecting her Hummer every day, Sangria had smashed the metal devices off with her tire iron. Although she knew it wouldn’t matter. Certainly, the case had been installed with a tracer.
She had jumped back into the vehicle and checked the bag. It was full of money, but not nearly enough for two million. There was a typed noted inside stuck to one of the money stacks. Fifty thousand now…the rest on delivery. Zipping up the bag, she sighed angrily. Figures. She wondered what other surprises were waiting for her. Sangria had the distinct feeling that this trip was going to be anything but a regular everyday delivery.
The sun was down by the time Sangria turned onto the I-15 heading toward Las Vegas. So far, everything was going as planned, and she managed to relax a little and enjoy the ride. Pushing a button on the dash, classical music blasted from her four built-in speakers. The Hummer’s controls were programmed to respond to her moods. And right now, she needed the soothing sounds of Mozart.
Humming to the music, Sangria didn’t see the semi that jumped the meridian and came barreling toward her with its headlights off.
The next few moments were mostly a blur. She didn’t remember jerking on the steering wheel and ramming into the side of the semitrailer. Or the flipping of the vehicle, as it turned over and over, landing—remarkably—back onto its wheels in the ditch. All she could remember were the grunts and groans she heard resounding in her ears. Surprisingly, it had sounded like more than one voice echoing around her.
Sangria didn’t know how long she sat still strapped into the driver’s seat, blood dripping down her forehead, until reason and awareness slapped her in the face. Putting a hand to her aching head, she surmised that she had a large cut on the crown. Looking at the red-splattered spider-webbed wind-shield, it wasn’t hard for her to guess from what.
Turning in her seat, she took inventory of the damage to her vehicle. The black bag was still there, jammed under the passenger seat. Her personal effects were strewn on the floor and seat from the glove compartment that had flown open. Seeing that triggered a horrible thought, and she spun in her seat.
The trunk door of the Hummer was open, and so was the hidden door in the floor. Damn it, she’d forgotten to padlock it!
Unhooking her seat belt, Sangria tried to open her door. It wouldn’t budge. The frame was bent inward, and she was very lucky that it hadn’t rammed into her side. Shuffling across the passenger seat, she tried that door, and discovered the same damage. She slid between the front seats, crawled into the back, and peered down into the false bottom of her vehicle. The compartment was empty. The case was missing.
With a cry of alarm, she jumped out of the back. Pain—immediate and sharp—ripped up her side, making her head spin. Looking down, she noticed blood blossoming on her t-shirt from under her arm. She lifted her shirt and noticed a long cut on her left side. Guess the car door didn’t miss.
Letting her shirt fall, she scanned the surroundings near the accident. The semi was nowhere to be seen. He obviously fled the scene. The driver was probably driving drunk, or had fallen asleep at the wheel. But when her eyes settled on something only three feet away, her injuries and everything else was immediately forgotten.
The case lay on its side all banged up, with the lid wide open.
She stumbled toward it, realizing that the cut on her head was making her a tiny bit woozy. As she neared, all the breath left her lungs, and she doubled over almost throwing up. She was in deep shit, and she didn’t have a shovel.
Lying on the ground a few inches from the case was a man. Bound and gagged but alive, he looked straight at her with wide vivid blue eyes.
“Fuck,” she whispered as she collapsed to her knees beside him. Her legs were quivering too violently to support her any longer.
Rolling over, he shuffled to her on his side, his eyes beseeching her to end his misery. Blood streaked his chiseled face and dampened the cloth gagging him.
With a trembling hand, Sangria reached over and pulled the gag out from between his full lips.
He sighed. “Oh thank God.” He moved his mouth open and closed, stretching out, what she assumed, were cramped jaw muscles.
“Who are you?” she asked, shock slowly creeping over her.
“Vance Verona.” He raised his bound hands behind him. “Can you cut these, please?”
“What—” She paused, rubbing a hand over her face in frustration, and then started again. “Why…what the fuck is going on?”
“I have a one-way ticket to the Blue Room district in Vegas,” he explained as he tried to pull apart the ropes binding his hands. “I’m a sex worker. Usually I entertain the most powerful women in the country, but I must have pissed someone off.”
“Do you think?”
Chuckling, he continued to squirm, jarring his shoulders back and forth trying to free his hands. “I do believe Lady Maxine Madison is mad at me.”
Gasping, Sangria made a grab for his gag. “No, no, no. Stop fucking talking.” He moved his head, but wasn’t quick enough. She shoved the cloth back between his lips and scrambled to her feet.
She marched back to her vehicle, mumbling under her breath. This could not b
e happening. The man did not say what she thought he did. He must have been mistaken. There was no way in hell that the First Lady, Maxine Madison, was involved in the sex industry.
Crawling back into the Hummer, Sangria slid into the front seat and turned the ignition. Nothing. The engine wouldn’t turn over. She tried repeatedly, to no avail.
“Fuck!” She banged the steering wheel with her fist. The situation was getting worse by the second. And she had no idea what to do about it. She didn’t have the contact’s number, and even if she did, using it might not be the wisest course of action, if she wanted to stay alive. She had broken her number one rule, and the only thing that could get her killed…she had seen what was inside the package.
Glancing in her side mirror, she could still see him on the ground near the case. He had ceased his futile efforts to release his hands and was just lying there staring toward the vehicle. Sighing, she glanced toward the road. So far, no other vehicles had stopped to inspect the accident. Didn’t surprise her, not in this day and age. No one stopped for anything.
However, it wouldn’t be long before her smashed-up vehicle attracted attention from the law. Unwanted attention that could get her killed.
She crawled into the back of the vehicle and lifted another hidden door in the floor. Pulling out a black bag, Sangria unzipped it and took inventory. She had her passport, some clothes, a roll of cash, a first-aid kit, and a gun. All the things she packed in case of emergencies. This was definitely one of those times.
Reaching over the passenger seat, she started grabbing the items spilled from her glove compartment and shoved them into the bag as well. When she was finished, she took a cloth rag and wiped down every inch of the vehicle, erasing her fingerprints. She took the moneybag and her pack, and jumped out of the vehicle. Bending down, she used her pocket screwdriver to take off the license plate. She shoved that into her bag too. It wouldn’t keep her hidden for long, but at least it was a start.
Marching back to the package, Sangria knew without a doubt that she was going on the run. There was no other way to avoid the inevitable. No matter her excuses, Ms. Madison would not keep her alive. She had seen too much. By accident mind you, but still she didn’t think the First Lady was going to care much about that. Her position was much too powerful and influential to have Sangria running around with the knowledge of her involvement in illegal sex trading.
Staring down at the cargo, she took in his handsome face and lean sculpted body. He had obviously been taken from his bed as he wore only a pair of black silk boxer shorts. Disheveled dark hair curled around his ears and hung over his forehead, covering one of his beautiful blue eyes. He was indeed exquisite to look at. He had probably been one of Ms. Madison’s prized studs.
Maybe I should leave him here. The thought crossed her mind then fled just as quickly. It didn’t matter anymore. She was a dead woman. She might as well have company along the way.
Using the pocketknife she had strapped to her ankle, Sangria cut through his ropes at his wrists and his ankles. Breaking free, he quickly sat up and pulled the gag out of his mouth.
“I thought you were going to leave me,” he sputtered.
“I thought about it.” She slung the moneybag over her shoulder. “Can you walk?” She held out her hand to him and pulled him up.
Standing, he flexed both his legs, rotated his shoulders, and then nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to have a t-shirt in that bag would you? I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now.” He splayed his arms out, indicating his bare chest. He didn’t need to do that for her to notice. He was the kind of man that all women noticed.
She unzipped the bag, and tossed him one of her tank tops. “I didn’t think that would bother you.”
Smirking, he yanked the shirt over his head and pulled it down over the straining muscles of his chest. “Why? Because women pay me to service them?” The shirt was tight and clung to every ridge and ripple he had. Smiling he cocked his head. “Honey, that just means I’m good at what I do. It doesn’t mean I don’t have any humility.”
“Sorry,” she said grudgingly.
He shrugged. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is to get the fuck out of here and stay alive. Valley Wells Station is just over that rise. I know of a little shack we can hold up in. Then we split up. The rest is up to you, cowboy. You’ll be a free agent.”
With that, Sangria turned and walked toward the road, not caring whether he followed or not. She wasn’t any good with other people. She’d been alone for most of her life. She liked it that way. Fewer attachments, less complications.
But as he moved in next to her and matched her stride for stride, she felt a strange feeling of comfort wash over her. She was almost elated to have a companion. An emotion she couldn’t recollect ever experiencing.
Three
The shack barely lived up to its name.
There were four wooden walls, dilapidated but still intact, a single lumpy mattress with surprisingly clean sheets on the dirty floor, a cracked linoleum table with one equally crumbling chair, and a bathroom, consisting of a toilet sans lid, and a shower stall without a door. The amazing thing was, the place had running water.
Sangria tossed her bag onto the floor and sat with an exhausted sigh on the chair. In the throes of lust, an old lover had told her about this place. He had been a gunrunner and had used the place years ago when he had to disappear for a few weeks. He had invited her along. She had refused. And that was the last time she’d ever heard from him. She wondered how long he lasted out here, with his big mouth that couldn’t keep his own secrets.
Vance glanced around the room and grimaced. “It’s lovely.”
“It’s for one night. You’ll live.” Rotating her shoulder, she realized how stiff and sore she was. And that she’d forgotten about the big gash in her side. If she didn’t look after it, it would get infected.
Vance must have noticed her wince, because he came to her side and touched her arm. “You’re hurt.”
She flinched from him and stood. “I’m fine. I just need to wash it and bandage it up.”
“I have first aid skills.”
She glanced at him, her brow lifted in question.
Lifting his shirt, he said, “I had a client who liked it rough.” He drew his finger over a small scar on his abdomen. “I stitched it up myself.”
Although his voice was cool, she could see the emotion in his eyes. They flared like blue flame when he spoke. The man had obviously suffered.
“I’m fine.” She turned and marched into the bathroom, shutting the broken door behind her. It creaked and groaned as it moved, and didn’t completely close, but it would have to do.
Stripping off her clothes, Sangria reached for the shower taps and turned on the water. To her surprise, the water came out hot and relatively clean. She stepped into the stall and submerged her head under the spray. The water felt heavenly sluicing down her skin. Lifting her arm, she moved to the side to allow the cleansing effects of the water flow over her wound. Pain immediately seared through her, but soon healing warmth spread over her. Minus the blood, the cut didn’t look too tragic. Nothing a bandage and time wouldn’t heal.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, enjoying the hot water playing over her body. It was then that she felt the gentle scrape of a sponge on her back.
Jolting, she turned quickly and nearly collided with Vance, who was naked and trying to rub her back.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she spurted.
“Washing your back.”
“Get out,” she demanded, trying to cover herself and look indignant.
“Let me do this, please. You freed me. I need to pay you back.”
She stared at him and noticed the emotions swimming in his eyes. She couldn’t imagine what his life must have been like. And to be shoved in a case and transported to another city like chattel…she could just imagine the humiliation he must be feeling.
“Fine,” she conceded.
“But it’s just washing.”
He smiled and his eyes danced with mischief. “Hey, I’m a professional, remember? I’m not even aroused. See?” He tilted his head down.
Sangria followed his gaze to his cock. Even flaccid, he was well endowed. Tingles of desire spread over her thighs as she stared at him. His hand moved over to his cock and he wrapped his palm around it sensuously while she watched.
“Like what you see?”
Her head snapped up and she met his smoldering gaze. “Maybe.”
With his hand still on his member, Vance took a step forward. “I’m very good at more than washing, honey.”
“Don’t call me honey.”
“Well what should I call you? You never gave me your name.”
Suddenly, Sangria felt ashamed. Not because she was naked, standing in a shower stall with an equally naked stranger, but because she’d been rude to him from the get go. She could feel her cheeks redden, and she hated that. No one ever made her feel embarrassed before.
“Sangria.” She averted her gaze. “My name is Sangria.”
“A beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman.”
Raising her eyes, she caught his saucy grin and the way he looked at her with a promise of something swirling in the bright blue depths. “Keep your flirtations to yourself. I’m not one of your clients.”
His grin never faltered as he spoke. “Turn around, Sangria. I’ll wash your back.”
Cautiously she turned, giving him her back. She hated that her name on his lips gave her pleasure. A warm tingling sensation started deep in her belly as he touched her on the nape of the neck with the sponge. With slow firm circles, he made his way over her lean muscled flesh. Sighing, she let her head fall forward and enjoyed his attentions. Past the point of stress and uncertainty, she was surprised that her brain could still function. If she could let go for a little while and revel in this pleasure, she would. For she didn’t know when she would ever get another chance.
As Vance neared her ass, her pussy started to purr in delight. Without thinking, she spread her legs apart to ease the ache. It had been a long time since she felt desire. Her last lover had been almost a year ago, and then he hadn’t been that memorable. A porn video and a vibrator would have been more inspiring.
