by Pam Godwin
Folding her hands on the table, she appraised him with God-knew-what swirling in her dark brown eyes. Her hair was shorter now, shoulder-length and fringed around her pale face. She was still beautiful. In an inhuman, callous kind of way.
Once upon a time, he'd been turned on by the perplexity of her masked expressions. Now, he felt strained to his limits. A twinge lit behind his eyes.
She tilted her head. “I see you haven't lost the toothpick.”
He rolled it between his lips and grinned. “I see you haven't lost your puppy.” He glanced at Joshua's scowl and back at her.
“Where's the hoodie?” The bubbled pink gash on her cheek moved with her lips.
His own scar itched, but not with the same tingling connection he'd once felt. Maybe he'd imagined that bond. Perhaps their shared pain hadn't really been shared at all. He slid a palm down his tie and tapped the heel of his leather loafer beneath the table. Fuck, he was sweating already. He needed to lose the jacket. “People change.”
She held herself so impassive, so stock-still, one might question if she were breathing. “Why are you here?”
Typical Liv, skipping past friendliness and shoving straight to the facts. He could only blame himself for her coldness. Beneath that defensive shield lay the warm and caring woman she was, the girl who existed before he’d taken her.
The year that separated them should’ve tempered her visage, and maybe it had. Most likely, she wore her protective mask now because of him. His stomach sank. He was there to change that.
“I've stumbled upon something incredible” —someone with a wealth of spirit and strength, someone he hadn’t ruined— “that has put all my mistakes in perspective. I've found a reason to try harder. To be a better man.” Ah, there it was. A flicker of warmth beneath her frozen face. “I know I'll be a good father.”
Her thawing expression hardened into ice. “Absolutely not.”
Joshua grabbed her folded hands and squeezed. “Hear him out, Liv.” Green eyes locked with his. “You found someone?”
More like she found him. His very soul lay in the palms of her bound hands. He nodded. “I love her.”
Liv's lips twitched, barely a tic, but it could've been a smile. “Does she know what you've done? Did you tell her about us, all nine of us, and your father?”
He tapped the toothpick with his tongue and reclined against the seat back. “She knows everything.”
“I'm happy for you, Van.” It was undetectable in her tone, but a glimmer of sincerity touched her eyes. Then it was gone. “If she loves you in return.”
“She loves me.”
“So where is she? You're hardly a man who would leave his girl unattended. Why isn't she with you?” Her emotionless voice set his molars together. Worse was the diligence in her questioning. She didn't believe the relationship was consensual. She would’ve been right two months ago.
He held her unwavering gaze. “She's agoraphobic. She can't leave the house.”
“Convenient.” She inhaled a subtle breath, and her tone hardened. “Cut the crap, Van. No manipulations. No bullshit. Tell me what you want.”
He held his hands still on his lap and maintained strong eye contact. If he showed any sign of nervousness, she'd jump on it. “I want to meet Livana. Take me with you on one of your visitations.”
Joshua bent forward, his dark brows lowering over narrowed eyes. “You know about the visitations? You've been watching Liv?”
“Of course he has.” Liv stared back without a hint of surprise on her face. She was smart. She had to have known or at least suspected. “Stalking and abducting is what he does.”
His cheeks burned, and his body tensed. Yeah, he had been stalking. “She's my daughter, too.” How could he explain?
“Do you have someone tied up in your house right now?” she asked.
Fuck yes, and he was two seconds from shoving out of there to be with the one person who had faith in him.
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “How many times a day do you beat her and make her suck your cock?”
He launched toward her, mirroring her pose. “Asks the hypocrite who fucks her slave boy on the kitchen table with a strap-on.”
She put a hand on Joshua’s suddenly heaving chest and sat back with a satisfied smile. “Only one way you'd know that. Some people don't change.”
The toothpick snapped between his teeth. He spit it on the floor and faced her again. “Come to my house. You can meet my girlfriend. She'll validate everything I've said.”
A waitress appeared at the table, beaming a smile at Liv. “That was an incredible performance, Miss Reed. The manager wants to meet with you before you leave to discuss a regular schedule.”
Liv nodded. “Thank you.”
“Can I get y'all any drinks?”
“No, we're good. Thanks.” Joshua waved her off and folded his forearms on the table. “Why on earth do you think I'd ever allow Liv to step foot in your house?” He continued in a harsh whisper. “You blackmailed her for seven years. Beat her. Raped her. Gave her no choice but to train and sell slaves.” His voice pitched in a state of disbelief. “You kept her daughter from her.”
“Besides that,” Liv cut in, “Van has a talent for training people to obey. I'm sure a sweet submissive girlfriend would say just about anything.”
He tightened his fists beneath the table and whispered furiously, “That's logical if I were trying to con anyone else. But you have both been there. You'd recognize coercion from a mile away.” He turned to Joshua. “And you read people better than anyone I know.” He flicked a hand at Liv. “If you can see through her fucking masks, you should damn well be able to see through mine and my girlfriend's.”
His former slaves stared at him with furrowed brows as if they were considering his words.
“I'm just asking for a chance.” His words rushed forth with the pump of his heart. “I've done some horrible things, and I want a chance to protect her from the kind of man I used to be. I grew up without a father's love, and I want to fucking be there to give her that.”
Their silence wore on. He scrubbed his hands over his face, and when he looked up, her expression sent a chill down his spine. Not her usual detached frigidness. In its place were soft, sympathetic features that didn't belong there. He didn't want her looking at him like that. She was about to break his heart, and he couldn't bear to hear it.
“No,” she said. One soft, excruciating word.
The pain exploded in his chest, and he struggled to breathe through it.
She wasn't done. “You coerced me for seven years, and I let you. But this isn't about me. It's about Livana. I can't let you” —her breath hitched, and her jaw stiffened— “I won't allow you to fuck with her.”
“Liv, I would never—”
“If you go near her, I won't involve the authorities.” Her eyes blazed with rage. “I'll kill you myself, and when I dispose of your body, no one will ever find it.”
His heart pounded, and his stomach soured with regret. He'd told her the same thing once.
Her voice dropped to a heartless rasp. “You know why?”
The answer he’d given her a year ago about her own death crawled from his thick throat. “Because no one will care enough to search for it.” Or wouldn’t be able to cross the porch to search for it.
Joshua wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against his chest, her eyes closing not with satisfaction but with heavy sadness.
He should've stood and walked out of there, but he needed to know his options. “You won't kill me.”
Her eyes flew open. “No? How do you think I freed eight slaves and ended your father's operation?”
The real question was how she disposed of the buyers’ bodies. “How did you come by your cartel connections? It was Camila, wasn't it?”
He hadn't been able to confirm the connections, let alone link them to the first slave they'd kidnapped together. But her averted gaze validated it.
Fuck.
Liv had cartel connections through Camila. If he approached Livana, he was a dead man. His pulse thrashed, and he yanked at his collar. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck!
He felt sick, his throat tightening. He reached for the paper bag beside him, removed the doll with a shaking hand, and held it out. “My girlfriend and I made this. Will you give it to Livana?”
She cringed. “Ugh, you still have those things?” Her face distorted with disgust as she climbed over Joshua's lap and strode away.
Fucking moronic how he’d thought bringing a doll to the meeting in place of Amber could’ve proved anything. Didn’t matter that it was handcrafted, beautifully detailed, and made with so much goddamned hope. His daughter would never see it. His gut clenched.
Joshua gave him a pitying look. “Van...”
Fuck him. He shoved the doll back into the bag and got the fuck out of there.
The leaded weight of his feet dragged through the parking lot, the humid air pushing down on his shoulders. When he reached the Mustang, he stripped the jacket and tossed it in the back seat. With his hands clenched around the wheel and the doll in his lap, the weight of the night came surging in, burning his eyes, clotting his throat, and filling up every splintered crack inside him with thick, oily crap. Yet he felt so fucking empty.
He opened the glove box and shoved the doll inside. Then he slammed it shut and numbly stared at the closed door.
A knock on the driver's side window kicked the air from his lungs, and he jumped.
Joshua stood beside the car, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. “Roll down the window.”
He rubbed the ache in his chest and turned the window crank, offering the man a bored expression.
“You had a look about you in there,” Joshua said, “when you talked about your girlfriend. A peaceful look.”
Joshua was a charging protector as much as a touchy-feeler, a reminder he was going to be a preacher before Liv took him. He was hardwired to see the good in people.
And Van wasn’t in the mood for it. “Get to the point.”
“Get your shit together, man. You've got a month. Meet us at this restaurant. I jotted down the date and time.” Joshua shook the napkin. “Liv will feel less threatened if your girl is with you. So don't show up without her.”
He didn't like this numbnut dictating his schedule, but he buried his arrogance. “Liv won't agree to this.”
“She's scared, Van. But she'll be there. I'll make sure of it.” Joshua’s mouth tilted in a half-smile.
Well damn. Their relationship dynamic was baffling. Clearly, Joshua was a sexual submissive, but maybe he wore the pants when he didn't have a dildo in his ass.
He reached for the napkin, and Joshua snatched it back, eyes hard and assertive. “And stop stalking my girlfriend.”
“I don’t need to.” Nor did he want to. He grabbed the napkin and rolled up the window on the fucker's gloomy face.
Hope. It was just a tiny twitch in his chest, but it was there.
As he drove back to the cabin in Cedar Creek, that hope dwindled by the mile. He had a month to slay Amber's beast. His ears pounded. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to slay it literally.
He turned off the exit and drove to the suburban house in Austin he'd visited a few times in the last three weeks. She might've been predisposed to the disorders, but they hadn't taken over her life until her stupid motherfuckering ex brutalized her from the inside out.
He parked in front of the two-story house and shut off the car. Residence of Brent and Tawny Piselli, insurance salesman and aspiring model. Proud owners of two yappy dogs and a sprinkler system. Only thing missing was the white picket fence.
He cracked his neck from side to side and tried to shake the tension from his hands. He wanted to kill both of them, but he'd promised he wouldn't harm her sister.
The picture window glowed with light from the sitting room, flickering with movement inside. Tawny's Audi wasn't in the driveway, and Brent always parked in the garage.
His pulse elevated, driven with a desire for vengeance. He burned for a fight.
My enemy isn't out there, Van. It's here. Right here.
Maybe Brent's death wouldn't help her, but it sure as fuck would release the burning misery built up behind his eyes. He wanted to dominate, to hurt. He wanted to fucking see blood. Fuck the consequences.
He flipped open the glove box, reaching inside for the pistol. His hand brushed the paper bag, crinkling it.
You would be a great father. Fierce and protective and attentive.
He would be a great inmate. A kidnapper, a rapist, a sex trafficker...a murderer.
His head hurt, and his damned body felt like a thousand pounds, every tense inch of it sinking into his stomach. He tore the bag off the doll and bent the legs to sit it on the passenger seat beside him.
You're trying to make a doll that doesn't break?
I've tried. They all break eventually.
Except the one Amber built.
The image of her soft smile and bright eyes shining through the railing invigorated him with a warmth that could only be connected to life.
Not death.
He didn't have to be a kidnapper, rapist, sex trafficker, or murderer. Not anymore.
He slapped the door on the glove box, closing away the gun, and started the car. He had a promise to keep and a sexy ass to beat.
The front door closed with a heart-jolting thunk. He made it home! Amber rolled off her back and scrambled on her knees to the railing. Clutching the wood spindles, her fingers ached with the physical and emotional strain of the last few hours.
The steady fall of leather soles on tile swished through her ears, centering her. Liv hadn't turned him over to the police. Huge exhale. Maybe he hadn't gone home with her. Deeper inhale. His beautiful, naked body wasn't in a bed right now, wrapped around the woman who'd given him a seven-year fever. He was home, safe. Hers.
His broad back came into view, and she trembled with anticipation. He'd lost the jacket, the black dress shirt stretching across his shoulders. He must've known she was watching him, but he didn't look up. Please, look up.
His casual gait veered through the great room, the tips of his fingers sliding across the sofa back and tapping along the edge of a desk, his powerful legs moving slowly yet systemically. He stopped at the center of the window wall with his back to her and stared at the drapes. His head tilted to the side.
Every muscle in her body turned to ice. “Van?” Her throat convulsed. “Van? How'd it go?” Oh, God, turn around, turn around. Please stop looking at those drapes.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his gray suit pants, the fabric hugging his tight, narrow ass. His feet spaced shoulder-width apart, his posture terrifyingly relaxed. “Tell me the worst thoughts you entertained while I was gone.”
His vibrating timbre was so low, so commanding, she melted into the floor. “I imagined you hauled off in handcuffs and how I wouldn't be able to come to you.”
“What else?” His baritone echoed off the two-story ceiling.
She swallowed. “I thought about...” She swallowed again, aching for him to turn around. “You and her...together.”
A twitch rippled across his back. “Say it, Amber.”
Her stomach twisted with shame. “I pictured you...making love to her.”
“Thank you.” His head lowered a millimeter. “Now tell me why you think I would do that.”
She closed her eyes and tightened her fists around the spindles. “You shared seven years with her. You collected her hair...your matching scars.” Her voice quivered, her eyes opening and clinging to the back of his muscular frame. “You have a child together.”
“I haven’t touched her in over a year, and tonight I felt no desire to.” His back rose with his inhale. “I enslaved her for seven years because I was selfish. The hair, the scars, Livana...all examples of my selfishness. That's not love, Amber, which was why I never thought to free her.”
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He reached up, tore open the drapes, and wrenched them off the wall. Wheezing, she jerked away from the railing, caught by two feet of rope.
Fabric and metal poles tumbled to the floor as he moved from window to window, ripping and tossing. She curled into a ball, chest heaving, her face buried in her bound arms.
Every clatter of metal and rip of sheet rock made her heart jump in terror. Her breathing reached an all-too-familiar velocity, burning her lungs and beading sweat along her scalp.
Eventually, her breaths were all she heard as silence settled through the cabin, thickening, waiting. No footsteps on the stairs. No commanding voice. Was he waiting for her to pull herself together?
Her limbs shook, and her pulse ripped through her veins, but breath by painful breath, she reined it in. He'd opened the windows because he wanted to free her. He waited patiently because he believed in her.
She gathered all her courage to accept that knowledge and crawled back to the railing on wobbly knees.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, pinching the button on the shirt cuff at his wrist. As he loosened it and moved to the other wrist, he lifted his eyes, locking them on her. Intense eyes. Dangerously beautiful eyes. She didn't need to look at the windows behind him because she held those eyes, because they told her he loved her.
He didn't look away as he climbed the stairs and rolled up his sleeves. He held her gaze as he reached the loft and removed his belt, dropping it on the wood floor before her. He didn't break eye contact until he knelt at her side and ripped the straps of her tank top.
The openness of the windows crawled on her skin. So she sat on her hip, leaning toward him, and let his touch, his eyes, and his spicy scent swallow her senses. The nylon rope bit into her arms, rubbing against her clammy skin, but she welcomed it, gloried in the restraints he'd given her.
Sliding the shirt to her waist, his fingers stroked a trail of fire down her breastbone, over the lacy bra cups, and across her belly. “Lift your gorgeous ass.”
His whisper pulled that fire inward, heating her blood and curling tendrils of warmth through her pussy. She raised her hips, lost in the potency of his hands on her body. There was something unequivocal about pleasing a man as controlling and calculating and adoring as Van Quiso. No need to think. She simply obeyed, placing all her pleasure, and her pain, in his strong and capable hands.
