Burning the Past (Southern Heat Book 3)

by Jamie Garrett

  “You cost me a great deal of trouble, do you know that?” His hand made a waving gesture. “You were on your way, weren’t you? Just a few more hours and you would’ve been down in the hold of a cargo ship. You want to know where we were sending you . . . where we are sending you?”

  Yes. No. She heard sounds of movement beyond him, but couldn’t see anything past the glow of a single dirty light bulb screwed into a wall socket over the workbench just above her. How had she been so naïve, so trusting? To think that someone so attractive, so . . . normal-looking could be involved in sex-trafficking.

  “It took me a while to find you, but with a little help, I did.”

  What was he referring to?

  “You do know that just because my”—he twisted his lips and pretended to think, tapping an index finger against his chin—“supervisor. That’s the word I’m looking for.” He nodded, satisfied with his word choice. “You do know that just because my supervisor is in jail, doesn’t mean the business grinds to a halt. We are not a sloppy business, Amy. A message here, a letter there, it all keeps moving along. We even have our contacts in law enforcement who keep certain channels open for us. Didn’t you know that?”

  Why was he telling her this? Was he talking about Sakkas? He answered her question without her even having to ask. His grin faded and he frowned, transforming into a sneer that turned down the corners of his mouth.

  “You will be sent to the man who bought you. We had to pay a fine for the delay in delivery, but I always keep my word.”

  His accent had seemed to grow heavier and sharper. She wanted to crawl into a little ball and disappear, but that wasn’t going to happen, was it? She was going to be sold as a sex slave. She would rather die. The thought didn’t bring any comfort, but she was going to fight hard. They couldn’t afford to send damaged goods to whomever who had purchased her, could they?

  He chuckled and reached for her, placing a hand on her knee. Fury, fear, and disgust welled up inside her. She jerked her knee away and swiped at his hand with her bound hands. He laughed and reached for her again. A grunting noise escaped her throat as she tried to wiggle herself deeper into the corner, but her back was already up against the wall. No escape. He leaned toward her, laughing, and her emotions exploded.

  Balling her bound hands into fists, she struck, aiming for his nose, a growl of fury erupting from her throat at the same time. He jerked his head away at the last moment, but her right fist caught the corner of his mouth.

  He snatched his head back and touched his bleeding lip with his finger, looked at it, and then at her. “You’ll pay for that, Bitch.”

  He reached for her with both hands, gripping her upper arms as he yanked her up from the floor. He swung an arm back, ready to strike. She cringed, but the blow never came. A voice stopped him.

  “Nika!”

  Still holding onto her with one hand, he turned to glance over his shoulder. He chuckled again, prompting Amy to peer cautiously around his shoulder. Her legs nearly gave way when she saw two men walk through the open doorway, dragging an unconscious man into the garage. They hung onto him just under his shoulders, his knees dragging on the floor. They dropped him and he landed with a heavy thud, his face turned toward her.

  She screamed behind her gag. Dean! He stared at her with half-open, glazed eyes. She tried to say his name, but the duct tape on her mouth muffled her words.

  “Now see what you’ve done?” Nick said, shoving her away.

  She stumbled to the side but crashed into the workbench, barely managing to catch her balance before she fell. Oh, God, Dean! What are they going to do to him? She looked around frantically, trying to find something that she could use to defend herself, to defend Dean with. Nothing. The workbench was empty. She wanted to scream in frustration.

  “Like I said, Amy,” Nick said, stepping closer to Dean, who was now rolling onto his back. “Sakkas ordered this one last shipment and I’m going to complete it. Then I’m going to disappear.”

  If looks could kill, the fear she felt, the fury that surely shone in her eyes, would have Nick disappearing into a puff of smoke right there. But this was no fairy tale.

  “First, though, I need to tie up some loose ends.” He glanced at Amy. “And he’s one of them.”

  She shook her head frantically, trying to shout past the duct tape muffling her. Eyes wide and frantic, she screamed, trying to tell him not to, not to hurt Dean. She straightened just as Nick reached underneath his jacket and pulled a pistol from the waistband at the back of his pants. He lifted the barrel tauntingly and pointed it first at her, then turned slightly, arm extended to aim the barrel at Dean.

  No! No, he couldn’t! She looked down at Dean. His eyes were open, staring at her. No, this couldn’t be happening! This was all her fault!

  Suddenly, Nick stepped toward her. He was so fast she didn’t have time to react. He reached for her face and she tried to pull away but her hips were pressed against the workbench. He grabbed one side of the duct tape and yanked it off.

  “Would you like to say something to your boyfriend? A goodbye, perhaps?”

  “No, Nick, I won’t fight you! I’ll go with you, but leave him alone. Please!”

  “No, Amy,” Dean shouted. Her knees nearly collapsed under her. He was awake! He tried to roll and get his feet under him. The two men who had dragged him inside moved swiftly. One of them kicked him in the stomach while the other swung the butt of his pistol at the back of Dean’s head. He collapsed to the floor with a groan.

  “Dean!” She yanked her gaze from Dean back to Nick. “Leave him alone. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want me to. I won’t fight you. Just please, let him go.”

  He seemed to think about it. For a brief second, and a brief second only, she thought he might acquiesce to her wishes, but then reality struck. He wouldn’t let Dean go, no matter what she said or did.

  Dean refused to stay down and tried to get his hands and feet under him again. All three of the kidnappers stared at his efforts with unabashed amusement. Then, to her horror, Nick extended his arm, the pistol pointed at Dean’s head.

  “No!”

  Before she even realized what she was doing, Amy lunged for Dean. At the same instant, she heard the gun, and felt something slam into her back. The force of it propelled her forward. She stumbled and lost her footing, falling forward on top of Dean. Her back felt warm. What was that? It felt wet and—blood! Nick had shot her! Amy closed her eyes in relief. Was Dean safe?

  Nick was cursing, Dean shouting, the two men hovering over Dean, and now her, also shouting at Nick, something about damaging the goods.

  And then everything exploded around her.

  29

  Dean

  Dean stared in disbelief. He tried to shout at Amy, to stop her, but she rushed forward, deliberately placing herself between him and Nick. The gun went off. He saw the look of surprise on Amy’s face, her fear transforming to shock and realization, eyes wide and mouth open as she was struck by a bullet and propelled forward.

  She landed nearly on top of him, her upper torso draped across his lower back. The two men standing over him erupted, shouting at Nick. Nick stared down at Amy, taken aback, mouth open, cursing in English and whatever the hell language they spoke.

  “Shit!” he shouted, staring down at Amy in disbelief. He looked at his compatriots, then snarled. “Stupid bitch!”

  Dean saw red. His own injuries forgotten, he stared down at Amy, saw the blood blossoming on her back, near the lower end of her rib cage. With a roar of fury, he lunged upward. Nothing was in his mind other than to wrap his hands around Nick’s throat and squeeze the life from the slimy little bastard.

  Shouting erupted around him.

  “FBI! Get down! Get down! Drop the weapons!”

  He saw shadows moving, heard his name called, someone shouting for him to get back, but he kept moving forward.

  He focused only on Nick, a mere ten feet away, and barreled into the bastard just as he fired
his gun, aiming at something behind him. Dean tackled him around the waist and knocked both of them to the floor. Behind them, several bursts of gunfire echoed across the room. The smell of sulfur and gunpowder filled the air. A yowl of pain sounded, all overshadowed by a cacophony of shouting and orders.

  “Hands in the air, hands in the air!”

  “Get down, get down!”

  He landed on top of Nick, who was trying to lift his hand and aim his gun at him. Dean grabbed his wrist and slammed his hand down against the concrete. The gun fell out of Nick’s hand as he lay beneath Dean, staring up at his face with a grin. He made no move to fight back.

  “Dean! Dean, get back!”

  While his brain absorbed the sounds and the shouts around him, he wrapped his hands around Nick’s throat and squeezed. He lifted Nick’s head off the floor and pounded it once, twice against the concrete floor. Nick’s mouth opened, his tongue protruding slightly, his eyes bugging outward. Hands grasped at his arms, at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him off.

  “Dean, let go! Let go! It’s over. Dean, it’s over!”

  Only then did he realize that the voice shouting at him belonged to Agent Hemmings. It took three men to pull Dean off of Nick. He fought against Hemmings, fury roiling inside him. As he was dragged away, Nick surged to his feet. A gun fired so near that Dean swore he felt the bullet pass through the air, and Nick dropped, one hand wrapped around the pistol grip of his gun, bleeding from three bullet wounds to his chest.

  Dean would have fallen to the ground had Agent Hemmings not still had a firm hold on his shoulders. His ears buzzed and sounds that he couldn’t identify roared through his brain. In the distance, sirens, and then seconds later, reflections of blue and red lights dancing against the walls on the inside of the abandoned garage. “Amy!” That bastard had shot her. Killed her.

  He turned to Amy, who was lying on the floor, face down. A black-garbed SWAT officer knelt beside her, pressing his hand against the bleeding bullet wound in her back. A harsh cry escaped his lips as he rushed forward. The men holding him let him go as he went down on his knees next to her, brushing the hair back from her face. She was so pale!

  “She’s alive,” the SWAT officer said. “It’s touch and go, but she’s alive.”

  Another SWAT team member knelt down beside the first one, both attending to Amy. Dean grasped her hand in his own trembling hands, holding hers tightly clasped between his. She had saved his life. She had jumped in between him and that asshole and had taken the bullet meant for him.

  He pressed her hand to his chest, willing her to open her eyes, willing her to survive. She had to!

  “Dean.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and tugged his gaze away from Amy’s face long enough to look up and find Agent Hemmings crouched down beside him.

  Dean stared at him, too shocked to utter a word. Everything had happened so fast. Flashes of movement, sounds, and smells inside the garage all warred for attention in his brain. He shook his head, trying to clear it of cobwebs. The pain that stabbed through his skull caused him to regret the move.

  Seconds later, two EMTs appeared, both of them hurrying toward Amy with their gear. Then another pair came in and approached Dean.

  “Mister, you’re going to have to let go of her hand. Let us take care of her.”

  He barely heard the words the EMT spoke to him and the man had to repeat himself. He didn’t want to let go. She had saved his life. She had—

  “Dean, let them do their job. Besides, you need looking at, too.” Hemmings frowned. “You look like you’re about to pass out on me.”

  A hand reached down and tugged Dean’s hands from hers. He turned to Hemmings. He wanted to resist. He wanted to lie next to Amy, to hold her in his arms, to . . . the EMTs rolled her over, one of them taking her pulse, the other checking her entire body for other injuries. A low moan issued from her throat. Her eyelids flickered and then opened . . . and she looked directly at him.

  “Dean,” she sighed. “You’re alright . . .” She smiled. “Thank God . . .”

  “Amy, you hang on. It’s over now. It’s all over. You’re alright now,” he said, his throat hoarse, his voice trembling with emotion. “It’s over. You’re going to be alright.”

  30

  Amy

  Dean was right. It was over. All of it. Nick was dead. Sakkas had been moved to a new location on the other side of the country. The men with Nick had been sent north to separate prisons as well, the agent in Hemmings’ team who had been leaking information identified. The sex-trafficking ring was broken. Hemmings almost cried a tear himself when telling her, guilt coursing through him. Amy had told him to forget it and move on. She didn’t bear him any ill will. Enough people had been hurt. It was enough. She was ready to move on, too.

  She sat on the couch in front of the window, admiring the view. Not from her room at Promise House. She had moved out several weeks ago and moved in with Dean. Penny Girl sat next to her on the couch, sleeping. Amy smiled. In the weeks since her second kidnapping, the dust had settled. She had spent a while in the hospital, but her wound had healed quickly, no major organs damaged.

  Visitors had come every day; Meg and Sloane, their significant others, the guys from Engine Company 81, including a new rookie named Seth Williams, who had shyly said hello and then excused himself; Agent Hemmings, who wished her well for the future.

  She was safe now and no longer needed to look over her shoulder.

  She watched through the window as Dean washed his truck. Shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips, she couldn’t help but admire the way his ass filled those jeans, the way his muscles bunched and rippled as he soaped up the car and then reached for the hose to rinse it off.

  He turned to the window and saw her watching. He smiled and waved, gesturing that he would only be another minute. She didn’t mind. She loved watching him. Would always love watching him.

  For the first time in a very long while, she looked forward to the future. A future with Dean. A future as the new Amy, the strong Amy. The Amy who had learned to fight back, and succeed.

  Everything was right with the world. She had Dean to thank for that.

  For the first time since she had left the hospital, she felt the stirrings of desire. Watching Dean’s muscles bunch on his back, the bulge of his biceps, the way his forearm seemed to ripple with muscles as he grasped the hose had her nipples hardening. While she wasn’t at her most presentable, wearing a pair of his pajama bottoms and one of his dark-blue T-shirts—braless— emblazoned with the gold emblem of the Monroe Fire Department on the left shoulder, she didn’t think it would matter.

  Slowly, careful not to move too fast, she wiggled her way out of the T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor in front of the couch. There, that wasn’t too difficult. She noticed Penny looking at her, and smiled. The puppy stared back and then offered a huffy sigh and then settled back again, curled into a ball on the other end.

  Amy looked out the window. Dean had finished rinsing the car. He turned toward the living room window and she lifted her hand and waved, gesturing him inside.

  For a moment, he did nothing, but then he frowned, dropped the hose on the lawn, and rushed toward the house. She hadn’t meant to look like she was frantic or needed him or anything, but . . . well, she did, didn’t she?

  Her feelings for him warmed her from the inside out, and the anticipation of feeling his hands on her, skin against skin, had her flushing. The surge of heat rose from the bottom of her neck up into her cheeks as he rushed inside the front door. Her pussy clenched. The door slammed shut behind him as he appeared in the doorway of the living room, his eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in concern.

  “Amy, what’s the matter—”

  He stopped short when he noticed her bare breasts. She smiled. “I think I need to be rescued,” she said. “I feel hot . . .”

  His worry transformed immediately into a smile as he stepped toward the couch. He snapped his fingers and gestured for Penny to get down a
nd she did, retreating into the kitchen. A moment later, Amy heard the plastic flap of the doggie door.

  “How about that?” she asked, repositioning her legs to give Dean room to sit down. “Privacy, right on cue.”

  Dean stared at her for several moments, one eyebrow cocked as he unabashedly stared at her breasts. He finally pulled his gaze from her breasts, her nipples now fully erect and hard, to look at her.

  “You sure?”

  With a smile, she nodded. “I’m sure.”

  He was beside her in an instant, kneeling down next to the couch in front of her. “You’re not to move, you understand?”

  She grinned. Not sure if she would be able to manage it, she nevertheless promised. “I’ll do my best.”

  Just to have him so close, seeing that smile on his face, knowing that nothing would keep them apart, felt wonderful. She felt the surge of love for him burgeon inside her, warming her from the inside out. She reached her arms for him and he obliged, leaning forward until his head rested on her chest. She held him like that for several moments until the movement of his hand distracted her. That warm hand had cupped her breast and his thumb gently circled her nipple.

  Heat exploded in her core, spreading outward.

  He smelled so good; his hair, his skin, even his T-shirt. She closed her eyes and smiled as he devoted his full and complete attention to her. His lips met hers and then his tongue separated her lips, coaxing them open until he could sweep his tongue inside. They played tag for several moments and she straightened her legs, pressing herself up against the back of the sofa, giving him room.

  He chuckled as he urged her to lie on her back. She obliged. Over the next several moments, his hands were everywhere at once; sliding beneath the waistband of the pajama pants, his warm hands pressed against her skin. His left hand palmed her, his fingers exploring before he focused on her clit, circling it slowly, teasing the daylights out of her.