Deliver

by Pam Godwin

  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.

  Chains spread out around him and locked to the hooks in the floor. They led to the cuffs on his arms but didn’t attach to the cuff rings. Instead, they wedged beneath the leather straps. One jerk of his arms, and they would fall away. With his hands hidden behind his back, he held the PT-22.

  The minutes stretched, his heart beating to the unfamiliar melody floating from her lips. Her lyrics were indiscernible, but the beauty of her haunting voice massaged its way into his muscles and invigorated his blood.

  Their foremost priority was to lure Mr. E far enough into the room to close the door. Once locked inside, he wouldn’t be able to escape if something went wrong. And while she’d been adamant about being the shooter, he’d denied her pleas to relinquish his mom’s gun. No way would he allow her to defend them on her own.

  Finally, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and tossed it on the bed. “It says, Open the door.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Sweat formed on Josh’s skin. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. He dropped his chin to his chest and rested his finger beside the trigger guard, the gun held tight against his back.

  Liv opened the door and stepped back.

  Black boots stopped in the threshold. The door opened all the way, and a bath towel landed on the floor. Mr. E kicked the terrycloth until it was wedged beneath the crack, propping the door open. “Van’s phone is somewhere in this house. Where is he?”

  Josh’s blood pressure spiked. There went their plan to lock him in.

  Her heeled boots shifted a step backward, her silence constricting his chest. If Van planned to kill his father, he certainly wouldn’t have told the bastard where he was going or what he was doing. Why wasn’t she answering him with some kind of lie?

  Josh raised his chin as subtly as possible, and his breath caught in his throat.

  Mr. E wore his cotton jumpsuit and that god-awful canvas mask. His body angled toward Liv. She stood a few feet away, staring down the barrel of his semi-auto pistol.

  Josh locked his jaw in a painful clench, his entire world a trigger-squeeze away from death. His fight response pummeled at him to attack, hardening his muscles and heating his veins. Timing would be everything.

  A tic bounced in her cheek as her fingers stretched along her thigh, dipping into her boot and grasping her gun. “I’m not Van’s babysitter.”

  The pistol swung, colliding with the side of her head. She fell to one knee, and her gun clattered on the floor.

  Josh jerked so hard one of the chains fell loose from his wrist cuff. It clanked behind him, drawing the mask’s eyeholes in his direction.

  She lurched for her gun and collided with Mr. E’s boot as he kicked it toward the shower stall.

  “You gonna shoot me, you fucking whore?” He shoved the barrel beneath her chin, forcing her to lift on her knees. “Where the fuck is Van? You’ve got one second to answer. One—”

  “Dead.” Her eyes burned, wide and fierce.

  The com
pulsion to protect her wracked Josh with indecision. His pulse raced. No way could he level his gun before Mr. E fired.

  Mr. E crouched and shoved his canvas mask into her face. “I don’t believe you. Last chance.” His gloved finger began a slow squeeze of the trigger.

  A tremor gripped Josh’s spine as her throat bobbed against the press of the barrel. Her fingers curled against her thighs. “Your son cleared out his room before I killed him. Go see for yourself.”

  Oh, God, Liv. Josh tightened his grip on the gun.

  “You’re dead,” whispered from within the hood. In that everlasting second, as Mr. E’s finger pulled the trigger and the hammer released, Josh plummeted, gutted. Lifting his arms, he met his breaking point with a single-minded focus to join her in death and take the son of a bitch with him.

  His heart roared with fear for her as he snapped his arms forward, clattering the chains and aiming the gun.

  Mr. E’s semi-auto clicked, a jarringly quiet sound. Josh stopped breathing. It clicked? The pistol jammed? It misfired! OhGodOhGod, thank you, God.

  Liv swung her arm, knocking the barrel from her neck, and Josh trained the .22’s sights on the mask. He squeezed the trigger as Mr. E jerked his hand to readjust his aim. Both guns fired.

  The double boom pierced his ears. He choked on his terror as Liv’s eyes widened, her hand cupped around her neck. No, no, no. She couldn’t be hit. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and forced his attention on the threat.

  Mr. E’s pistol dropped. Red spouted from a hole in his canvas-wrapped neck, and he collapsed beside her. Josh had aimed true.

  He scrambled toward them, his pulse thrumming in his throat. “Liv? Are you hurt?” He kicked Mr. E’s pistol, skidding it across the room, and pulled her hand from her neck.

  Milky, unblemished skin stretched against the delicate lines of her throat. She glanced at the ceiling, and he followed her gaze. The bullet hole marring the sheetrock sank a surge of relief deep into his lungs. His eyes ached with the aftermath of jumbling emotion, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her.

  The masked head twitched on the floor. Josh clenched his fist, vibrating with the need to take away the last of the man’s power. He found the ties on the back of the canvas hood and yanked it off.

  Silver striped through thinning black hair. Bags of wrinkles hung from pain-filled eyes. The older version of the man in the news articles worked his jaw, unable to drag in a breath.

  She leaned over the police chief, her nostrils flaring. “Van flew to the Keys and tried to save my mom.”

  His eyes flashed, and his head rocked side-to-side.

  “That’s right, cocksucker. And he came back to kill you.” Her voice strained with tears.

  Kneeling beside her, Josh uncurled her fingers from Mr. E’s jumpsuit.

  The man’s jaw opened and closed soundlessly, red trickling from the corner of his mouth. From the neck down, his body lay limp. Maybe the bullet damaged his spinal cord. He was definitely choking on his own blood.

  “I went to your house and found Livana.” She grabbed his bobbing chin. “When your pretty blond wife returns from the station, I’m going to show her all the things you taught me to do. Then I’m going to kill her.”

  Josh probably should’ve been bothered by her taunting a dying man, but his righteousness was buried beneath the huge freaking desire to crush the bastard’s skull with his fist.

  A gurgle of blood bubbled from Mr. E’s mouth, followed by a strangled sigh. His face slackened, and his head fell to the side.

  She checked the pulse in his neck. Josh pulled back the edge of a black glove and felt for a pulse on the wrist.

  With her face only a few inches from his, he could feel her tension releasing with the slowing of her movements. He waited for her to glance up. When their eyes collided, a surreal moment hovered between them, fueled by their unified breaths. It was over. He leaned in, touched his lips to her trembling ones.

  Her face crumpled. “I wanted him to die in a horrible way. This…” Her voice scratched. “This was too merciful.”

  His heart fractured for all the torment Mr. E caused her. He spoke against her quivering chin. “He’ll be judged and spend eternity suffering for his sins.”

  She shifted, staring at the body, her eyes welling, blinking. A quiver rippled across her lips. She turned toward him and coiled her arms around his neck, her lungs hauling tearful gulps of air. “It’s done, Josh.” She cried, quietly, her cheek against his. “I’m so sorry you had to be the one to kill—”

  “Don’t, Liv.” He cupped her face. “I’m not sorry, and you won’t be either.”

  “Okay,” she whispered, nodded. “Livana…” She pressed her face in his neck, her fingers clenched in his hair. “She’s free.”

  And so was Liv. Free of fear. Free to live. Free with him.

  As he held her, wiping away the streaks of tears on her face, he let fifteen days of tension twist free of his body, muscle by muscle, exhale after exhale. He waited for the guilt, for the darkness, for some indication to show him the wrongfulness of his path, but all he felt was liberation breathing through this passionate woman and the salvation that kept her heart beating.

  God’s will led him to that house, but it was love that bound him within its walls. He was born with choices and would die with his decisions. Looking down into her huge brown eyes, her emotions so raw and beautifully exposed, he knew she was the most important decision he’d ever made.

  He scooted to the mattress with her curled in his lap, snagged her phone, and dialed. Pressing a kiss to her salty lips, he lifted the phone to his ear.

  “Bell County 911. What is your emergency?”

  “This is Joshua Carter. I just killed the man who abducted me.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Ten hours later, Liv shuffled out of the interrogation room in the Temple police station, her boots scuffing along the stained carpet squares, the arches of her feet igniting pain with each step. Damned heels.

  The highlights of the detectives’ examination swished through her weary brain. We believe Eli Eary acted alone in his crimes. Killing him in self-defense is permitted by the law. Your actions are not legally punishable. No actus reus. You and Mr. Carter are free to go.

  The investigation was far from over, but for now, they were free. She and Josh had been separated the moment the driveway flooded in blue and red flashing lights. They were transported to the station in handcuffs, separately. They were questioned for hours, separately.

  She stepped into the corridor, searching the unfamiliar faces for pale green eyes and came up empty.

  No one followed her as she walked, but detectives and uniformed men stopped mid-conversation to watch her pass. Fuck them. She tugged down the short hem of her dress, feeling awkward and really fucking exposed.

  She hugged her mid-section, dropped her arms, crossed her arms again. This feeling…this insecurity was so foreign. The last time she lived in a free world, she was just a kid. But in her twenty-four years, she’d never been unsupervised, never went anywhere without checking in with someone…Mom, Mr. E, Van.

  As she passed offices and holding rooms, looking for Josh, she felt lost. She needed his hand on her hip, his fingers laced through hers, his eyes studying her with his bold affection. She missed him with every dry, achy breath.

  Turning the corner, she entered a long hallway, anxious to see how he was doing after all the questioning. Their carefully crafted story to the police painted Eli Eary as a sadistic slave owner, not a slave trafficker. They claimed he acted alone when he abducted and imprisoned them. The detectives were overwhelmed with the discovery of the allegedly-murdered Austin girl from seven years ago and the nationally-mourned linebacker from Baylor.

  She and Josh had agreed to omit the existence of other slaves, the dead buyers, and Van. Too much murder, way too many complications. In their story, Eli Eary used her and Josh—his only two slaves—for his sexual, sadistic pleasures. No one knew she abducted Josh. And no
one mentioned Mr. E having a son.

  Her longer captivity was more complicated. To expose her connection to Livana, she accused an unknown man of raping and impregnating her a few weeks after her abduction. Eli Eary threatened the child’s life as a way to control her. She was allowed limited errands outside of the house but lived in constant fear for her child. When she’d revealed that truth to the room of detectives, her painful tears fomented the story. The seven-year-old scar on her face might’ve garnered some sympathetic votes as well.

  When they told her she was free to go, she asked for a visitation with Livana. They promised to do what they could with a cautious message. “Mrs. Eary is struggling with her husband’s death and his crimes. Give her time.”

  They’d said the wife and daughter were safe in Austin. Mrs. Eary had been oblivious to her husband’s corruption, which meant she’d raised Livana as a legitimate mother. It was good news, right? Livana was loved and taken care of. Yet a deep ache flared in Liv’s chest. Her limbs felt heavier, her body colder.

  It wasn’t as if she’d had aspirations to take over the role of Livana’s mother. God, she’d been so focused on just keeping her alive. But if she were to examine her dreams of the future, they did include her daughter. Losing Livana had left a hole inside her, and perhaps that hole would always be there, but she needed to see her. Needed to understand her relationship with her adoptive mother.

  At the end of the hall, she paused at the doorway of the waiting room, halted by the hiccuping sobs tumbling from within. Across the room, Josh sat on a couch between his parents with their backs to the door. Their heads bowed together, their private huddle enveloped by a chorus of whispered prayers.

  It was four in the morning. Her stomach hurt at the thought of them waiting for her. They should’ve gone home. Of course, Josh would never leave without her. But would they be together the next day? Or next month? Would he go back to school, live with his parents, work the farm, and become a minister?