by Aubrey Cara
“Do you? Do you know Dom is in the flesh trade? Do you know what that is?”
“Prostitution?”
“That’s the warm and fuzzy version that implies a choice. What Dom does is considered slavery. He picks girls up like you, who don’t have family or anyone watching out for them, and he sells them overseas.”
That’s horrific, but my mind latches onto one thing. “Girls like me?” That stings. I know it’s true, but the way he said it, so matter-of-fact…
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I think you did.”
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear and tilts my face up, but I jerk my face out of his grip refusing to look at him. “Candi, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever. I’m a good candidate for being sold into slavery. It is what it is. Just forget it.” He reaches for me again but I push his hands away.
“Look, I’m an asshole.”
“No arguments here.”
This time when he succeeds in grabbing my face, and gets right down in mine. His eyes are blazing, intense. “You think you’re the only one who gets to be pissed? I’m pissed that I could have helped you, but you didn’t even give me a chance.”
“Good to know,” I say, but he continues like I didn’t say anything.
“I’m pissed because your shitty family put you in this position in the first place.” His voice rises. “I’m pissed because you felt you had to do this on your own because that’s the only option you’ve ever had. If anything had happened to you, it would have haunted me for the rest of my damned life. Do you not get that?”
I try to sniff back my tears, but they still spill over onto my cheeks. When he wipes them away, it makes me cry even more. “Why do you care, Hank? Why the hell should you care what happens to me when obviously no one else gives a shit?”
His face softens, and he shakes his head, unsure. “I don’t know. At first you made me think of my mom. She had limited options, and she became a prostitute after she left my dad.”
I suck in a shocked breath. I had no idea. Here I thought my story was sad.
“She ended up killing herself,” he continues, and it breaks my heart that he had to go through that. “I wouldn’t want that for anybody. But I know it’s more than that. It’s you, princess. I think I was meant to be the man who cares about you. The one who will always be there for you. I never wanted to slay anyone’s dragons, but I’d slay dragons for you.”
“I thought you weren’t a knight in shining armor,” I say softly, drawn in by his words. I want to believe them more than I want to breathe. Always is a long time. He says nothing of love, and for that I’m grateful. I’ve never told a man I loved him, outside of my brother. I never believed in that kind of love. The romantic kind.
“Just for you, princess. Just for you.” The way his gaze heats and penetrates every fiber of my being when he says it makes me think romantic love does exist, and maybe he’s starting to feel it for me. I’m not nearly comfortable with this level of sincerity. When he hated me—that I understood. When he wanted nothing to do with me—well, I could understand that too.
This...
“You’ve come a long way from the guy who thought I was nothing but a troubled girl who needed a spanking.”
“I still think you’re trouble. And you definitely could use a spanking.” His lips are on mine, and I’m done thinking. Analyzing.
We shift and he’s over me, pushing my legs open. Easing inside me. And all I can do is feel.
The way he groans into my mouth.
The way his chest hair rasps against my breasts.
The way my body clenches and trembles under his.
His breath puffs against my ear, and he tells me I’m his fucking perfect, naughty princess. His voice ragged and sexy as hell, he tells me all the things he wants to do to me. All the things he wants me to do to him.
And I’ve never felt as aware of my body. I continuously shudder in mini orgasms, all the while he tells me I’m a good girl for coming on Daddy’s cock.
It’s messed up how much I enjoy him saying these things to me. How much I’m starting to crave him saying them again and again.
The world falls away with him inside me. It’s like that every time we’ve come together. Raw and intense. We only exist for each other. I come, gasping for breath and shattering as Hank pulses inside me, growling his orgasm in my ear. I feel my soul tear apart. It splits open wide, exposed, and vulnerable.
Then Hank rolls off me only to pull me in tight, wrapping himself around me. “You’re cared about, princess,” he says as he drifts off to sleep. “I won’t let anyone take you from me. You’re mine.”
Wrapped in his arms I’m sewn back together by threads of Hank. I’m not sure if I fully believe him, but I want to. But wanting and hoping are dangerous emotions. I wanted my mother to come back. I hoped my father would change. That my brothers would turn out different.
Disappointments abound in my life.
They all begin and end with wanting and hoping.
I wanted Cody to be a good man, and I hadn’t felt nearly as much for him in all the time we’d been together as I do for Hank. That should scare me, but I’ve got too many other things to worry about right now. Like my brother.
I allow myself to doze for a bit in the warm cocoon of Hank’s embrace, but I know I need to try to get ahold of Dylan.
Pushing up from the cradle of Hank’s arms I grab the phone and sit on the edge of the bed while I listen to it ring, ring, ring. I try Byron’s number and get the same thing.
I’m frustrated as all hell, and lost in thought. Hank’s touch makes me jump. He kisses along my shoulder, playing with my hair. His lips are soft, but his beard tickles. It’s still all comforting. It’s a reminder that maybe I’m not completely alone in this.
“Still nothing?” His voice is a low rumble in the quiet room. Warm and comforting. I have to fight the urge to turn into that comfort and bury myself there, sobbing. It’s too tempting.
“Yeah, still nothing.” My voice is flat and dead. Calm. But my heart is racing, my stomach is a sick knot. I’ve never been more scared for my brother.
“Hopefully, my guys will find him.” It’s meant to be reassuring, and I’m grateful for that, but his tone says he doesn’t believe it. Then my mind catches and snags on his words again.
My guys.
“Hank, why were you at the strip club as Colin McGellan, the partial owner of Muchachas? Is that a real person? And who exactly are your guys?”
Hank wraps his arms around me from behind, his legs hugging mine, as he drops a kiss to the side of my neck. “If I tell you something, you can’t tell anyone, not even your brother.”
If my brother survives this. I keep that morbid thought to myself. It doesn’t pay to start thinking that way.
“Ookay,” I drawl, hesitantly.
“I’m, or rather I used to be…the thing is.” Hank pauses. “I take contracts. Government contracts.”
I can feel my eyes bug as I turn in his hold. “Like an assassin?” I fairly screech the question.
“No. Like a security contractor.”
“Is that a fancy way to say assassin?”
He chuckles. “It’s a fancy way of saying mercenary. We don’t usually shoot unless we get shot at first.”
“Unless you’re stealing a girl from a drug boss.”
“Yes, unless that.”
I settle back against his chest again. “Huh.” I thought I knew what mercenaries were, but now I’m not so sure. “Is what you do illegal?”
“No. At least not the jobs I take.”
“Huh.” I still have no clue what it means to be a mercenary. “So, are you on a contract now? Is that why you were at the poker game?”
“A guy I’ve worked with a couple times, he’s DEA. Two years ago, he did me a solid when I was up shit creek. He called me a few weeks ago, asked me to come out here in an unofficial capacity. I was supposed to be a fill-in. T
hen it turned out they just needed me to offer a bit of a distraction while they closed in on Dom’s operation.”
“You certainly did that.”
“Yeah,” he says, going very still behind me. He cocks his head a second before there is a knock at our door.
Hank eases off the bed, stone faced, with a finger over his lips as a sign for silence. Never taking his eyes off the door, he creeps over to his discarded clothes and grabs his gun.
I glance over at the clock, my heart hammering. It’s one thirty in the morning. Room service isn’t going to be on the other side of that door.
19
CANDI
Hank soundlessly makes his way over to me. There’s another, more insistent knock and a rattle of the door. “Say, just a minute,” Hank whispers.
“Just a minute,” I call out, my voice shaking.
Hank motions me up and steers me to the bathroom.
Get down, he mouths silently. When I crouch under the sink he motions for me to stay and closes the door without a sound.
I tense, curling into a tight ball on the cold tile as I hear a rustle and a thud, followed by another thud, and another. There’s some kind of scuffle going on out there and all I can do is pray Hank is winning. I want to creep to the door and see what’s going on, but as quickly as the noises began, they stop.
My breathing sounds so loud in the silence, I cover my mouth. Now the only thing I hear is my racing pulse. My ass is numb from being curled up on the cold tile, but I can’t move. I’m afraid of making a sound.
The door is thrown open, and my scream is muffled behind my hand. Hank’s standing in the doorway, his lip bloodied. Relief courses through me so quickly, I’m lightheaded.
“Come on,” he says, motioning me up.
I throw my arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life. He squeezes me tight in his embrace, dropping a kiss to my head before pushing me back.
“I need you to get dressed. We’re not safe here,” he calmly instructs.
I nod, but I’m still panicky. I turn in a circle, not remembering where my clothes are. That’s when I see him. A hulk of a man lying facedown. He’s gagged by a torn sheet, his arms tied behind his back, and his ankles bound together. Holy shit.
“Hey, look at me.” Hank steps in front of me, blocking my view of the stranger passed out and bound on the floor. “I need you to keep it together for me.” His voice is gentle. His touch reassuring.
He picks up my clothes off the floor and begins efficiently dressing me. He’s already completely dressed. Even his boots are on. I lift my leg then my other as he puts my skirt back on me.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs.
He claps my hand as we go toward the door.
“What about the pants?” I don’t know why I ask. They just seemed lonely lying crumpled on the floor.
Hand on the doorknob, he glances back at me. “You need to be able to run.” With that ominous statement, he eases the door open, glancing up and down the hall before motioning me out.
We make our way to the back stairwell and start down. He surprises me when we go through the door of the second floor landing and take the back elevator to the first floor.
Hank appears calm and cool, if intensely focused, and I wonder who the hell he is. He’s like the Terminator.
I trip out of the elevator and hear myself whimper. I’m more like the whiny, screaming girl in the movie. The one who always has to be saved.
Dang. I hate that girl. She’s so annoying.
Squaring my shoulders, I try to harness my inner badass. I thought we’d head for the back door. Instead, we go around the corner to one of the side doors. With an arm out, he holds me against the wall while he peeks both ways outside the glass. Whatever he sees makes him curse.
Grabbing my hand, he tugs me behind him until we’re running down the hall and around the corner. With our backs to the wall, we wait. I have no idea what we’re waiting for, and I want to ask.
Hank sees the question in my eyes and shakes his head.
I’m huffing like I just tried to run a mile. If Hank is breathing, I can’t tell. It’s like he doesn’t need oxygen. He’s moved into Chuck Norris mode.
The unmistakable sound of the side door opening echoes loudly down the hall. Then the stairwell door. Whoever just came in isn’t trying to be quiet.
Hank doesn’t even wait a full minute before he’s pulling me down the hall the way we’d just come. We’re out the door, running hunched over, low to the ground like we’re in some spy movie. Squatting low behind a big black SUV, we ease around to the driver’s side door.
Gun in hand, Hank whips the door open and yanks a man out. He knocks him out with the butt of his gun in one smooth move. The sound of a gun cocking into place rings in my ears before cold metal is pressed to my head.
“Hank?” My heart’s racing a sickening beat as a tear trails down my cheeks.
I’m not the badass.
I’m definitely the whiny girl who needs to be saved.
20
HANK
“Hank?”
A chill goes down my spine at the tremor in Candi’s voice.
I swing up and around from securing the guy on the ground. Gun drawn, finger on the trigger.
In combat, I wouldn’t hesitate.
If this were a normal job, the asshole standing behind Candi with a gun to her head would be dead. Shot between the eyes.
But I do hesitate.
What-ifs fill my head. What if I miss? What if this fucker’s gun goes off? I’ve seen brains splatter across a room at the impact of a bullet.
My stomach rolls as an image of her beautiful blonde hair and face blown wide open runs through my head. Shit. This is what it feels like to lose your edge. I’ve gone soft. Soft is not an option at the moment.
“It’s over,” he says. “Lower your weapon or she dies.”
The tension eases out of my shoulders, but my heart’s beating like a hammer against my ribs. I pull the trigger. The report of the gun echoes loud in the night. Candi jumps but doesn’t scream. Lips clamped together, she turns, staring at the dead guy at her feet, a pool of blood spreading out beneath him.
I grab her up, shoving her in the SUV and climb in after her. We’re tearing out of the parking lot as two men come running out of the side door of the hotel.
Candi trembles, wide eyed in her seat, and I reach across her and grab her seat belt, snapping the buckle into place.
“Hey, baby girl,” I sooth. Not taking my eyes off the road, I pick up her hand and kiss her ice cold fingers. Fuck. She’s going into shock. “How you doing over there?”
“I’m not a badass,” she says staring down at the dashboard.
“You are. You are an amazing badass.”
“Nope,” she says, looking up at me, shaking her head back and forth. “I don’t think I am.”
Shit. She has blood spray on her face. Under that, her skin is devoid of color, her eyes shining bright with leftover terror.
“It’s gonna be alright, princess.”
She nods, sitting back in her seat. She stares blankly out the window, and I wonder if she’s really going to be oka.
“You did great back there. I need you to do something for me. I need you to keep your eyes peeled for another motel or something. We need to swap out cars.”
“Why? What’s wrong with this one?”
“It probably has a tracker. And anyone who heard that gunshot and looked out the window may be able to identify this vehicle. The hotel room is in my name. The police may start looking for us.”
“Oh God.”
Great. Score one for trying to distract her by terrifying her. I’m a dumbass. She’s not used to this kind of shit.
Driving down the back roads, I spot an isolated house up ahead. The yard is packed with cars. It looks like someone’s throwing a party. Perfect.
I slow down, pulling off to the side of the road.
“What are we doing?”
&
nbsp; “Have you ever stolen a car, princess?”
“Of course.”
I pause, opening the door, surprised by her answer.
She shrugs. “Family stuff,” she says as way of explanation.
It makes me smile. “And you say you’re not a badass. Come on and show me how it’s done.”
As soon as we open the car doors, we hear the music and the unmistakable sound of drunken revelry. Strung lights sparkle over the backyard, but no one is in the front. Fate seems to be smiling on us. We spot an old Chevy on the far end of the yard, already pointing toward the road. It was meant to be. The doors are unlocked.
Candi leans in under the steering column and, seeming to spot something, stands. Giggling, she reaches up to the visor. With a grin on her face, she turns, dangling keys from her fingers.
“One of the perks of living in Texas. I do love me some good ole boys,” she says, tossing me the keys. I climb in behind her, cranking up the engine and throwing it into gear.
After the night we’ve had, I expect some redneck to come swinging out the front door, shooting off rifles. Watching the rear view mirror shows no one there. We’re down the road and on our way.
I think I should probably call Slater, but if Huntington has my real name, my phone might be tapped. I glance over and find Candi with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. I can tell she’s still a bit shaken from earlier, but she’s obviously perking up.
“What are you grinning about?”
“I needed that.”
“What? Stealing a car?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs in the cute little way she does. “It felt familiar. It grounded me. You know, like meditation or yoga or whatever. I feel calmer now. Refocused.”
I huff out a laugh. Who describes stealing a car as being therapeutic? “Princess, we’re going to have to work on how you deal with stressful situations. Your coping methods may get you arrested.”
Although, in truth, I find it kind of hot.
Jesus, she’s a bucketful of trouble just waiting to be knocked over.
She rolls her eyes, sticking out her tongue. “It’s not like I do it often. It’s been forever since I stole a car. And the last time I did, I felt horrible and took it back.”
