Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Ten





Earlier that evening, Grace had been fighting for a woman’s life. Now she was supposed to be fighting for her own, and she realized she’d gotten the familiar feelings of warning all mixed up.

This was what was coming down the pike for her. She’d become so focused on another woman’s safety that she’d compromised her own.

Marnie. Her friend. Her safety net. Marnie, who understood when Grace took foolish risks, because she did the same thing. They were women who’d danced around violence their entire lives. They knew no other way, and they probably never would.

She and Marnie always expected the harshness of the violence because of their backgrounds and this job they did, but they were still somehow always surprised by it.

No matter how prepared they were, it was never enough.

Carmen waited for them in the small courtyard as they’d asked—staying inside her apartment wouldn’t allow her to run or scream if Marcus arrived. And she’d been spotted by him by the time Marnie and Grace arrived. Marcus was a repeat offender—a violent rapist and abuser—and he had Carmen pinned under him, a hand across her throat, the other between her legs.

He had nothing to lose. Carmen—and Grace and Marnie—had everything to.

Beside her, Marnie retched and Grace fought back a scream. Instead, she steadily aimed the gun at the side of Marcus’s head, where it wouldn’t affect Carmen at all.

“You get off her,” she told him, “or I’ll kill you.”

Maybe she should kill him anyway, do a little vigilante justice, because this man would keep finding Carmen until he killed her. He’d never be put away long enough for her to ever get safe, let alone feel that way.

Grace knew all too well how that felt. The need for vengeance ran deep and hot in her blood, a need retriggered when she went on these calls or met with a victim or woke from one of her nightmares.

She was as screwed up as these women, which was why they trusted her so much.

Marcus wasn’t moving. Instead, he shifted, which caused her to lose her position with the gun as he goddamned spat at her. She aimed quickly at his leg and let off a shot. The night was heavy, thick with violence, and the force of her shot barely shattered it, swam through the heavy murk of darkness and despair and hit where she’d aimed. When he stared between her and the tree next to him, he appeared stunned, and it gave Carmen time enough to bring her palm up into his nose and slam him backwards. His bone crunched, blood spattered and Carmen was free and running, Marnie going after her.

Which left Grace alone with Marcus, and he was up and coming for her fast. Didn’t seem to care that the gun was between them. And she would not die tonight.

“I’ll take care of you once and for all, bitch!” he yelled and continued onward like a freight train. She braced herself to shoot and then realized that Marnie had done it for her, taking Marcus down with a shot to his calf.

“Get to the van!” Marnie called, and Grace ran, Carmen now behind her. At some point, Carmen must’ve run back to the apartment to grab her daughter and a bag she’d packed.

Marnie got behind the wheel, and in seconds, they were flying down the road.

Grace hadn’t heard any sirens, which wasn’t unusual for this area. None of the neighbors liked or trusted the police enough to call them, even when they were in serious danger.

Grace had escaped from hell, and now she consistently put herself in the line of fire of her own free will in order to make sure no woman or child suffered for longer than they had to. Tonight, Carmen had gotten out of her apartment with her most precious possession, her five-year-old daughter, a small tote and a little money and into a van with a woman she’d never met who would drive her to salvation.

Carmen would eventually settle somewhere. Grace would never know where, because it was safer for all of them that way, but she liked to imagine that all those women and children had a great life, that the women remarried and the kids grew up happy and healthy and unaffected by anything they’d seen in their early years.

She knew, according to the statistics Marnie told her, that many of the women ended up with another abusive partner, because that was all they knew.

Now Grace held her breath as she heard Marnie calling to her, waited through the deafening silence until the old truck drove away and exhaled when no shots followed. Marnie was safe and Grace would do anything to keep her that way.

And then Dare was slamming back in the house, using a candle low on the table so the light wouldn’t be seen from the street, especially when he pulled down the blackout shade.

He obviously knew this place as well as she did.

“Where were you tonight?” he demanded now.

“Right where you found me.” She paused. “Thank you for not shooting my friend.”

With that, he unlocked the cuffs and held her phone out to her. “Marnie keeps calling and texting. She wants to know if you’re okay—if you’re safe. Who’s after you?”

“No one you’d know.”

“You’d be surprised who I know,” he told her, his voice edging toward dangerously low. It sent a wave of pure panic through her nervous system. She’d been through too much tonight all ready. Her body hadn’t come down from the earlier scuffle with a madman, and now she was confronted by her past, ready to rise up and drag her all the way back in with sharp claws and a biting sting that she’d never get used to.

“I used to do dangerous things. Take bad risks after Darius and Adele rescued me, because I could. They didn’t try to stop me, like they knew it had to work itself out of me, like a fever.” The weight of the admission still hung on her, though Dare didn’t seem to be judging her. But he’d been trained well—who knew what lay behind his poker face?

“I still do them,” he muttered. His hair dropped over his bare shoulders, chest glistened, jeans stuck to his hard lower body, molded there. He’d been barefoot when he’d run out with the gun.

“Me too,” she whispered, talking back the recent lie. He seemed to approve, clicked the safety, but he held on to the gun. He still had that predatory look in his eyes. He was Darius’s son, but he looked nothing like him.

She stared around the old cabin where she’d once been permitted to roam freely. Her wrists ached, but she ignored the pain in favor of continuing to study the man who could hold her fate in his hands. Wondered how much to reveal.

She and Darius had talked about Dare a bit, but Darius had always said he’d never told his son what he had to do, that the boy had to follow his own conscience in order to be any kind of good man.

She believed Dare was a good man . . . or else there was some kind of hoodoo magic he was dabbling in, because her body wanted to surrender to him, not fight him.

The jolt of pleasure at that thought threw her off more than any pain she’d ever had. It was an odd sensation of low-level electricity rumbling through her, making it hard to concentrate.

The only benefit was that Dare seemed to be having the same trouble. As he moved closer, she knew she should move away, but his gaze was intense, even under the soft light.

She’d been living hard, playing harder, skirting a dangerous line between brave and simply stupid; she’d done all of it because S8 gave her the opportunity to do so.

She’d never seen any other kind of life for herself. She lived from day to day; it had been the only way she’d survived for a long time. She hadn’t come across a reason to change any of it in all these years.

Except now she had the reason, the sign, in the form of a ruggedly handsome man who towered over her. She knew that he’d demand more from her—how she would handle the request was up to her.

Or was it? Dare’s gaze was too sharp, his thoughts too focused. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was able to read minds as well. He appeared that capable.

His fingers traced the bruises on her forearm, which were well above the marks left where he’d bound her earlier. There was no mistaking that someone had grabbed her hard—and he’d know it wasn’t him.

“Is someone abusing you? A boyfriend?” he asked, and she nearly laughed at the idea of her being attached to any one man long enough to call him boyfriend.

“No, not me.” Not ever.

“You need to start explaining the bruises and Marnie.”

“That isn’t why you brought me here,” she said. He acknowledged that with a nod. “Then let’s move past it.”

“I can’t stomach someone hurting a woman.”

“I deserved it,” she told him. “He was pissed that I took away his punching bag. I told him I hoped he’d rot in hell and then I kicked him in the balls. He grabbed me and I broke his nose.”

The corner of Dare’s mouth quirked up a little as if he approved, but his voice was dead serious when he said, “No woman ever deserves to be hit.”

“Obviously not everyone feels the same way.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she neutralized her expression and stared back at him.

He was such a beautifully handsome man. Dark, mysterious. Haunted. A tug in her womb made her want to edge toward him.

He would kiss her if she got closer—she was sure of it. What would it solve? Nothing. But maybe kisses weren’t supposed to solve anything—maybe they were supposed to simply be.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her roughly, like it hurt him to say so.

“But you’re not letting me go.”

“I can’t, Grace. Not yet. I have a lot more things to figure out. For now, let’s just stick with Marnie—who is she, exactly?”

“My employer,” she admitted.

“Is she the last person you were in contact with?”

“We spoke this afternoon.”

“Where do you work?”

“Out of my house. Sometimes out of hers if necessary. Most of it’s done by phone, with a few face-to-face meetings.”

“What kind of work is it?”

She hesitated because she’d gotten in too deep. With him, with Marnie, with all of it. She’d been trying to dig herself out since she was eighteen.

“What kind of work?” he repeated, but he wasn’t angry.

“I help Marnie—and she helps women who’ve been abused.”

He nodded, like that confirmed what he’d thought, even as he swore under his breath. “So you’re in contact with a lot of anonymous people.”

“Marnie’s very careful about that where I’m concerned.”

“Because she knows who you are?”

“I never told her anything about that, but I’ve been working with her since Adele recommended me for the job,” Grace said coolly; she knew that would shut him up.

And it did, for a minute, until he said, “Call Marnie and tell her you’re okay. Not to worry.”

“Will I be?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. She called anyway, and he leaned over and put the phone on speaker so he could hear both ends of the conversation. “Marnie, it’s me.”

Marnie’s voice rang through the phone, the concern and relief evident in her tone. “Grace, where are you? I’ve been calling—stopped by the old place and yours. You can’t do that to me.”

“I’m sorry—I’m okay. I went for a walk behind the house and waited the rain out. I didn’t mean to worry you.” She could be a good liar when she needed to be, and she was letting Dare see that. Putting out a trust that maybe she shouldn’t. “Look, I’ll call you later and check in.”

“Okay—just wanted to let you know that Carmen’s safe and sound.”

“Great.” She hung up and handed Dare back the phone. He put it in his pocket and watched her again. “Carmen’s the woman I helped tonight. Her boyfriend’s the one who tried to stop me. Marnie and I work to get these women out of their situations and into safe houses, usually out of state. The police can issue restraining orders, but no one follows them. There’s no deterrent.” She’d become a warrior for her cause, fierce and determined—invincible where other women were concerned.

As Dare ran a hand through his hair, she went to grab the blanket that had fallen to the ground earlier and wrapped it around herself.

“The man who gave you those bruises—he won’t go down easily,” he said finally.

“Probably not,” she agreed.

“I’m sure Adele didn’t want you working this end of Marnie’s business.”

She closed her eyes briefly and thought about the first time she’d left the house to search for one of Marnie’s women.

She’d been alone in this house when she’d gotten the call.

“Kim, what’s wrong?”

“Please, you have to come help me,” Kim whispered, the frantic note in her voice impossible to ignore. “He’s here.”

Grace went cold. “Have you called Marnie?”

“She’s not answering. This is the emergency number she gave me.”

Marnie always answered—the woman was a goddess when it came to what she referred to as her calling. Saving women who’d been abused, raped or otherwise harmed was the only thing that had gotten her past the point of feeling like a victim. She’d helped Grace so much when Grace first arrived in New Orleans.

Adele had been the one who’d put the two of them in touch. She’d known, somehow, what Grace had gone through, although Grace had never told anyone about it. Because if she told, it meant it had really happened and she’d have to deal with it.

Adele left Marnie’s name and number for Grace one morning.

“What’s this for?” Grace asked.

“She runs a hotline out of her house—she needs some help. I think it’ll be good for you.” Adele sipped her coffee and turned away after saying it; it hadn’t been simply a suggestion.

“But I’m already helping you and Darius.”

“You still will. But you need to be busier. Good for the soul,” Adele said.

Marnie ran far more than a hotline from her bayou house, hidden away from the road and most civilization with thick brush and a clever drive that seemed to point away from it. It was the perfect hideaway for Marnie herself—and once Grace realized the only way to truly make things better for herself was to help others, she did more than simply devote her life to it. She threw herself headfirst into it, ate and slept the women and children she helped.

Sometimes, it was simply a matter of a phone call and a referral to a rape crisis counselor or a police officer or two she trusted. Other times, it was far more complicated and skirted the law.

Grace gave herself more freedom with each passing week. Found herself risking herself when she shouldn’t have—picking up strange men in bars—and soon that became like a drug. Adele knew, of course, didn’t disapprove of Grace’s promiscuity, as long as she didn’t leave herself vulnerable to being found out by Powell.

“At first, I was only supposed to work the phones while Marnie was out on calls. It was the perfect job—and I felt like I was helping. And then I got restless, especially once Darius and Adele left. I’d expected to hear from them, at least once in a while. When I didn’t . . . I thought maybe it was for my own safety. Maybe it was for the best . . .” She stopped because she heard the catch in her own voice, turned away from Dare because he would see too much.

He already has.