chapter 22
Liv held her breath, waiting for her revelation to sink in. She circled her thumbs over his hands.
What would he do with this information? How would his reaction impact Mom and Mattie? “Say something.”
His jaw hung. He closed it, blinked. “Who’s her father? Where is he?” When her eyes flicked to the door, he sucked in a breath, his face contorting in disbelief. “Him?” His voice was guttural, strained. “You have a child with Van?” A wave of nausea rolled through her, trembling her body. Disgusted with herself and his reaction to her, her eyes averted from his. She forced them back, met his steady gaze. “There’s a story.”
“Then you’ll talk while you’re eating.” He cupped her chin. “But you sure as hell aren’t going out there—” he stabbed a finger toward the door “—until we have a plan.” Her back stiffened, and she jerked out of his hold. “A plan? Don’t you think I’ve thought through every possible solution?”
He climbed off the bed and scanned the room. “Do you have anything to eat in here?” Why wasn’t he badgering her with questions? She pointed at the trunk.
As he strode around the mattress, his eyes held hers, heavy with intent. “We’ll walk through our options after you eat.”
Clearly, she was no longer steering this…whatever this was. Not that she’d ever really gained control of him. The thought both petrified and thrilled her, a testament to how wildly her world was tilting on end. She knew she should order him to strip and kneel and kiss her feet. She also knew if she peeled away the layers of bullshit around her heart, she’d find a hopeful girl who wanted him stubborn and fierce and whole, exactly as he was.
He returned with an armful of energy bars, apple chips, bottled water, and surprisingly, one of her long nightshirts. “I thought this might make you more comfortable.” Her heart tripped. The shirt was a kindness she wasn’t accustomed to receiving and certainly didn’t deserve, considering his week-long nudity. She slipped it on, her insides quivering with the realization that he could destroy her at a fundamental level. She’d hidden her vulnerability by pretending not to care, but in the span of a week, he’d sliced a deep cut in her mask.
He unwrapped an energy bar, folded her fingers around it, and pulled her legs over his lap. Then he regarded her, one hand curled around her calf. Not eating, he seemed content with watching and waiting.
After a few deliberating moments and two energy bars, she told him everything. Her kidnapping.
Her slave training. The loss of her virginity. The day she was sold. The pregnancy and the scar.
He listened without interrupting, his hand soothing the shivers along her leg, his eyes unwavering.
She maintained a steady monologue until she reached the part about Mattie’s adoption and the conditions of her arrangement. Her voice thickened, and her heart ached with memories and longing.
“The videos are the only assurance he gives me.”
“Which is why you wanted your phone. No text is good news?”
She nodded, crumbling under the reminder that she still had a job to do and a slave she couldn’t train. His attention honed on her change in breathing and the wobble in her chin.
He gathered her in his lap and scooted to lean against the wall. He touched her brow, her cheek, and the line of her neck, the tenderness melting her against his solid body. “You know exactly how I felt when you locked me in the box, huh?”
Guilt squeezed her gut. “Which makes what I did a hundred times worse.” She stared at him, miserable and conflicted about what to do next. “I’m so sorry.” His hands gripped her waist, lifting her and adjusting her legs to straddle his hips.
“What are you—”
His thumbs pressed against her lips, his palms cupping her jaw. Bound by the strength of his gaze, her body went completely still as his thumbs parted, sliding over her cheeks to join his fingers. There was no hint of harshness in his demeanor. His eyes shifted between hers and dropped to her mouth.
His lips parted.
Oh God, was he going to kiss her? A sudden rush of hope blasted through her, and she rode that gust, the filthy perimeter of her existence sweeping away. He lowered his head, and she could only squeeze her eyes shut and anticipate the connection, his acceptance, and maybe his forgiveness.
His lips touched hers, achingly sweet, soft, cautious. A chill replaced the sensation as he leaned back. His breath released, taking hers with it. She shuddered and opened her eyes.
They stared at one another, faces just a kiss apart, and it was the most intimate moment she’d ever experienced. As he looked at her, the pale glow of his eyes softened, asking without words, Is this okay?
She nodded, her body liquefying in the cradle of his lap, molding against his tense abs and thighs.
His fingers flexed on her back, and he swept forward, taking her mouth, opening her lips with the warm flesh of his. Beneath the spice of toothpaste, she tasted his natural purity, his breath flavored with sweetness and hope.
With his hands spread over the rise of her ass, he pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, his tongue chasing and tangling with hers. She devoured the heat of his mouth, the strength of his embrace, the precision of his movements. Neither submissive nor forceful, he clutched her hips and controlled the rock of her pelvis. His strong jaw guided the speed and motion of her mouth, his lips burning a trail of sparks as his whiskers scratched a pleasurable twinge across her skin.
His chest heaved, and a moan rumbled in his throat. She savored the response, wanted to hear more, feel him closer. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She slid her hands down his chest and slipped under the hem. Gliding back up the warm taut brawn of his abs and the velvet skin wrapping his pecs, she paused over the beat of his heart against her palm.
He gripped her nape, angled her head, and intensified the kiss. She didn’t know if it was her emotional exhaustion or if he was more experienced than she’d thought, but his mastery over her was assured and exquisite. Every lick and nibble tingled through her body, curling her toes against his thighs, racing her heart, and fuzzing her brain.
Too soon, they came up for air. After a few noisy breaths, she gave him a smile, which he returned with warmth and affection.
“Wow.” She shook her muddled head. “You’ve done that a lot, haven’t you?” He captured her lips again, his mouth just as maddening and curling, leaving her body shivering when he finished. “Kissing is the only thing I can do.” Her heart pinched. Unfortunately, her bladder, too, but she refused to leave the embrace of his arms. Emotions swept through her as she snuggled against his chest, swirling her thoughts into a jumbled knot. She wasn’t ready to voice her worries and ruin the moment, but he did it for her.
“Does Van know Mr. E’s identity?”
Their eyes met and she nodded.
“Do you?”
She traced his strong jaw, the whiskers rasping against her finger. He held still as she followed the smooth skin stretching over his cheekbones, between his enchanting eyes and disappearing beneath the soft inky hue of his hairline. His beauty had the power to enthrall and distract.
She dropped her hand. “If I knew Mr. E’s identity, we wouldn’t be sitting here.” She would’ve tracked him down. Perhaps he had a family she could’ve threatened. “Van claims he’s only seen beneath the mask once, when Mr. E lured him from his mother’s meth house. I have my doubts.” Her bladder prodded again.
Something shifted through his eyes, and his jaw twitched. “Mr. E basically pushed you into my arms last night.” His embrace tightened around her, punctuating his point. “Why would he do that?
And I see the way Van watches you. Why would Van let him do that?” The answers weren’t simple, most of which were based on her own theories. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He carried her to the toilet. She might’ve refused out of pride if she weren’t so reluctant to leave his arms. He lowered her to the rim and squatted before her.
Her head spun from the sudden loss of his supportive strength, but she still mustered a glare when he propped his chin on a fist and settled in.
“You look like you’re about to fall over.” His tone was gentle.
Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes and released her bladder. “Van may not agree with everything Mr. E does, but he’s never challenged him. He loves the cocksucker like a father.” She glanced up and found him observing her steadily.
The set of his jaw matched the hardness of his eyes. “Van thinks he loves you.” That truth didn’t need acknowledgment. She flushed the toilet and moved to the shower. “Mr. E’s actions aren’t always transparent. Last night was the first time he’d ever raised a hand against me.
Other than…” She touched the scar on her cheek and turned the tap to warm.
He sat against the wall outside the open shower as she undressed and washed. Her movements were robotic, but her thoughts were an utter mess. Now that he knew her situation, what was he willing to do?
She needed to know where his head was. “Maybe Mr. E pushed us together to wrangle your sympathy for me, a ploy to persuade you to do what needs to be done, using me as leverage.” Though his eyes followed the motion of her hands, they were unfocused, turned inward.
“He’s never attempted anything like this.” It seemed too complicated to be worth the effort. As she washed her belly and thighs, she lay a soapy hand over the horizontal c-section scar below her bikini line. It was one scar she wished hadn’t faded. “Honestly, I don’t know why he’s kept me alive all these years.”
“Do you have sex with Van privately? Or do you just screw him in front of your slaves?” Quiet words at odds with his finger digging restlessly at a frayed hole in his jeans.
Her throat convulsed, her stomach caving with humiliation. Was he regretting the kiss they’d just shared? He wasn’t glaring at her with judgment or pumping his muscles with jealousy. But he’d also been raised to approach problems with civility and grace. She shut off the water and faced him, wet and naked, with a quiver in her voice. “It’s complicated.”
The hand on his leg curled into a fist, and his chest heaved. He straightened his fingers, cleared his throat, and imprisoned her eyes. “Complicated how? Is it consensual?” Was it? She nodded. Unsure, she shook her head then nodded again.
He stood, slowly, his expression tight, and wrapped a towel around her. “I really need you to explain that answer, Liv.” He rifled through her trunk while she sketched out Van’s tricks, his mind games, and his threats to involve Mr. E.
“He doesn’t physically force me.” She felt sick, weak, frozen in the shower stall. “Having sex in front of you…” She shivered with self-hatred. “I was cornered. He’d told that morning he was going to f*ck you. I convinced him jealousy was more effective.”
He glared at his hands, gripping the edge of the trunk, his eyes full of pain, his face red. When he returned, he handed her a t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of panties that matched the mint green of his irises.
He touched her face, his fingers lingering on her mouth. “Do you come for him?” Shit, she didn’t want to answer that, but he looked at her as if he were consumed by the need to know. She gripped the towel around her chest. “Yes.”
Tension vibrated from his body as he stormed through the room. He seemed to be trying to drive it away with his swift strides back to the trunk and whatever was distracting him there. She didn’t own anything personal. Only meaningless things she’d collected while living in that room. She dressed and sat on the mattress.
While he rummaged, she told him what the news had been reporting about his disappearance, highlighting the resiliency his parents exuded during their interviews. Then she talked about her own experience with Mom’s grieving and her eventually moving on. “When enough time has passed, your fake decomposed remains will turn up somewhere and put an end to all the searching. I don’t know how Mr. E arranges such a thing, but he pulled it off when I disappeared—” her throat dried, scratching her voice “—and Van says Mr. E intends to do the same with you.” During her one-sided conversation, he’d found a tennis ball in the trunk, a gift she’d earned as a slave. He tossed it against the far wall, caught it, tossed it again, over and over. He didn’t seem to be listening.
“Am I boring you?”
He snatched the ball out of the air and jerked his head toward her, his eyes clouded under the V
of his dark eyebrows. “Mr. E has a pretty twisted hold on me by threatening your life. How does this affect the threat against my parents?”
“That threat was my creation.” She felt sick. “An empty one.” Harming his parents had never been an option. She wanted to go back to the day she took him and erase the worry she’d planted in his head. She also wanted to bury her pen knife in Mr. E’s jugular and watch his stupid mask soak up the blood. Damn him for manipulating Josh into feeling sorry for her.
He watched her with eyes too perceptive for his age. “Is Van a threat to my parents?” She pressed a cool hand against her burning cheek. “Your parents are entangled with media and detectives. He wouldn’t dare go near them.” Even without the risk, she didn’t believe Van would murder an innocent person.
Josh’s fist flexed around the ball, his other hand scraping roughly over his face.
“What’s bothering you? Besides the obvious.” She gestured around the room, indicating his prison cell.
He glanced at her, the tightness of his chest visible in the muscles straining his shirt. “I work my parents’ farm at dawn and dusk.” He flung the ball, caught the bounce back. “At practice, I sprint, tackle, and sweat through endurance exercises for hours every day.” His voice lowered. “Now I’m locked in an attic with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” The ball sailed through the air, returned to his hand. “Whom I just shared a very. Arousing. Kiss. With.” A toss and catch punctuated each word.
A warm tendril of pleasure shivered through her. She wanted to close the distance and wrap her arms around him, but he seemed to be trying to control his arousal and pent-up energy. She had no interest in taunting him.
Lowering his head, he pressed the ball to his brow. “And there is a tyrant waiting outside that door to have sex with you. Again.” He resumed pummeling the wall. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “I’m trying real hard to keep myself in check, Liv.”
His words tied her up with heartache and compelled her to silence. She clung to the sounds of the thumps against the wall and the way he controlled his body despite his turmoil.
He caught the ball, clasping it in his hands behind his neck, and looked heavenward. “If I escape, I might be able to track Mr. E down. But he will kill you before I do. If I take you with me, he’ll kill your mom and daughter.”
Her breath stumbled with the acceleration of her pulse.
“If we follow all the rules, your arrangement is safe.” He dropped the ball and sat beside her on the mattress. “Given my background, I think he knew you would trust me with your predicament, and he’s counting on me not to put you or your family in harm’s way. We’re both being played, Liv.” Hearing him voice her fears churned her gut, boiling bile through her chest. “I want to kill him.”
“Murder’s not the answer.”
Maybe he’d meant to find some preacher comfort in his response, but the sinews in his neck were taut against his skin.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t kill him anyway. He has a contract out on Mattie and Mom. It’s part of our arrangement. If anything happens to him or Van, the contract will be activated.” Blood drained from his face. “A hit man?”
She lifted a shoulder, swallowed. “Something like that. He’s in the business of trafficking humans. I don’t doubt he has connections with an assortment of criminals. But I’ve not been inclined to test his threat.”
He leaned forward and laced his fingers through hers. His perceptive eyes projected an intrusive quality, one that could unearth her weaknesses or nurture her strengths. “You’re going to teach me all the rules. Train me as your slave.”
Regret pinched her chest. Mr. E succeeded where she failed. The boy would be cooperative.
What an elegant f*cking play. “I can’t—”
“You will.” He squeezed her hand. “And since there’s no way I’ll let you go out there alone—”
“Let me?” She pulled her hand from his. “You’re pushing it, boy.” He barked an unsmiling laugh. “I’ve stomached the boy crap long enough.” He stood on the mattress, feet planted on either side of her knees, and stretched out his arms. “Do I look like a boy to you?”
Dark stubble shadowed his masculine jaw. His biceps were damned near the size of her thighs.
The brick wall of his torso narrowed into low-hung jeans that cupped his groin. She knew too well the shape and girth of the cock that formed that bulge, and it could only belong to a man. “Cocky bastard.”
He dropped to his knees and straddled her thighs. With a dip of his head, he stole a kiss. “You’re going to text Van and tell him to bring us food.”
“He won’t—”
He kissed her again. “Shut up and listen. You’ll tell him I’m becoming the perfect little slave—
Don’t look at me like that. I can act out the damned requirements.” Determination sharpened his eyes.
“Van will test you before the buyer’s meeting tomorrow.”
His face slacked. “Does the buyer expect to have sex with me at this meeting?” The other boys she’d enslaved weren’t virgins, and the buyers did f*ck them during the introductions. But this deal was different in so many ways. “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent it.” She filled her eyes with the truth of her words. “I promise.”
“Then we’ll get through the next few days and figure out the rest.” His tone sobered. “But Liv?” He held her eyes, drew in a long breath. “Requirement number two is my limit. The only way I’d have sex with those men would be by force. Do you understand?” She could hold her promise about the buyer’s meeting. And she could calm down Van by sending him a text. Once he knew she was okay, he’d leave her alone to do her training. It was the rest that made her want to throw up. She nodded, her heart lodged somewhere in her stomach.