“Sir?”
“What?” I growled, and narrowed my eyes at the seller trying to get a glimpse into the car.
His eyes darted back to me, and he scrambled to grab something out of his pocket. “You purchased 48-1, yes?”
I only continued to glare at him. Considering we had talked just minutes after the purchase had been finalized, he and I both knew I had.
“Yes. Here. As requested.” He shoved an old, crumpled piece of paper into the car and jerked his arm away as soon as it was in my grasp.
I didn’t offer my thanks. I looked away in dismissal and waited until the window was back up before I allowed myself to read the scrawled notes about the girl.
Atlanta, Georgia.
Loner.
Only goes between work (restaurant – Glow) and home.
Dad only. Abusive.
Dad deals out of home.
Girl does not use.
Perfect!
There wasn’t anything to help me know more about the girl I’d just bought, but I had figured it was too much to hope for. The sellers’ jobs were to study girls, finding ones who fit a certain profile and would be easily forgotten from their old lives. Nothing more.
Once I’d read the few descriptions they’d given me on her enough times to memorize them, I balled the crinkled paper into my hand and let it fall to the floor of the car.
My mouth twitched into a grimace when I thought about the girl again, trembling and crying out. The initial reaction she’d forced from me—the one to go to her and protect her—rushed to the surface and was quickly met with old memories.
Not the same, I told myself harshly as I rested my head on the back of the seat again. Not the same.
“Mr. Holt?”
I slowly cracked open my eyes and immediately noticed that the privacy window was down.
“Mr. Holt?”
I tensed when I realized the voice was coming from next to me and the back door was open. When I tilted my head enough to notice the driver standing there, I relaxed. I straightened in the seat as I cleared my throat and fixed my tie, though it was fine. “What?”
“They’re coming with her—I thought I should warn you. You aren’t going to be happy.”
I stopped trying to fix my tie. “Why?”
My driver looked nervous to deliver the news, as if he was worried about my reaction. But I was already getting frustrated with the way he hesitated and scrambled for words. “They said she was screaming . . .” He looked at me uneasily when I stilled.
“You have exactly three seconds to tell me what happened if you want to keep your life and your job.” My voice was deceptively even, but it still had the desired effect.
I wasn’t to be ignored. Ever.
I watched the man turn into a scared kid. He swallowed thickly and his face paled.
“Yes, Mr. Holt. They uh, they said she was fighting them and she was uncontrollable.”
“What happened?” I demanded harshly, each word clipped.
“They knocked her out; s-she’s still unconscious. I’m sorry, Mr. Holt, I—”
“Move,” I ordered, and barely waited until he was out of my way before I got out of the car. “How did you find out?”
“One of the men came to tell us.”
I nodded, accepting his answer. I shrugged out of my jacket and threw it into the car, then shoved my hands into my pants pockets as I stared at the building ahead. My body vibrated as I resisted the urge to pace. “Knocked her out how?”
“Some drug, he didn’t say what.”
A growl built in my chest and cut off abruptly when a few men exited the building, one of them carrying the girl. She looked lifeless.
Barely concealed rage pounded through me by the time they reached us, and I gently took the girl from the man’s arms. I studied her chest until I saw it rise and fall a few times, then I let out a slow, relieved breath.
“You bought a wild one,” the man who handed her over said.
“She was uncontrollable, huh?” I tried to make my tone light but knew I didn’t succeed.
“She’s been trouble since we took her,” another man responded. “All the others stayed silent, this bitch wouldn’t shut up.”
All three men laughed. My driver and I joined in, but my driver shot me a nervous look when I turned to put the girl in the backseat of the car.
He was worried. He was smart to be.
I paused from straightening out of the car and glanced over my shoulder when one of the men behind me said, “I had to drug this bitch constantly just to keep her quiet. Surprised anyone wanted her.”
“Surprised she’s still alive,” another said with a laugh.
“Surprised you are,” I added coolly. I wrapped my hand around the handle of one of the guns I had hidden below the seat and took aim when I turned around.
The three men began yelling and backing up, but I just spoke calmly over them. “We don’t ask in this business, right?” I didn’t wait for them to answer. “You don’t ask what I do; I won’t ask what you do. You don’t judge me; I won’t judge you. But you just harmed something that now belongs to me. I did not pay all that money for you to bring me an unconscious girl or for you to decide what happens to her when she acts out. Do we understand each other?”
The men were still slowly backing up, hands now raised, and murmuring their agreements and apologies.
“Next time I won’t be so forgiving,” I warned, dropping the arm holding the gun.
The men exhaled roughly, and one even laughed nervously.
The same man who had bragged about drugging the girl joked weakly, “My life just flashed before my eyes.”
“Why would I kill you?” I mused darkly. “She’s still breathing.”
And there are rules . . .
Before he could react, I lifted my arm and fired once, hitting him in the knee.
Chapter 5
Blackbird
Briar
I rolled over in bed, lifting my hands above my head to stretch, but paused when my body ached in protest.
Why do I hurt?
I tested out my muscles slowly, starting with my arms and working down to my legs. The entire time I tried to remember what I had done to be aching so much and when our bed had ever felt this incredible.
I absentmindedly ran my fingers over the cool sheets as I went through what had happened yesterday, but I couldn’t seem to get a grasp on it. Everything was foggy and just out of my reach. I would get glimpses before they drifted off. Something about Kyle and phone calls in the kitchen. Work and worrying about someone . . . someone . . .
No, I couldn’t have worked yesterday; I never work on Sundays. Brunch with Kyle’s parents . . . where did we go again?
I pressed my hands to my head, trying to force away the pounding and hoping in vain to clear my mind so I could sort through the confusing memories. Why can’t I remember? Why am I in so much pain? And why can’t I open my eyes?
My wrists ached. I rolled my right one a few times before grasping it with my left hand . . . and stilled. All the oxygen seemed to be sucked from the room when I felt shallow cuts that circled my wrist. Switching over to my left wrist only to feel the same, I sorted through a dizzying assault of memories as my heart raced.