Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
The front door opened again, and a moment later, familiar green eyes came into view. Black hair outlined a golden complexion, boyishly handsome features, and straight white teeth. No one smiled quite like Slave Number Nine.
“Hey, you.” Joshua Carter didn’t waste time closing the distance and wrapping her in a hug.
“Hey.” She laughed, arms clinging to the packed muscles beneath his Baylor University t-shirt.
The warmth in her cheeks wasn’t from the booze. There was something about Josh, a rare kind of inner light that enabled him to focus on the good in every person and situation. Hell, he’d married Liv—after the woman had kidnapped him, beat him, and pegged him with a strap-on. Underneath his rock-hard, linebacker physique was an endearingly squishy and very forgiving soul.
Or perhaps he was just as fucked up as the rest of them.
He released her and scanned the cabin’s open layout, his face growing taut. “Where’s Liv?”
Camila tried not to let his preoccupation with his wife affect her, but there it was, pinching her chest. She didn’t want Josh, but she envied what he had—someone to look for and be concerned about. Someone to love.
Maybe she’d misjudged her tequila intake. It had turned her into a sensitive little girl.
“Liv’s in the garage.” She stepped out of his way. “Thanks for driving Tate back.”
As a high school football coach, Josh had a legit career to protect. But he’d offered to meet at the drop location so that Larry’s car and the incriminating DNA inside it could be disposed with the body.
He and Liv were the only ones in their little circle of freedom fighters who weren’t considered missing or dead. They had a relationship with his parents and Liv’s daughter. A family to spend holidays with. In that regard, they had more to lose than the rest of the group.
“Wish I could help more.” With a pat on her head, he disappeared into the garage.
Tate crossed the kitchen and leaned into her space, his arm braced on the wall behind her.
Her eyes fluttered closed as the scent of his skin permeated the inches between them. His masculine proximity charged her nerve endings and heated her blood. He smelled balmy like a summer afternoon in the grove. Like a breeze ripened with the aroma of lemons and loam. Like the Texan sunshine when it emblazoned his hazel eyes—
She looked up, her gaze colliding with Tate’s icy blue glare.
“What’s going on with you?” He bent his knees, putting them nose to nose.
A dull throb swelled between her legs, engaging her inner muscles. “I need to get laid.”
She needed so much more than the fleeting relief of an orgasm, but she’d settle for a kiss from a man who cared enough to give her one.
His gaze fell, heavy with regret. He didn’t have to read her mind to know what she really wanted. Hands bound, ass spanked, hard, brutal fucking—they’d discussed her desires in detail until it’d become a laughable tirade. But that only made the stricken look on his face harder to stomach. He knew how goddamn lonely and hungry she was, and still, he rejected her.
She knew he had hang-ups with sex, but he shut down whenever she approached the subject. Maybe her tastes were too dark for him, too much like what he’d endured. Or maybe they weren’t dark enough.
“We only have two days.” She ducked around him and headed toward the garage. “We need to talk about what happens next.” A plan that was guaranteed to receive a concerted fuck no from him and the others.
After gathering everyone in the living room, she explained how she intended to use Larry McGregor’s information to infiltrate the human trafficking network in Austin.
Anticipating the most resistance from Tate, she paced the edge of the room, eyes trained on his bowed head as she outlined the initial steps. He didn’t move from the chair by the windows, his gaze glued to the floor.
Van didn’t show the same restraint.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind.” His entire body bunched and flexed as he balled his hands into fists. He probably would’ve leapt from the couch if Amber wasn’t sitting on his lap. “You want me to sell you? As a slave?”
Liv and Josh sat side by side on the love seat. Their rigid postures, narrowed eyes, deeply furrowed brows—they looked like Bonnie and Clyde’s disapproving cousins.
Camila pursed her lips. They didn’t have to like it. They didn’t even need to be here.
“We don’t know who these people are.” Van dragged a hand across the scar on his cheek, his tone harsh. “And you want me to just show up and hand you over? First off, they’re expecting Larry McGregor.”
“They’re expecting a girl, tied-up and blindfolded.” Camila lifted her chin, even as her insides rioted at the idea. “Larry could’ve sent anyone to deliver her.”