Savage Hearts

“How is the baby?” I ask, the question out before I think better of it.

It’s not a good idea to let things between Danny and I get personal, but I can’t help but wonder about the newest member of his family. I remember how excited he was, how he kept calling his sister from New Zealand to see if the baby had been born.

It feels like so much longer than a year since we landed in New Zealand, in that place where, for a few blissfully ignorant days, I thought Danny and I were going to have a chance at a future together. Where we’d been happy, despite the lies and arguments. Where we’d made love all night and then spent a perfect day on the river, feeling like all the best things in life were ours for the taking.

It hurts to remember, but I can’t seem to help it, not with Danny sitting in front of me, with the sun in his hair and that familiar grin on his lips.

“Juliet is the best,” he says, his love for his niece making his face light up. “Beautiful, bossy, and super smart. And she’s got this laugh like a velociraptor screech from those old Jurassic Park movies. It’s the wildest thing. I’ve got a video on my phone if you want to hear it.”

I shake my head, forcing my gaze back to what’s left of my plate of fish tacos. “No, that’s okay.”

I can’t watch a video of Danny’s niece and giggle with him over her silly laugh. I can’t even make eye contact with him right now.

He’s the kind of man who turns heads when we walk down the street—with his long blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail, handsome face, and sculpted body that manages to be elegant and intimidating at the same time.

But when he smiles like that, with all the love in his big heart on display, he’s stunning. Heartbreaking.

Almost irresistible.

It’s not a good idea for me to stay with him at his cabin—he messes with my focus, and at a time like this, focus could mean the difference between freedom and life behind bars—but I refuse to let him empty his savings for me. I refuse to take anything from him. I’ve already stolen too much.

“I’ll cancel my reservation for next week and use that money to pay for the drugs,” I say, determined to get us back on track. “It sounds like Carlos can meet up tomorrow, but what do I do with the coke once I have it? I can’t keep it at my hotel with the maids coming in and out during the day.”

Danny pops the last bite of his sixth taco into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. Clearly planning illegal activities doesn’t interfere with his appetite.

“The commune is pretty chill,” he says. “Just a bunch of people determined to keep their lives simple and play for a living as much as possible. My cabin is at the edge of the woods and there’s no maid service. I don’t see why the stuff wouldn’t be safe there, but we could bury it in the jungle until we’re ready to move it if you want to. Just to be safe.”

I nod, pulse speeding as I pick up the phone and start thumbing a text to Carlos. “Then I’ll tell him I’m good to meet tomorrow. We can head back to your place right after to hide it.”

Back to Danny’s place.

Soon, I’ll be sleeping in the same room with another person for the first time in a year. And not just any person, but Danny, the only man I’ve ever made love to.

Last summer, he proved that Todd and the rest of them hadn’t killed the part of me that craved physical intimacy, but that was before the trial. I haven’t had so much as a hug from another human being since I left L.A., but I haven’t missed physical contact. I’ve been cut off from my own body except in those moments when a workout or a punching session brought every cell violently to life. But that life was hard and focused, cold for all the heat pumping through my veins.

I had assumed that’s who I am now, and that the trial had succeeded in alienating me from my own sensuality in a way even the rape hadn’t.

Sitting in that courtroom and telling my story to a roomful of strangers, while the four men who violated me looked on with horrified expressions and insisted they were innocent, had been like living through it all again. But this time, instead of the horror being my own private weight to bear, I’d been exposed to the entire world. I’d been forced to share the ugly truth and then been branded a liar, unworthy of compassion or justice.