I can’t stop myself from watching her in the mirror and feel like a creep because of it. She’s bare of makeup, her cheeks still rosy from tears. There’s a dusting of freckles visible even in the muted light, making her appear young.
I look to the road, then back to her, studying her features. She gets prettier the more I take in every inch of her face. Thick lashes flutter over oval shaped eyes, flames of amber flicking in the brown depths ignited from the passing street lights.
Creep.
My attention drops to her lips when she says, “Can I open the window please? I feel a little queasy.” I watch her thick, plump lips, the bottom slightly larger than the top. Beautiful in every sense of the word and has been forced into a life of shit and squalor by someone who should fight to protect her at all costs. “Sure, darling, just don’t throw up on the leather. Gabe will have a heart attack,” Jameson mocks.
“Asshole,” I grumble. “You need me to pull over?” I ask, but get shot down with a frown and a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t open the window, so I use my control button to open it for her. The wind gushes in, sweeping her hair off her face.
“Thank you,” she whispers, almost inaudible.
“So, Milo is your brother?” I ask, furrowing my brow, fury firing in my veins at the vision of her naked against the wall, his body smothering hers.
“Yes.” She dips her head, picking up a strand of hair and twisting it around her finger.
“Jameson has sisters,” I announce, though I don’t know why. I guess I’m trying to make her feel safe, at ease as well.
“I don’t get naked with mine, just so we’re clear.” He replies in cold sarcasm, clenching his hands into fists on his thighs, before asking. “You know that’s fucked up, right?”
I jab him in the arm. “Asshole.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like,” she defends.
Silence lingers.
“What was it then?” I find myself asking.
I feel her shifting in her seat. “Milo has issues. I was supposed to help him get the money he needed, but I failed.”
“So he made you get naked?” Jameson grimaces.
“He wanted to see if there was something wrong with my body,” she says, her tone oddly steady, like it’s normal for that to happen.
“Why would there be something wrong with your body?” Jameson continues, curious. There was nothing wrong with her body from what I saw, which wasn’t a lot because I’m not a fucking pervert.
“Because Mr. Right didn’t want it anymore.” She sighs, shrugging her small shoulders.
“Who’s Mr. Right?” I ask, pulling into Jameson’s apartment complex.
“The man my brother sold me to a long time ago.”
Every muscle in my body solidifies. A roar pounds in my ears. That little fucking cunt. Jameson’s growl echoes my own.
“Motherfucker.” He looks to me, his jaw as rigid as my own. We should have killed him and let him burn. “You’re safe now,” he informs her without taking his eyes off me. “He doesn’t own you, Willa. No one can own you. You’re not for sale.” Nodding his head to me, he slips out of the truck, slams the door closed, and raps his knuckles on the hood, signaling for me to leave. Pulling away from the curb while glancing my gaze to the rearview mirror, my chest constricts when her eyes meet mine, a shimmer of tears glistening, rapid breathing loud and pulsing through the air separating us makes me want to pull over and take her in my arms. Trembling lips signal the onslaught of big fat tears tracing her smooth cheeks, bleeding out the pain of what’s she’s had to endure by the hands of a monster. A haunting gasp escapes her throat in an upsurge of emotion. The truth of Jameson’s words that she’s more than the price tag her brother gave her overwhelming. I let the road eat the miles as she gulps down the pain swelling within her. “You ok?” It’s a stupid fucking question, but essential, I had to ask it. She blinks rapidly before folding her arms and turning her head away to regain composure. “I want to take you to my place, you good with that?” I ask her, feeling like a fucking asshole for manhandling her, but not sorry for taking her away from her piece of shit brother.
“Do I have a choice?” she asks, almost laughing without humor.
I pull over to the side of the road and turn in my seat to face her. “Yes, you have a fucking choice. You’re a human being, Willa. No one fucking owns you, despite what your brother may have had you believe.”
She studies the darkness outside the window, her teeth worrying that thick bottom lip. “If I get out of this truck right now, what will happen to Milo? Aren’t I payment?”