Deliver (Deliver 1)

“You wanted a straight boy. Of course, he’s going to come for me.” She leaned a shoulder against the wife’s suspended body as if she were a lamp post. Her fingers rested on her thigh, just inside the top of her boot.

Traquero’s pacing stopped behind a narrow counter. “Get away from her.”

Liv straightened but didn’t step away. “After ten weeks of training, he will crawl to you on his belly, lick the cheese from your nut sac, and plead for your cock in his ass, all while quivering with anticipation to come on your command.”

The god-awful image boiled bile into Josh’s throat. He stood by the door, his distance from her a heavy frustration, his chains equally so. At least, the width of the room separated her from Traquero.

“There’s something else going on.” Traquero buttoned his jacket. “You’re protecting him.”

“I protect my assets, you delusional fuck. Until you pay, he’s mine to keep undamaged and unused. If you’re not man enough to want him, another Master will be. Do we have a deal?”

Her voice was ice, but beneath her taunting, Josh could hear a crack. If Traquero were listening past her words, he would’ve heard it, too.

“No,” Traquero said. “No deal.”

Silence, so stagnant it clotted Josh’s inhales and clung to his skin. His muscles contracted, preparing. What was she thinking? What would she do? Her temerity scared the ever-loving crap out of him.

“Go to the car, boy.”

She was out of her mind. He rooted his feet to the floor.

“You go.” Traquero shifted against the counter. “He stays.”

Josh snapped his head up as Traquero pulled a snubnosed revolver from beneath the counter and trained it on Liv. Blood thundered in his ears. He jerked forward and crashed to a halt when he saw the gun in her hand.

She shoved the barrel through the ring that held the wife’s mouth open. “Are you a good shot, Traquero? Maybe you’ll hit me at that distance. Maybe you won’t.” Her dark eyes blazed with ruthlessness, but flickering in the depths was a hint of desperation. “We both know I won’t miss.”

Josh’s heart died in his throat. Liv was gambling on Traquero’s caliber of bullet, his accuracy from thirty feet, and his level of duress. If he didn’t hit her with the first shot, chances were he’d kill her with the second.

The room stood still, waiting for Traquero’s response.

CHAPTER 31

Josh’s breathing shallowed. His heart knocked against his ribs. Every frenzied thought concentrated on the aim of Traquero’s gun.

The glow from the filmy bulb gilded Traquero’s distorted face in a putrid yellow. “Don’t shoot her.” The revolver’s nose tipped down, just an inch. “Please.”

There was nothing shocking about a man begging for his wife’s life unless that man was Traquero. But Liv didn’t seem shocked. Somehow, she’d figured him out.

“Empty the gun. Toss it.”

She spoke as a Deliverer, a Mistress, a cold criminal. But that wasn’t who she was. No matter the mask, Josh had never wanted anything more than the courageous, reckless woman trapped beneath it.

Falling bullets plinked on the floor. Traquero chucked the revolver, and it clambered somewhere beyond the reach of light.

Holding her gun in the woman’s mouth, she removed her phone from her boot. Probably the same place she’d concealed her gun. “The referral.”

As he rattled off a phone number, she typed with her thumb and, given her subtle exhale, sent off the text. “Don’t fucking move.” She stared at the screen, her gun hand unwavering. A moment later, she said, “Confirmed.”

Thus, securing the lives of her family. Her drive to protect was fierce. He wanted that same kind of protection for her. He wanted to be that for her.

She returned her phone to her boot and kept the gun aimed on the woman as she backed toward the door, her feet gliding smoothly and confidently. “I need a phone number for the delivery.”

Traquero stared at his wife like he wanted to run to her. “Maybe I want a different boy. One who doesn’t look at you like that.”

She stumbled and resumed her backward walk. “They all look at me like that. You’ll change your mind when the training is done.” She held the door for Josh and followed him out.

For five minutes, she drove, silent, eyes darting to the side mirror. He wanted her to fall apart the moment she hit the gas. He needed to see her, not the damned Deliverer. The stink of fear and sweat oscillated through the dark interior, but somehow she held it together.

His nerves stretched, and his pulse refused to slow down. He tried not think about the battered wife, the botched deal, or Traquero raping her from behind, but his thoughts surpassed turbulent. His hands ached in the wires. He wanted out of his chains. He needed to hold her. He felt so damned useless. “Liv? Talk to me.”

She turned off the road and followed a long dirt path through a thick cluster of trees. Deep within the grove, she stopped and turned off the engine, her eyes hidden by the moonless night.

Wrestling with the scarf, she untangled it from her hair and tossed it to the side. The screen on the phone in her hand awoke, casting a soft light over the dash as she knelt in the space between their seats. A flash of pain sparked in her eyes. “I have to call Van.”

He clamped his teeth together. He knew she’d need to check in. The nightmare was never-ending.

She connected the call, her gaze watery and heartbreaking. She squinted at the screen, at Josh, then switched it to speaker and set it on the dash.

“Already talked with the referral.” Van’s voice prickled across his skin. “He wants a girl. The usual requirements.”

Kate was still at the house, waiting for her delivery day. So another girl would be ripped from her life. Dread clamped his stomach.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Van said, blandly.

Leaving? A rush of possibilities jump-started Josh’s brain.

She touched his fists with trembling fingers and untwisted the wires. “I didn’t secure the deal.”

“What do you mean?” The question dripped from the phone, a slow ominous reverberation.

Her face paled in the screen’s dim light, her expression tight. “He wants a heterosexual boy to come for him on demand. It didn’t happen the way he wanted.”

“What the fuck did happen, Liv?”

She sucked in a sharp inhale. The wires loosened between their hands. Circulation rushed to Josh’s fingers in biting stings, but the sensation dulled with the rush of her next words.

“He fucked my ass, Van. Then he fucked me again by rejecting the deal.” She pulled the wire free and flung it at the back of the van, her teeth grinding so violently he could hear the enamel scraping.

The line went quiet for a heartbeat, two… The sound of shattered glass crashed through the speaker. “Goddammit, Liv. God fucking dammit.” Heavy exhales. “Get home. Now.”

She winced then recovered with squared shoulders. She unscrewed the quick links connecting Josh’s chains and paused on the last one. “The videos.”

“There won’t be any fucking videos.” The line went dead.

She ducked her chin, hiding her face. A surge of anger rocked Josh backward. He knew Van didn’t have any control over the videos or what would happen to their daughter, but he sure as hell wasn’t putting h

is ass on the line to fight for her. Josh suspected he was more afraid of losing Liv and this fragile arrangement than anything else.

The chains fell off his chest and arms and pooled around his waist. His freedom swept through him in ragged breaths.

She gazed at him with stiff lines of determination on her face, an expression he’d seen a hundred times, the unwavering glare that tortured him, aroused him, conjured his nightmares, and filled his dreams.

He memorized each twitch of her lashes, the delicate point of her raised chin, every faltered breath. He was consumed with having her and terrified to lose her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He reached up to brush his fingers through her thick dark hair.

She recoiled before his hand made contact. A blank mask fell over her face, a wall of ice slamming between them. She moved to the driver seat and faced forward.

His momentary calm burst into a roaring fire. Hands fisting, heart pounding, he didn’t know what do with the fury burning through his veins. He tagged his jeans and boots from the floorboard and jumped out.

He dressed as he walked, jerking on his boots, kicking branches out of his path. His muscles heated, and sweat slicked his bare chest, chilling in the night air. He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry for her. The abuse done to her body. The helplessness of her situation. His inability to free her.

He slammed a fist into the nearest tree trunk. Again. Again. Pain ricocheted through his hand, down his arm, and fed his breaking heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her silhouette standing a few yards away. A slender shadow, shrouded by darkness. And in her raised arms, she held a gun, trained on him.

He threw another fist. Absorbed the burn. Expelled the rancor. He knew she was holding a gun on him to prevent him from running and putting her family at further risk. Regardless, she wouldn’t shoot him. Not because she needed a slave, but because she loved what was hers with a self-destructing passion. He faced her and held out his arms. “I’m yours.”

The girl and the gun didn’t move.