Vanquish (Deliver 2)

“I made this with Liv's real hair. Collected it for years from her pillow, her hairbrush, and directly from her scalp.” At the time, he didn't know why. A compulsion maybe? A sick one. He removed his hand and shoved it in his pocket.

“Oh, Van, I can't even...” Her voice strained with disbelief, and she cleared her throat. “Why?”

He was damaged, in the most irredeemable way. He brought shaky fingers to his forehead and gave her his back. He hated this feeling, this fucking vulnerability. “This was a mistake.”

“Van Quiso.” Her clipped tone vibrated with impatience. “You put me on that bathroom counter with my legs spread and made me talk about some scary shit. You owe me.” She sucked in a long breath and softened her voice. “I want to understand why you kept her hair. I want to know everything about you.”

Her words moved him. And the sudden support of her arms wrapping around his waist and her chest against his back found him and held him.

“I have a memory of my mother under the tin roof of our makeshift shelter. She wasn't crying or stoned. She was just sitting there, being.” He placed his hands over Amber's on his abs, absorbing her warmth. “She was sitting so close her hair touched my face and shoulder, and I imagined maybe that was what her fingertips would feel like or her kisses.” His voice thickened, his chest aching. He coughed into his fist.

She slipped under his arm and cupped his face with fire in her eyes. “My mother couldn't look at me because I reminded her of her illness. She gave birth to me, this child who embodied the worst of her sickness, and nothing I could've done would change that.” She caressed his chest. “I guess what I’m saying is...I get it. I wanted you to know I understand.”

He coiled his fingers through her hair and put his lips on her forehead. He was his mother's repulsive reminder of her slavery. Of course, he knew that, which was why he needed a relationship with his daughter. To show her she wasn't a thing he resented. To give her a father's love. “The third one doesn't know I exist.”

“The third?” Her brow wrinkled beneath his lips. She pulled back and peered around his shoulder at the display cabinet. “The small doll is the third person you...she's...” She swallowed, hard.

“Livana will be eight next month.” Another birthday he wouldn't be a part of. His throat burned with painful frustration.

She nodded, a jerky movement, as her gaze shifted over the doll, swimming with thoughts. “Livana. Liv and Van.”

Livana. The name he’d given to the child that was snatched away the moment she was born. Mr. E hadn’t even allowed him to hold her.

He touched the scar on his cheek. “Mr. E gave us matching scars when I got her pregnant.”

Her eyes squinted, probably narrowing on the hand-drawn scar on the mannequin.

With his hands on her waist, he turned them to face the cabinet, standing behind her with his arms around her mid-section, holding her tightly in case she ran. “Mr. E and his wife raised Livana.” His voice clogged, thick with painful memories. “My father prohibited us from seeing her outside of the videos he sent.”

“Videos?”

“His incentives. To ensure we didn't fuck up the meetings with his slave buyers.”

“My God—”

“I knew where Livana was the whole time and kept it from Liv.” Though he’d never been allowed contact, he’d secretly watched his daughter from a distance. “Liv would've gone after her. It was too risky.”

His stomach hardened with guilt. He could've helped her get their daughter, but in doing so, he would've lost Liv. In the end, he lost her anyway. He closed his eyes, breathing in the clean scent of Amber's hair, and opened them. That same end had brought him a woman he would never deserve. “When she shot me, I told her everything. I'd planned on telling her anyway. Mr. E killed her mother, and I knew Livana was next.”

“Jesus.” She pivoted in his arms and ran her palm across his shoulder, over the bullet wound. “She shot you and your father.” She chewed on her lip, watching the caress of her hand. “And she escaped. So why did she never mention you to the police?”

“She'd killed seven slave buyers. She thought she killed me. And she hasn't heard from me since the day I wired her six of the seven million we'd earned in trafficking.”

She stepped away from him and paced along the wall of doll parts. “A payoff?”

“An apology.”

She pinched her bottom lip, wearing a pensive expression. “And she has something you want. Which was why you were on my porch.”

“Mr. E's widow has my daughter. But I know Liv has unrestricted access to her.”

“You're a stalker.” She reached up and traced the gnarled seam of a doll arm. “You’re also a fugitive, and your daughter lives with the Police Chief's widow.” She dropped her hand and looked at him with confusion etching her beautiful face. “I'm sorry, Van, but I don't understand what you hope to gain by seeking out Liv.”

He put his hands in his pockets to hide his shaking fingers. “She could bring me along on her visitations with Livana. She could introduce me as a friend or an uncle, and someday, when Livana's old enough, when she trusts me, I could tell her.”

Her lips tilted into a frown, her eyes downcast and glossy as she shook her head. “Why would Liv agree to that? Van, she must be terrified of you. She'd never let you near Livana.”

His pulse sped up, his voice hard. “I'll convince her I can be a good father, that I'm not a threat.” He moved toward her with determined steps and gripped her head, tilting it back, trapping her gaze. “You're doing so well, going outside every day. You could tell her how much I've helped you and convince her I've changed.” Adamant resolve strengthened his posture, and he channeled that strength to his eyes. “Come with me.”

The flash of Amber's eyes and the set of her jaw made Van's stomach drop. Fuck, his words had come out all wrong. They clotted the space between them, shoving them apart.

She yanked her head from his hands. “That's why you've been forcing me outside? You thought you could fix me, that I could vouch for you?”

The sadness in her voice ripped him in half, but he refused to let go of her or give up on this. He grabbed her wrists and held them against his chest. “You could tell her I'd be a good father, that I would never hurt my daughter.”

A tremble skittered across her chin. Her arms twisted in his hands, her fingers clutching his jacket. Then, in an unexpected move, she lifted on tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his.

The beat of his heart stumbled as she kissed him without resentment or anger or any of the reactions he'd feared. He was numb with shock, dizzy with lust, swirling his tongue over her lips. Fuck him, those lips. He needed them on his body, on his cock. He needed to tug it out and shove it inside her, to bury himself in the place she accepted him.

She broke the kiss and spoke quietly. “I don’t think you’d hurt your daughter like you’ve harmed all the other women in your life.” He opened his mouth to agree, and she pressed a finger over his lips. “In fact, I think you’re done treating women that way.”

“I am—”

“Shh.” She dropped her hand. “You would be a great father. Fierce and protective and attentive.”

God, that felt good to hear. He pressed his lips tight to keep from smiling like an asshole.

Her eyes darted away, and she leaned back. “But I can't be the one to confirm that, Van. I can't...” She shook her head. “I can't leave. I'm not fixed.”

There lay the crux of his conflict over the last few weeks. He didn’t just want her fixed for his purpose. He pulled her back to him with her forearms pinned against his chest. “That’s not why I want you. I just want...I need you to want to be by my side.”

She sniffed, her eyes closing then cutting back to him. “You said there were four? Four people you cared about?”

Ah, there was his little countress. He might've grinned if his chest didn't hurt so badly. “Number four...” He blew out a breath, lowered his brow to hers, and

told her the truth. “When I met her, I wanted to pick apart her mind and play with the pieces. I wanted to become her obsession, her solitary devotion, her fear.” She tensed and so did he. “But along the way, she picked me apart. I'm the one who is obsessed, devoted...scared. Come with me to see Liv?”

She wrenched from his hold and backed up. “I can't.”

He prowled after her. “You handle the agoraphobia just fine while hanging from a tree in subspace.” She stumbled against the wall, and he closed in, blocking her on either side with his arms. “You don't even know you're outside when I'm fucking you beneath the shelter of my body.”

“Right.” She straightened her spine, hands clenched at her sides. “So you plan on whipping and fucking me during this meeting with Liv? 'Cause I'm not sure that'll help your fatherly image.”