Love Slave (Outlaws and Heroes, Book 1)

by Mallory Rush

  "No government, not even ours, has a heart. If we get caught, they're going to be more worried about the political situation and keeping Zebedique's oil than getting us out."

  "But you have that contact, the official you said you could count on to throw around his weight if need be."

  "The men following us have orders to get to a phone fast if we run into problems." He snorted with a wry kind of humor. "My guess is our ticket out would be the tasty bit of dirt on Zebedique and American slavers that my lawyer would turn over to The New York Times. Wish I could've just done that to begin with. But there was no way with Sarah caught in the middle. God only knows, her owner might have gotten rid of the evidence. Permanently."

  Rachel nodded. "You did right. It does make me feel safer though, knowing if the political machine let us down the public would raise enough Cain to stir some action up."

  "I imagine so. A high profile citizen incarcerated for trying to rescue his sister sold into slavery? Front page news, sure to incite some good old fashioned moral outrage."

  "And speaking of moral outrage—"

  "Jayna." Seeing what this meant to her, and aware of his own reluctance to leave Jayna to the wolves for their scam, he relented. "Okay. If she wants to go, we'll take her and I'll use my clout to make sure she doesn't get sent back."

  "Thank you, Rand."

  "Thank Joshua. Better yet you can thank them both properly once we're out of here." A weary sigh sifted through his lips. "You know, you've got this damnable way of dickering with my conscience. I hope to hell you haven't done irreparable damage and I end up going out of business because my competition senses I've lost my edge. They could swoop down on me and love every minute of picking my bones."

  The sound of her soft laughter as he exposed this real possibility would have ticked him off at one time. Instead he took it, savored it, and slowly smiled. At the moment, his financial demise did seem a petty consideration, if not outright preposterous.

  "You could retire today if you wanted to and leave them to tear each other apart. Besides, if you did lose your money, you'd still have me. And Sarah. We could all sit around and pass the cans at dinner. Maybe see who won the spoon in a hand of poker."

  The quip was light but the ever present question of where their future was heading as it accelerated upon them, was undeniably there.

  "I guess it could be romantic. Sharing cans. Sharing the spoon." Sharing lives came the persistent thought. On the heels of that was the other one that continued to niggle. He'd changed in a very short while. Her mention of open cans even gave him a warm glow. But how much of it would stay with him once they were back in their old reality and away from this artificial scenario?

  He saw himself plunged into the manic pace of New York. He saw Rachel returning to her Vegas home with the kind of reputation that would keep the phone ringing forever and a day. And Sarah, free again, free to choose if she wanted to have anything to do with her black sheep brother.

  He didn't like any of it. He wanted to ask Rachel to marry him and let the dice fall where they would. Only, what if he couldn't retain what he'd gained here; if he slipped too far, could Rachel handle it? And he had a promise to keep, the professional boost she had earned. He wouldn't renege, though it might prove his undoing. She could get caught up on the fast track, love what they'd had, but decide a future with him was more thorns than roses.

  Rose tinted glasses. He jerked them off and knew what he had to do, the answer as incisive as a paper cut: When they returned he'd keep his business promise and withhold the vow he ached to make. They'd see each other on week-ends until he found out if Rachel's lessons would stick or if she would see him in a different light. This place affected their judgment and marriage—a forever marriage—had no room for mistakes.

  "We need to go, Rand. How about a kiss for luck?"

  "Luck's something we're going to need, Rachel. Let's make the kiss good."

  As his mouth savored the open invitation of hers, he felt the taint of his decision. An ugly feeling that he was hurting them both in the name of rationale, tore at him. He felt he was reducing their relationship by evaluating it as though he was cutting a high stakes lifetime deal, rather than relying on the emotions and trust he'd learned from Rachel.

  Did this mean he was regressing already? The fear relayed itself in the urgency of his kiss. Crushing her lips as if he could extinguish the unwanted, then pressing his tongue deep inside, he groaned his need for her understanding as she suckled him within the sweet haven of her mouth's womb.

  Time weighed heavily upon them and he felt its suffocating tick-tock-ticking. Did she feel his tumult, he wondered? Then he knew that she did because her own embrace was desperate and held a fear that went beyond their immediate danger. In this silent understanding they reached for a fleeting comfort.

  He hiked up her robe and pushed down her panties. Her own hands were equally frantic to expose just enough him as was necessary before they fell to the floor.

  It was not a graceful coupling. She parted her thighs and without foreplay he promptly sank into her. His thrusts were quick, deep, and urgent. As she took him they stared at each other in silence. No words were needed. They both knew what this was. Their need to cling to what they had, to put off the inevitable while girding themselves for it with this raw act.

  Perhaps two minutes had passed, but somehow it seemed to bind them in a way that marked them for life. He felt her contractions, though she didn't blink or utter a sound. He was near to coming himself, fully aware he'd ignored the wisdom of a condom. Rachel knew too, he was quite certain. And neither of them was pretending it was an oversight made in the heat of the moment.

  This wasn't heat. It was desperation.

  Rand made to pull out. She gripped his wrist and moved for the first time, raising her hips from the floor.

  He hesitated. Then gave a final jerk. But not in the direction of prudence. The act was done. A decision made that was based on anything but rational judgment. Why had he done it, he wondered? Was he manipulating himself now, taking out some future insurance that could spell marriage no matter how far he backslid?

  The touch of her palm at his cheek was comforting, though her gaze told him she was wrestling with some similar questions of her own.

  He got off her and placed two fingers inside as though confirming what he'd done. So soft. So warm. So full of his leavings. Selfish? Insane? Whatever it was, he had the comfort of knowing Rachel shared the crime too.

  Offering her his hand, the one that gleamed with his seed, she took it. They held that between them, this thing that they'd done. Then breaking the contact, neither knowing where it might lead, they adjusted their clothes and exited their bedroom of memories.

  They left hand in hand, without a backwards glance; and still not a word passed between them.

  * * *

  Rachel sat close to Rand in the backseat of the Mercedes limousine, which he'd bought and planned to leave along with his home once they shook the Zebedique dust from their feet. He didn't seem concerned about liquidating his assets or if the country would confiscate them after they escaped. She couldn't imagine shrugging off a loss of those proportions like it was no more than a dime rolling into the gutter.

  She couldn't imagine a loss of the proportions she stood to lose herself. Was it the uncertainty of where they went from here that had caused her to do what she'd done, a last ditch effort to keep something of Rand if Stateside reality tore them apart? She'd been foolish; she knew she'd be foolish again in a heartbeat, given the choice.

  But what if they were caught? How horribly selfish of her to bear a child here. But it wouldn't happen. In her bones she knew it. They would succeed. And if they didn't, the hired men trailing two cars behind them had their instructions. They'd get out—be it clean or messy.

  Rand reached for her hand and stroked it over, over. "We're almost there, angel."

  Jayna, facing them on the opposite seat, watched them shrewdly, though Rachel could
n't interpret what she might be thinking with her face covered, as was her own.

  The driver, one of their hired men, parked a discreet distance from the bath house entrance. Rand's slight smile of encouragement was forced and tight.

  I love you. He mouthed the words. She nodded and gave him a thumb's up sign as the driver opened her door and she got out, Jayna in tow. Rachel could feel his gaze upon her as she walked away, intent on her destination.

  She wished that he was going with her as partner and friend. She wished she had another good luck kiss. Anything to put off this awesome undertaking that had her trembling from the inside out.

  But as she stepped through the pair of shiny brass doors, Rachel sensed the strength he willed her, his tough love protecting her even now. It acted as a catalyst for her courage, creating a gritty resolve to see this through. The time had come to do her job. She'd do it right.

  Rachel blinked against soft lighting after the sun's brilliant shine. The entry itself was immense, and thankfully cool, giving way to columned arches, gold urns housing lush palms and decadent rooms smelling of jasmine. Groans of pleasure from cushioned massage tables reached her ears, as did murmurs of conversations in various tongues and the universal sound of laughter.

  "You will like it here," Jayna said. She pushed aside her headdress and Rachel followed suit. "It is a haven. An escape."

  Rachel's glance was incisive. Jayna raised a brow and smiled conspiratorially.

  "Let's hope so, Jayna."

  "For many years I was a masseuse in this bath house. It is where I learned to speak your language." She paused and Rachel experienced the full effect Jayna seemed to intend. "American concubines who were lonely taught me."

  "I don't suppose there's a chance you know of some hanging around lately besides me?"

  Jayna's eyes darted quickly in either direction, seeming to ensure they wouldn't be heard.

  "Two Fridays past I came to visit old friends. One friend was guarding her slave. American. She reminded me of the Master. Not dark, but there is something they might share."

  Holding her breath, Rachel whispered, "Blood?"

  "Yes." Jayna's smile was kind but sly. "But not of a lamb."

  "You knew."

  "An old woman learns much from pain and years. It is good to see honor before passion."

  Of course, Rachel thought, mentally slapping her forehead. Sheets were changed daily and the second night was evidence enough if Jayna's intuition or eavesdropping hadn't tipped her off already.

  "You're a good person, Jayna. I hope I can help you out one day." She could trust Jayna; she needed her and time was of the essence. "If I can find the Master's sister, you and I could play that game of poker soon. As free women."

  She waved the offer aside, though her gaze was wistful. "It is too late for me. But not for younger souls. I must be careful, but I will help if I can." The sound of approaching feet had Jayna moving them towards a dressing area. "Now quickly. Undress. I will ask my friends if they know of the American woman while you are tended."

  "But what if they—"

  "Shhh." Jayna silenced her by efficiently stripping Rachel of the heavy garb and thrusting her arms into a thin silk robe. "They are my friends. They too hate bondage."

  Before Rachel could broach the safety of the ploy, Jayna hustled her to the outer room where a massage table awaited.

  Cries of greeting were shouted to Jayna who returned them in the native tongue. She shoved a cold glass of sparkling water into Rachel's hands after removing the flimsy robe and helping her onto a cushy table. A quick wink and Jayna disappeared to an adjoining room that seemed to be where the workers took their coffee breaks.

  The masseuse made grumbling noises as her ministrations failed to work the tenseness from Rachel's bunched muscles. Finally giving up, the attendant took her to the next phase while Rachel's eyes darted about for a glimpse of anyone who could be Sarah. She fretted over Jayna's whereabouts.

  Upon entering a voluminous chamber, Rachel was greeted by a sight that momentarily stunned the worry out of her.

  "Good Lord," she muttered. "What is this, Hugh Hefner's home away from home?"

  Naked female bodies in all sizes and ages appeared to be in a state of nirvana as they soaked in the massive communal tub. It bubbled like a vat of champagne, curling about Rachel's toes as she climbed down the marble steps and seated herself on a vacant ledge.

  The warm water was temperature perfect with the cool swish of air from overhead fans. It should have been soothing but she hardly noticed it, every sense she possessed honed in to pick up any possible clue.

  With half-shut eyes, she leaned back and did her best to blend in as she scanned the assembly. She studied faces, who looked friendly and who didn't. She listened for a single word of English. All the while she stayed alert for the scent of potential danger, the feel of an unseen threat. So sharp was her attunement, she turned at the sound of Jayna's footfall, picking it up over the sound of gurgling water.

  "Mistress," Jayna whispered urgently. "You have the luck. Come."

  Rachel forced herself to rise nonchalantly while her pulse galloped and blood pounded between her ears. As Jayna wrapped a Turkish towel about her, they exchanged more furtive whispers.

  "What did you find out?"

  "She has just entered the steam room, this woman I believe you seek."

  "Is her guard with her?"

  At this, Jayna smiled. "She stands outside waiting. My friend, Montage, tortured as I have been." Her lips thinned. "The Master for which she works is not so kind as ours. He is a cruel man but she needs money and so she plays guard. She does not like doing this to eat. Should she have food, shelter from someone kind, then..."

  "You think she might be for sale?"

  "For freedom. A place where her Master cannot punish her for treason."

  Yes! Rachel stayed herself from making a victory fist and whirling Jayna in her arms.

  Anticipation adrenalized her veins until it was all she could do not to rush them both to their destination. Once there, Jayna nodded to an elderly woman who began speaking to her in hushed tones though no one else was around to hear. Rachel couldn't understand the dialect, but gathered from their quick hug they had come to some kind of understanding. Rachel saw the gleam of excitement and hope in the other guard's eyes, just before she made a curt bow.

  "It is done, mistress. I have told Montage your word is good. For freedom, she will do this." Indicating the arched door of the sauna, she said, "Enter. Be quick. We will guard and call if someone comes."

  "Be ready to high tail it out of here as soon as I come out. But tell your friend we have to be discreet. You and I'll lead the way and they follow until we get to the outside door. Then we walk to the car real easy, like we're taking an afternoon stroll. Got that?"

  "You... bet." Jayna's attempt at Western slang coaxed a tight smile from Rachel as she took a determined step and then another, striding into the chamber billowing puffs of steam.

  The door closed and a quick survey informed her that two dark women were enmeshed in a private conversation while another one, blonde and very pretty, lounged on a deck seat near the back. Her eyes were closed but Rachel discerned dark circles of fatigue beneath them. A purplish bruise rode high on her cheek.

  Fist clenched, Rachel wasted no time in closing the distance. As she drew closer, the impact was immediate and forceful. She didn't need a recent photo to know this had to be Sarah. This woman bore such a strong resemblance to Rand there was no room for doubt they shared a family heritage.

  "You look like an American," she said quietly.

  The woman raised up and looked her full in the face. She smiled tiredly, as though the spirit had been beaten out of her, then indicated Rachel should sit.

  "Welcome to the club." She made a derisive sound. "Been to any good auctions lately?"

  "Yeah. A man by the name of Joshua bought me." Rachel took note of the immediate flicker of hope that was immediately snuffed out,
as if the woman had given her brother up a lifetime ago. She kept her voice low, but urgent. "Tell me, does the name `Joshua' mean anything to you?"

  This time the flicker sparked to life. Rachel touched her finger to her lips.

  "Just nod, yes or no." She got her answer. "How are you, Sarah?"

  "I—I'm..." Her voice trailed off as her mouth worked but no words came.

  "Just listen and listen close. I'm sitting in for your brother. It seems there's a promise he came here to keep. He's waiting in a parked car nearby. A car that's headed for an airstrip where a plane's idling on ready."

  "Joshua," Sarah whispered in a faraway voice. She choked on a muffled cry. "I can't believe it."

  "Believe it." The two dark women continued to talk and Rachel hurried on, fearful of an intrusion. "We have to move quickly. What I want you to do is count to one hundred after I leave then get up and follow me out. Everything's set, all you have to do is walk."

  "But my guard—"

  "You only have one, right?"

  "Several," Sarah said, appearing to be battling shock. Rachel knew a sudden alarm. "But today, just one came. Montage. She's kind to me. She tends me when I'm beaten."

  "She wants out of here too." Rachel sent a thank-you to heaven at the same time she felt a thirst for brutal revenge against Sarah's owner. "Just do your best to stay calm, Sarah. All you have to do is leave after me, go with Montage to get dressed, and the two of you follow me out the front door. After that, we're on our way. Think you can do it?"

  "Joshua." Sarah was crying. "Joshua."

  "Stop it," Rachel hissed, cringing at the necessary sharpness of her warning. "Please, Sarah. Blank out everything except my instructions. Pulling this off depends on you getting yourself together. Come on, I'll start counting with you. One... two... three..."

  "Four... five... six..." Sarah continued the numbers as she swiped at her cheeks.

  "Good girl." Rachel squeezed her hand and got up. She nodded amiably to the two other occupants who sent her a cursory greeting and continued their gossip. At the door, she stole a look at Sarah who gave her a tremulous smile.