by Cate Beauman
“Talk to him, Ab. Give me a call if you need anything, and I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Okay. Thanks. I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.”
“Bye.” She hung up and sighed. Lex was right; she needed to clear the air. She stood, shoving her phone back in her pocket, and changed out of her still soggy top, replacing it with a navy-blue, spaghetti-strap scoop neck and sweater. She walked to Jerrod’s door, raised her hand to knock, and dropped it. What was she supposed to say? Sorry I planted one on you; let’s forget the whole thing!
Brownies. She would make brownies, figure out exactly how to broach this incredibly awkward situation, then she would talk to him. She stepped back and went to the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for double chunk brownies as her phone rang again. She ignored Lily for the second time as she cranked up the radio and got to work.
~~~~
Jerrod forced the weighted bar above his chest, blowing out with the exertion, still trying to pull himself together. He'd pushed his body to the limits with a strenuous series of pushups, power squats, dumbbell curls, and anything else he could think of in an attempt to banish Abby from his mind, but the physical pain of his workout wasn't doing what he'd hoped. He was coming to the conclusion he would sweat to death before he rid himself of this want for Abigail Harris.
He kept flashing back to her amazing body pressed to his in her barely there underwear and the flower-petal softness of her firm breast against his arm as he slid his fingers through her hair. How was he supposed to stop thinking about her smile and those eyes or the way her full lips captured his, giving him a teasing sample of her addicting flavor?
He never should have let that happen. Allowing Abby to kiss him had been an incredibly stupid mistake. He'd tried to fight his needs while her teasing fingers moved along his jaw and he breathed her in, but he hadn’t fought hard enough. He’d often wondered what her sexy mouth would feel like against his, what she tasted like, how it could be between them. Now he knew and wished he didn’t. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to push her away instead of pull her to him and devour her whole the way he’d wanted.
He glanced at his door, contemplating the idea of rushing to the kitchen, carrying her back to his room, and putting them both out of their misery, so he lowered the heavy bar three inches above his chest, holding his form with fatigued arms, trembling, blowing out rapid puffs, punishing himself for the latest wave of staggering lust. Using the last of his reserves, he settled the bar back in its place and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his drenched face. “Son of a bitch.” How the hell was he supposed to have known one damn photo shoot would change everything?
He’d been attracted to Abby from the first moment he saw her. She was a stunning woman, but he’d handled it. Now he wasn’t sure he could. Their entire situation was suddenly different. The professional lines he never crossed were blurring—had been blurring for some time. Abby was the first person he’d ever allowed past his rigid boundaries. Her free spirit was infectious, her spontaneity easy to roll with. She was incredibly sweet and affectionate and touchy-feely with it. He’d grown accustomed to her singing and dancing and constant desire to include him in it. She was a hugger, and god knew why, he missed it when he went too long without one. But now they were walking a dangerous road, and that had to end. It was time to put them back on the right track. No more hugs. Definitely no more kisses. And the dancing had to stop. He was her bodyguard, nothing more.
He grabbed the towel on the floor and mopped up the sweat rolling down his forehead and chest as he walked to the bathroom, dropped his shorts, turned on the shower, and stepped in. He reached for the shampoo bottle, squirted a glob in his hand and massaged his scalp, immediately dismissing the memory of Abby's fingers sliding through his hair.
Rinsing away the lather, he grabbed the bar of soap next, giving himself a quick wash, shut off the water and reached for his towel, going still when the alarm on his cell phone activated with several loud, rapid beeps. “Fuck. Abigail!” He snatched the towel off the bar, wrapping it around his waist as he sprinted toward the scent of freshly baked brownies and blaring music in the kitchen. “Abigail!”
She didn't respond as she belted out the song’s refrain, using a wooden spoon as her microphone, and danced around the room with her back to him.
“Abigail.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her around, and she screamed.
The spoon fell from her hand, landing with a clatter as she glared. “What are you doing? You know I don’t like to be grabbed.”
“Let’s go.” He pulled her with him to his bedroom, keeping her as close to the interior walls and as far away from the panes of glass as possible.
“What’s wrong?” They stepped in the room as his phone continued its piercing beep. “Oh—oh my god. They found me.”
“Stay against the wall over there.” Modesty was the least of his worries as he dropped his towel and yanked on jeans and the first shirt he pulled from his dresser. Socks and sneakers came next. “We need to go. Just like we’ve practiced before.”
She nodded as her breathing came in rapid puffs.
He grabbed the cell phone and wallet from his side table, slid his gun in its holster, and left everything else behind. “Come on.” Taking her hand, they ran down the hall. He reached in the closet for two black jackets and caps, handing a set to her, putting on his as she did. He pressed Ethan's number on speed dial, listening to it ring once, twice.
“Evacuation in progress. Five minutes or less," Ethan said.
"What the hell's going on?"
"Abby's cover's blown. Her face is all over the front page of The Times afternoon edition. Somehow Toni Torrell found out she's Lily's new 'it girl.'"
"Fuck. How long?"
"The story broke about an hour ago. Lily's been calling the office but Mia's replacement put her messages through to my voicemail. She said she tried Abby and got her voicemail as well. She tried you and didn’t get anything.”
“My phone hasn’t rung.”
“I don’t know. I've been in meetings. They're already looking for her, Jerrod. The tech at Lily Brand just gave me a call letting me know their computers alerted to a breech in the firewall. There was a search for Abby’s address."
"Damn it." This was the worst-case scenario they'd prepared for, but he’d hoped would never happen.
"Austin just got the call. Your team's pulling in. Let me know when you get to the safe house and we'll go from there."
"All right." He hung up, slid his phone in his jean pocket, and peered out the peephole, opening the door and pointing his gun into the empty hall. “Let’s go.” He moved sideways, constantly glancing from left to right as they made their way to the service elevator. He punched in the code he’d been given months ago, keeping Abby behind him, aiming his weapon at the door as it slid open. Clear. They stepped in and descended to the ground floor, neither talking as he'd instructed the three or four times they’d run through this very drill. The elevator dinged and he pushed her into the corner, blocking her body with his as the doors slid open again. He readied his pistol, resting his finger on the trigger, aiming at the two men standing in the hall of the side entrance, holding their badges up for him to see.
“This way,” one of the men said.
Jerrod pulled Abby against him, wrapping his arm around her waist despite several men surrounding them. They kept a hurried pace as they walked through the dim garage to the two identical green and white vans with cleaning company logos painted on the sides. The back doors opened on the left hand vehicle, and he lifted Abby in with him. The doors immediately shut behind them, closing them in the dark. Two taps hit the side, and the van took off.
“Jerrod.” Abby's clammy hand clutched his wrist as they sat on the bench along the wall, her rapid breathing growing increasingly unsteady. “I—I can’t be in here. I can’t stay in here.”
He studied Abby, already in all-out panic mode. “Just until we get to wher
e we're going."
“I can’t,” she whispered, her eyes huge, her whole body trembling as she tried to stand.
He tightened his hold around her waist, keeping her at his side. “Abigail.”
“I can’t breathe.” She gasped, pressing her hands to her chest.
He took her chin in his hand. “Yes you can.”
“No. It’s just like the one—it’s just like the one they put me in.”
He’d seen her scared before and witnessed several panic attacks, but this was true, stark terror. “Abigail.”
She gripped his shirt, yanking him closer. “Get me out of here.”
“Abigail,” he snapped, grabbing her wrists, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse. “Look at me. Deep breaths.”
Tears flooded her pasty white cheeks. “I’m going to pass out. I’m going to—” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed against him.
“Son of a bitch.” He laid her on the floor, pulling off her cap. “Abigail.” He gently slapped at her cheek. “Abigail. Come on.”
Her eyes fluttered open.
He relaxed his jaw and fanned her face with the hat. “Welcome back.”
“Jerrod.” She took his hand.
“I’m right here.” He smiled down at her, wanting to keep her calm.
“They put me in a van. Dimitri and Victor put me in a van, and I couldn't get away.”
He stroked her cheek, drying her tears, wishing he could banish her horrible memories. “I know.”
“I hate small spaces. I tried to escape and they locked me in the closet for days.”
He kept his touch light despite the rage boiling his blood. She rarely spoke of the worst parts of her captivity. On the rare occasion she did, he ached for her, understanding she’d lived through two months of pure hell. “No one’s going to hurt you again.”
“Are we almost there?”
“I think so.” They more than likely had a good thirty-five to forty minutes to go in this traffic.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I think I’m okay to get up.”
She was so small and defenseless; her cheeks were still sheet white. He lifted her in his arms and sat on the bench, cocooning her against him. “Go ahead and relax until we get there.”
She clung to him, trembling as she looked toward the cabin. “Who are these people?"
"Ethan uses them from time to time. They're used to getting people out of places quickly."
"What’s going to happen now?”
“We'll call Ethan when we get to the safe house and figure things out from there."
“Is Lex okay?”
He nodded. “Everyone involved is being taken care of. This is precautionary at this point.”
“I’m worried about her and the baby. And Livy.”
“They’ll be fine. Jackson wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“That’s true.” She sighed, and her body finally relaxed against his. “I’m tired. I think I wore myself out.”
“Why don’t you catch a nap?” They would both be better off if she turned it off for a while.
“I can't sleep at a time like this.” She settled her head on his shoulder and was out in less than five minutes.
~~~~
“It’s over now,” Abby soothed, hugging the pretty brown-haired stranger against her as the terrified girl shuddered and cried on the edge of the bed. “What's your name?”
“They told me I have to be Jena, but I’m Margret.” She looked up as tears rained from her blue eyes. “I’m Margret Stowers.”
“They call me Fawn, but I’m Abby." She wiped Margret's cheeks with a tissue. "Everything's going to be all right.” It wasn’t, but how could she tell Margret that? The pixie-faced girl couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, and she’d just been raped. It wouldn’t be the last time. “Can you stand?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m sore. I think I’m bleeding.”
Her heart broke as she nodded, brushing soft long locks behind Margret’s ears. “We should get you cleaned up.” As if that changed anything. She hated that the small gesture was all she could offer. There was so much more she wanted to do, but she was as trapped and powerless as the girl at her side. “Come on.” She took Margret's hand, walking with her through the pretty suite reserved for DC's wealthier clients, and brought her to the bathroom, where she ran a washcloth under cold water. “I’ll make you a cool cloth. You can wipe yourself up. Did the man use a condom?”
She nodded and wept again. “I want to go home.”
Abby's eyes filled, and she swallowed her grief, wanting to be strong for the child quaking at her side. She shut off the tap and pulled Margret close for another hug. “I know you do, honey." She kissed her cheek. "I know.”
“They threw me in a van and now I’m here,” she sobbed, gripping her arms around Abby. “I’m so scared.”
“I’m going to help you anyway I can,” she murmured as she rested her cheek on Margret’s hair, staring out the painted-shut windows. Outside the sun shined and flowers grew while children rode their bikes along the sidewalks. Freedom. But escape was impossible; she’d tried and spent days in the closet as punishment. She eased Margret back, wiping at her stream of tears. “You should clean up. It'll help with some of the—”
The door burst open, and she cringed as Renzo stepped in. He hadn't been by the house in two weeks. She'd hoped he wouldn't come back. “What the fuck is going on in here?”
"Nothing." Abby pulled away from Margret, already realizing Renzo would make his newest victim pay. “We’re just washing up.”
His eyes grew hot, angry, crazy, and he smiled as he rushed forward, grabbing Margret’s arm. “You crying, little girl?”
Margret’s sobbing grew louder, and Abby silently begged her to stop. Crying only made it worse. Renzo fed on their misery.
“Shut up!” he shouted in Margret’s face.
Abby pressed her lips together, fisting her hands at her side as her stomach clutched with dread. “Renzo—”
“Keep your mouth shut, Fawn.”
Abby instantly quieted. If she said anything more Margret would be punished. She stared at the heavy silver lamp on the nightstand, craving to pick it up and bash the sick bastard over the head. She wanted to grab Margret's hand and run, but there was nowhere to go. Dozens of men stood guard throughout the house ready and waiting to stop her.
“This is your new life, bitch.” He slapped Margret, sending her crashing to the floor on a shocked cry. “You better get used to it.” He whirled, facing Abby. “And you.”
She shrunk back as he rushed forward, grabbing both her arms with painful pressure, yanking them nose-to-nose.
“You need to stop mothering these worthless whores. This is a fucking brothel. Men come here to get fucked.” He gave her several violent shakes. “That’s what happens here, bitch.”
No one knew better what happened here than her. It was her job to keep track of who was forced to perform sexual acts and how often. She struggled to hold back the trembling as he stared her down. Renzo liked it when she was afraid.
“What, don’t you have anything to say?”
She knew to keep quiet as she looked into his evil brown eyes.
“Bitch.” He slapped her.
She pressed her hand to the sharp sting, muffling a cry as the force of the blow knocked her back a step.
He pulled her to him and ground his crotch against her. “You and me, we’re going to show this new cunt the ropes and maybe, finally, teach you a lesson.” He grabbed at her breasts and threw her to the bed.
“No.” Her fear grew to terror as she fought him, trying to push him away as he pulled her free of her jeans. “Stop. No. Please, Renzo.”
“Oh, yeah.” He unzipped his fly, exposing himself. “Oh hell fucking yeah.”
Tears raced down her cheeks as she struggled to get away. She'd avoided this fate over the last few weeks by hiding in her tiny room and doing what she'd be
en asked.
He held her down with a hand to her chest and reached in a drawer, grabbing a condom from the pile. “Stop fighting me, bitch, or I’ll make this so much worse.” He tossed the package on her stomach and smiled. “Open it.”
“No,” she shuddered out.
He grabbed her throat, cutting off her air. “I said fucking open it!”
Gasping, fighting for a breath, she ripped at the package.
“Better.” He grinned as he rolled on the rubber. “Let’s show her how to be a dirty whore.”
“Renzo please,” she begged, weeping as he pulled her forward, understanding that there was no way to escape the inevitable.
Gasping, Abby’s eyes flew open as Renzo's primal grunts echoed in her head. Her heart beat wildly in her heaving chest as she blinked, focusing on the faded rose wallpaper in the dimly lit room. Rolling over, she swiped at her sweat-soaked face and rushed off the twin bed, hurrying to the door. They had her again. Renzo found her and they’d taken her again.
She yanked the door open and slammed into Jerrod.
“Whoa,” he grabbed her arms.
"Don't." She cringed, stepping back. “Don’t touch me.”
He held his hands up, studying her with his calm blue eyes. "Easy, Abby."
She wiped at another drop of sweat tickling her temples as she darted glances around the unfamiliar space. “Where am I?”
“We’re at the safe house.”
The deep rumble of a plane taking off shook the mirror on the wall, and she took another step back, clutching her arms at her chest, trying to think past the dredges of sleep and horrifying memories still crowding her brain. “Where?”
“About five minutes from LAX.”
She inched closer to the window, desperate to yank the shade up and get her bearings.
“Don’t open that.”
Swallowing, she eyed Jerrod, still trying to get a read on the man blocking her only way out. He was her friend, yet she couldn't shake her sudden distrust as Renzo's cruel laughter filled her head. “I need to see outside.”