by Bex Dane
I closed my eyes and flipped through the Tessa slideshow in my head again.
The crunch of her jeweled patriotic dress as I hoisted her onto my cock on the dance floor.
Tasting her at Siege. God, her sweet taste and her little whimpers in the security room at Siege. That one stayed with me the longest.
What am I doing? I shouldn't indulge in my sparkle in the darkness. The slideshow only flared my bitter regret, and made my cock excruciatingly hard.
I took so much life today. And yet she was safe in Boston, dancing and going to school. Not being held captive by terrorists or abusive religious freaks. In some fucked up way, killing Jericho today gave her that freedom.
Maybe a combat jack would get her outta my mind. Nah. Exercising old Chester in the field wouldn't take the edge off. Only one thing could do that, and she was seven thousand miles away.
My phone alerted me to a message on her cell.
A new contact.
Who the hell was this and why was he happy to meet her?
I pulled up Brock's burner phone.
Me: Need you to check on T for me. New contact. Lance Croft919-555-1122
Three seconds later, his response.
Brock: On it
She's moving on, finding herself another man like I told her to do. This Lance Croft asshole would be tasting her, comforting her, watching her fly.
Fuck! Why did I hold back again? What was I protecting her from? Me? She can handle me. She's a warrior. Eden's spirit had let me go a long time ago. Nothing was preventing me from loving Tess except myself.
A new resolve settled in my gut.
Operation Devil's Gate—completed.
Mission Make Tess Mine—initiated.
Chapter 17
Tessa
My phone lit up with a call as I applied my makeup for my date with Lance.
"Hey, Brock. What's up?"
"Sugar, Lance Croft is not whoever he told you he was."
I closed my lips gloss and set it on the counter. "How do you know about him?"
"I saw his text on your phone."
I picked up my cell and held it to my ear. "You're watching my phone?"
"Rogan asked me to look out for you, remember?"
My heart twisted into a knot of regret and grief. Rogan was dead and wouldn't watch over me any more, but at least Brock still cared about me.
"Croft works for the FBI. His real name is Lachlan Cutlass."
Brock's usually easy going voice turning urgent and bitter set my hair on end.
"The FBI? What would he want with me?"
"It's more like what would he want with me and my brother. Don't give him any information. How long have you been dating him?"
"Tonight's our second date."
"Cancel."
"What?" I glanced at my clock. "He'll be here in a few minutes."
"Look him up. You'll see he's not whatever he told you he is. I'll be right over."
"No—"
But he'd already disconnected.
***
The serene Boston skyline reflected off the panoramic windows of The Top of the Hub restaurant. The gourmet New England steamed lobster on my plate cooled uneaten as I stared at the lying jerk sitting across from me.
"I have a problem."
Lance put his fork down and raised his eyebrows. "Hmm?"
"Can you tell me why I couldn't find an adjunct professor at UMass named Lance Croft? Or an entertainment reporter from the Times with that name?"
His shoulders pulled back a fraction, but he was good at covering. If I wasn't looking for it, I wouldn't have noticed any reaction.
"I write under a pen name. And it must be an oversight on the school web—"
"No Lance Croft. No Lachlan Cutlass?"
"Tess—"
"Are you an FBI agent?"
He leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed voice. "Yes."
With a quick glance, I made sure no one was listening and leaned in too. "Are you investigating the Monroe brothers?"
"No." He lied to me with a straight face and a convincing tone like the practiced con artist I now knew he was.
My phone buzzed in my purse and I checked it quickly.
Brock: I'm in the lobby if you need me.
I ignored the text and continued my staring contest with Lance. "What's your real name?"
"Lachlan Cutlass. Special Agent for the FBI."
"Thank you for being honest with me—now at least."
"Tessa, I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. It's a precarious situation."
"I'm sure it is."
He looked away, and we both sat back in our chairs, ignoring our food and the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.
I'm an adjunct prof at UMass. Art appreciation.
Full stop honesty here, Tessa. I'm into you.
What a scumbag liar, trying to get information on my boss and his brother and then lying about it. Lachlan Cutlass was a fraud, just like my father, and I fell for it so easily.
The waiter cleared our plates and left us alone with the strained silence on the table.
Special Agent for the FBI.
As I glared at him, my mind orchestrated an idea to reverse Lachlan's own game on him. My days of being manipulated by men like him ended eight months ago. No more playing the victim. Time to fight for my joy.
"I might forgive you for deceiving me if you can help me."
He scrunched his brow. "Help you how?"
"I have five siblings stuck in a dangerous situation. I want to get them out."
He quirked his lips. "Tell me the details."
***
"He believed I carried her soul, so he left his seed with me as an offering to God."
Lachlan's eyes softened as I finished recounting my story of the abuse and the restrictive life I lived on the compound.
"How'd you get out?"
"I had a phone. I could get internet access when I went into town. I found an underground rescue organization and messaged them to help me. I snuck out through my window. They set me up with an apartment and a job in Boston." Lachlan had lied to me and now I'd lied to him. He didn't need to know Rogan rescued me from terrorists.
"So that's how you got the job at Siege? What's the name of the rescue organization?" He pulled a phone out of his jacket and tapped the screen.
Uh-oh.
"Um... My father's name is Jebediah Barebones."
Lachlan's blue eyes scrutinized my face.
I inhaled a deep breath. "The Brotherhood of God Church. Caldwell, Idaho. "
The repercussions of telling Lachlan this would ripple through my family. The compound would be tossed into disarray because I gave my father's name to the FBI. The betrayal of my promise to Rogan weighed even heavier on my conscience than calling out my dad. I had promised him not to trust anyone except the few people he'd said I could trust, and here I had given my father's name to a stranger. But he'd left me. I'd convinced myself he was dead and wasn't coming back. I had to do what I could to save my family.
Lachlan read on his phone for a minute then placed it on the table. "There's an open investigation. We've been watching them since Ervil Jeters went down ten years ago."
I nodded because Rogan had mentioned the FBI investigation when I first met him. "Watching? But no one has done anything?"
"No witnesses. They can't get an undercover agent in there. The security is too tight. No women have come forward. Those fuckers are all hush-hush about the shit going down inside those walls."
"Oh." That was the first time I'd heard Lachlan cuss.
"Transporting sex slaves across state lines is the most severe allegation we're trying to prove."
"Sex slaves?"
He put his phone back in his pocket and returned his gaze to me. "Human trafficking. Did they bring you and other women from Utah to Idaho and make you have sex with men you didn't know?"
"We moved from Utah. I wasn't forced to have sex with anyone, but the other women, yes. They
were pressured to sleep with seed bearers. But no girls under eighteen. After Ervil went to jail, my father decreed no more sex with minors."
"We can still get them on rape, even if the women were over eighteen and consented. You can't coerce a woman into sexual acts with the threat of God. It's religious terrorism. How many seed bearer psychos are pulling that crap in Caldwell?"
"I don't know."
"But your father claims to be a seed bearer?"
"Yes."
"If we can get the women to testify, maybe get DNA to prove paternity, your father and any other seed bearers are guilty of rape."
"Okay."
"The bureau's also collecting evidence to prove tax evasion, WIC fraud, and child labor law violations. Will you testify?"
"Yes. To what I know." Facing my father in court would terrify me, but I'd find the strength. I would not cower to him ever again.
"One more favor?" I asked Lachlan.
He tilted his chin.
"Don't mention to the Monroe brothers I'm working with you."
"I don't speak with them. But Brock and Dallas are aware I'm with the bureau. If they see you with me, they'll figure something's up."
"Let's not let them see us together then."
"Agreed. I can't date you while the case is active anyway." He reached across the table and grasped my hand in his. "But the second this case is resolved and your father's wearing an orange jumpsuit, I'm taking another shot at you. Not giving up. You're too sweet."
I yanked my hand from his. "Don't call me sweet. My father used that word to intimidate and steal my dignity. I'm not sweet. I'm strong."
"Damn. I like that about you too. You're an amazing woman. You'd be good by my side."
"To be honest, I'll never trust you enough to date you after you lied to me the way you did—even if it was for a job."
"You said you'd forgive me if I helped you."
"I said I might forgive you. And forgiving doesn't mean I'd risk my heart with you. Making a girl feel stupid for falling for you doesn't lay a solid foundation."
"I didn't mean to make you feel... You were falling for me?"
"A little. I don't know. I'm confused."
"This sucks. I wish we'd met some other way." He rubbed his chin with his pointer finger and thumb. "I'm still gonna make a move on you after this case is over."
I laughed and challenged him with my eyes. "Go for it."
"I will." He dropped a wad of cash on the table with his napkin and stood. "Let's go. I gotta light a fire under this case."
***
For months, I'd worried about Milo and the other kids back home, but I'd stuffed it down, holding onto hope Rogan would come back. After tonight, I couldn't resist any longer. I shouldn't have, but I texted my sister. Hopefully Lachlan would be able to get her out of there.
Me: I'm alive. Everything's going to be okay. Stay strong. V
Temperance: V? Thank God you're alive.
Me: Keep it secret. For now.
Temperance: OK. Luv U
Me: <3 U 2
Chapter 18
All week, I worried about Lachlan and Temperance. Not knowing what would happen to them sent my thoughts into a spiral of worst-case scenarios. At least tonight I could dance and forget for a little while. My chunky Mary Janes clomped on the metal stairs backstage at Siege. Billy, the stagehand, closed the door to my Plexiglas cube and wrenched the pulley, floating me and my box above the center of the dance floor. A few patrons arched their necks to check out the new dancer hanging from the ceiling, but most ignored me.
I bent and grabbed my ankles, stretching my hamstring muscles, and garnering more glances from the crowd below. My hands skimmed up my legs and hiked my plaid schoolgirl skirt up, revealing my boy-cut white satin panties and the bows tying the ruching at the sides.
With a tug on the knotted ties of my shirt under my breasts, I laughed as the techno rendition of an old song by Vanity 6 played over the sound system. The irony of me shaking my ass to "Nasty Girl" was lost on the masses below, but Brock winked at our little inside joke as he took a sip of his drink. I smiled back at him in his VIP booth. He returned his attention to the three women accompanying him tonight, and I started my dance routine.
Even with my eyes closed, the flash of the strobes transported me through a psychedelic wormhole to a simpler universe where Vanity was just a singer's name and I was just a dancer in a box.
As the hours passed, Tessa Harlow's physical body evaporated and only my spirit writhed to the beat of the music. The ultimate freedom sang in my bones, curing a bitterness deep in my tissue.
To dance with abandon, without fear of judgement or recrimination, was life altering.
In my euphoria, I felt the warm caress of Rogan's hands on my thighs, trailing up my backside and lifting my skirt, his huge palms flat on my butt cheeks. The striking heat broke my trance and caused me to seek the source.
In reality, I danced alone in my box. No one in the crowd paid me any attention— except one man sitting alone at a small table near the entrance. His cap and full beard covered most of his face. He tilted his head, exposing a pearly white grin and assessing blue eyes. I stumbled and braced myself on the walls of the box. Lachlan's black ball cap and thick beard hid his identity from the crowd, but I knew he was there for me.
A trill of flattery pinched my spine. A hot FBI agent had donned a disguise and risked exposure to come watch me dance. The high of the compliment quickly faded as I remembered Lachlan's face as he lied to me.
He may be into me, but Lachlan sacrificed his chances with me for the sake of his job. I wasn't about to get involved with another man who chose his career over love.
A half hour before closing, Lachlan paid his tab and waved up at me before he left the club.
At the end of the night, I changed into my regular clothes and carried my costume and heels in my backpack as I walked to my truck in my flat shoes.
Formless shadows lurked behind each vehicle in the lot, but I ignored them, pretending Rogan was still here making sure I got in my truck safely.
"Psst."
"Who's there?" I stopped and clutched my keys.
"Vanity." A tall man in a cowboy hat stepped out from behind an SUV. He kept his hands in his pockets and cocked one knee. His loose cotton shirt and dusty work pants looked so out of place in a big city parking lot like this.
"Zook? Is that you?" Zook Guthrie? In the Siege parking lot? I hadn't seen him in five years. Zook and I had cared for each other once. I could trust him. Right?
"It's me."
"You look so much bigger. Why're you here? How—"
"Did you think we wouldn't find you, Vanity?" My father's nasally voice hit my ears. His lanky shadow stepped around the hood of a car to my left and paced toward us. "Or should I call you Tessa Harlot?"
Oh no! How did he find me? With my truck parked just ten steps away, my only hope was to outrun them. I bolted and grasped the door handle, but I'd forgotten to unlock it. Darn, darn. I fumbled with my keys, but Zook charged and grabbed my upper arms.
"Zook. Let me go. Don't do this." I wrenched in his hold. My heart thumped so wildly, I'm sure he could feel it.
My father stepped in front of us. "You're coming home now, honeysuckle."
"No!"
I swung my arms to attempt to block him, but he seized a chunk of my hair and yanked it up. Needles stung my scalp. His heavy fist walloped my cheek, jerking my head to the side. I stopped fighting and reeled in the pain. I couldn't focus. My head, my face... Escape. I needed to escape. But how?
Zook handed me off to my father. The terror ratcheted through me as he wrapped his long arms around me and pulled me against him with my hands pinned behind my back.
"No! No!" I kicked and screamed through a haze of pain and panic.
"Get her feet," he ordered.
"Stop fightin', Vanity." Zook grabbed hold of my flying ankles.
"Never." I lost a fight like this at a street market in Karachi. N
ever again.
My father threw me to the ground and straddled me. He slugged my face, blow after blow. I screamed and hit him as hard as I could with my keys, trying to reach his eyes, but my hands bounced off him like failed shots at a dartboard. I grunted as he landed a vicious punch to my stomach. He stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from his face.
"Zook, please! Let me go!" I made eye contact with him through the mess of hair covering my face.
"I'm sorry, Van." His face contorted in anguish. He didn't want to betray me. Zook. My first love. So handsome and good. Under the control of the Brotherhood like everyone else on the compound.
Through all the chaos, my thumb found the panic button on my fob and pressed it. The truck horn blared in screeching bursts.
Blinding headlights lit up my father's back. He turned and covered his eyes to block the light. Zook released my feet and stood up straight, his hands shaking as he squinted at the approaching car.
"Oh shit." Zook took off running.
With a loud roar that emerged from deep in my stomach, I focused all my strength and stabbed the point of my keys into my father's neck.
"Ow, fuck!" As he clutched the spot I'd hit, his weight lifted from me. A muscular arm swung out and plowed into his face. In time with the blasts of the horn, the shadow of a hulking mass of man threw fast, brutal punches into my father's face. A gurgling sound emerged from his throat as he collapsed in a bloody pulp.
"Stop! Stop! You'll kill him." I tried to sit up. "Ow. Please help me."
The massive chest of my mystery hero heaved as he looked at me. He dropped the motionless body and stalked toward me. A car pulled up. Zook jumped from the driver's side, raced around, and loaded my father's limp body into the passenger seat. The wheels skidded on the pavement as they zoomed off.
Gone. They're gone. It's over. I'm safe.
My rescuer kneeled at my side. "Are you alright?"
Even in the dark, with my head spinning and the horn blasting, the scrape of the voice was unmistakable. "Rogan? What... Are you here?"
He must've found my fob because the horn blasts stopped.
"I asked if you're alright."
Yes. His voice. How could Rogan be here? "Are you dead? Am I dead?"
"What?"