The Reunited

by Shiloh Walker

  But thankfully, Joss was used to working with telepathic gifts. Considering how damn young Jillian was, she was a virtual artist with hers. It wasn’t too hard to home in as those erratic thoughts kept coming.

  “Look at the ass, damn. Down here with some friends, too . . . would be so fucking easy. Maybe I could figure out where she’s from . . .”

  Big bastard. Almost as tall as Joss was. Dark-haired. A friendly-looking sort. Managed to move, unnoticed, through the crowds as he trailed along behind a cute little coed. Joss shifted his position, tracking him, following the man’s train of thoughts, as they all fell into the line for one of the rides. It was in front of a big, old-looking house. One of the many themed rides here. Joss had already figured out there were nothing but theme rides here as he walked around, hoping to find her again.

  He had known he wouldn’t.

  But something wouldn’t let him leave.

  Guess he knew what it was now.

  He shot a cursory glance at the sign and pulled out his phone, pretended to glance around.

  Don’t pay me any attention . . . I’m just looking for my girlfriend . . . sending her a text, he thought absently, watching the group, watching the guy who was watching the girl.

  Even though he was a big, rough-looking piece of work, Joss was good at fading into the woodwork.

  So was the guy in front of him.

  If Joss hadn’t been trained to notice shit, if he hadn’t been on the lookout for something off . . . and if he hadn’t had that insane gift crammed into his head, he probably wouldn’t have looked twice at this guy.

  Nobody else seemed to think anything was off with him.

  He chatted with the group next to him. Even chatted with the group of college kids. Although not with the pretty girl who’d caught his eye.

  “Name is Alyssa. Pretty. Twenty years old. No boyfriend. Lives in Tulsa. Goes to college in Atlanta . . .”

  A cool, efficient sort of monster, Joss noticed.

  But not efficient enough.

  Joss managed to get a few pictures of him. Sent them to Jones, along with a text. See if anything pops on this guy.

  As the line continued to wind closer to the house, Joss watched, doing his own thing to blend. Chatting. Grumbling about his nonexistent girlfriend. An image of Dru flashed through his mind, and he tried yet again to strengthen that connection. Just thinking of her made him more aware—she was angry now, angry and frustrated.

  It was enough to distract him, and he couldn’t afford that right now.

  It took a hell of a lot of control, but he had to break that connection. For now.

  Until he knew just what he was dealing with, he had to focus on the man standing about fifteen feet away. The man watching a pretty college girl with well-hidden greed.

  * * *

  HE used the name Mike. Mike Sellers. It was one of fifteen different aliases.

  Mike was bored as hell, and wasn’t expecting that to lessen anytime soon. He was being strung along by the arrogant son of a bitch who’d “requested” his services. The request had come from another arrogant son of a bitch, but it was somebody whom Mike just didn’t like saying no to.

  When certain people asked for favors, it was wise to just say yes. The favors came with a lot of money, and it made those people more inclined to be friendly with you . . . and it also made them less inclined to want you dead.

  Mike knew how the game was played.

  So he was playing it, even though this current potential customer was being an asshole of the highest order, bringing him in and then ignoring him for days on end.

  It was a power play and he knew it. Mike could play that game very well, and he’d done it more than once. He’d play it, because playing it, and winning, just meant he’d get what he wanted in the end.

  It wasn’t money. Or rather . . . it wasn’t just the money.

  It was the hunt.

  Finding a pretty girl . . . like Alyssa. Stalking her. Learning her ways, her pattern. Then catching her. Once he turned her over, he didn’t know what happened, nor did he care. Sometimes he took his turn with his prey; sometimes he didn’t. If he decided to take Alyssa, he’d take a turn. She was his sort of lady—a beautiful, petite little blonde with big tits, a tight little ass, and when she glanced at him, it was a nervous, blushing sort of smile that made his dick swell up.

  A piece like her would be fun to keep around for a while.

  Going to the Art Institute in Atlanta. Amazing how easily people tossed out information.

  They didn’t realize how easily they dropped it.

  He’d heard her mention a few of her teachers’ names. He could figure out her schedule. Follow her. See if she had a roommate—she probably did. Her clothes were nice, but not quite high-end enough for her to be rich, so she’d probably have a roommate. Another challenge. When to grab her.

  It would take some planning . . .

  It was also a good way to occupy his mind. That was why he was here, after all. Bored as hell and killing time. It was one of his favorite pastimes, surrounding himself with people, looking for potential merchandise, even if he wasn’t actively hunting for a piece. Sometimes, he took a girl just to do it. Just for himself.

  He could do that with her. He thought he just might.

  A smile curled his lips as she glanced up at him, that hesitant, shy little grin on her face. Oh, yes. He was going to start planning. It would be a while. He’d been told this current job would keep him busy for a few weeks to a few months, and it would likely be an ongoing project if things turned out well.

  But it wasn’t a problem to wait awhile before moving on Alyssa. A few months down the road, and he could start laying the groundwork as soon as he had an idea what he was doing here.

  And he could fantasize even now.

  Man, she was going to be fun. He could already see her, tied up and facedown in the workshop he rarely got to use. Screaming behind a gag. He’d take care not to leave a mark on that soft skin . . . it would bring down the price once he was tired of her and sold her.

  He never kept them for too long anyway, and it was better to sell them off when he was bored.

  An acquaintance of his had told him it was just as much fun to kill them, but that was a waste. Plenty of his buyers liked taking a woman after she’d been broken, and Mike enjoyed that part almost as much as he enjoyed the hunt.

  No point in killing them, after all.

  * * *

  BRING down the price . . . yeah, you start thinking along those lines, Joss thought. It was a struggle not to grab the son of a bitch and snap his neck then and there.

  As the man who called himself Mike continued his hellish little fantasy, Joss sent another text to Jones. Check out the name Mike Sellers. I suspect he’s one of the connections here. He’s new, though—I get the feeling he doesn’t know his contact here. Can’t pick up a name yet. I’ll get one, though.

  Mike didn’t know his connection here. This was good. Joss already had a vague idea about just how to proceed from here.

  It would be a risky gamble, but instinct was telling him it was the right gamble. Which meant all he needed to do was confirm his suspicions.

  And keep from killing that monster in the meantime.

  Hard, that, considering he was getting a mental play-by-play of the sick fuck raping that college girl.

  He snapped a picture of her as well, sent that one to Jones. He’s got a thing for this girl. I’m in the park. Her name is Alyssa—

  Joss focused his mind on the girl, probed a bit, and then swore as he saw her sway, flinching. She pressed a hand to her head, and he realized he’d pushed inside her head too hard.

  He needed to get a better grip on this gift before he did shit like that. He told her sorry silently, not that it would do much good. Her name is Alyssa Brascum. Goes to the Art Institute in Atlanta. This Sellers guy has this idea to grab her later down the road. I plan on interfering with said plan tonight, in a big way, and once I’m done, I d
oubt his brain will be good for anything, but just in case, we need to figure out what to do about her.

  It wasn’t even a minute before Jones’s text popped up. Do you like making my life difficult?

  Consider it payback. I’m supposed to be off. Remember?

  ELEVEN

  "I thought we’d agreed you would stay in the room for a few more days. Rest. Eat.”

  Dru stared at her reflection.

  Her eyes looked weirdly bright, she thought. “Did we?” she murmured, reaching up to touch her lips with her free hand.

  The other hand gripped the phone so hard, it was a wonder the plastic didn’t crack.

  “Yes. We did.” There was no mistaking the anger lurking under Patrick’s voice.

  “I’ve been resting for several days, Patrick. Eating rather well, too.” She lowered her hand and turned away from the mirror. Careful, she thought. She needed to be careful here. “And I appreciate the concern. But I was just ravenous for something different. I’d . . . well. It’s Friday and I’d hoped we could go out. I wanted to ask you to take me to eat at one of the Italian places in the park. I wanted to go to Il Mulino, but after you sent the tray, I figured you must have one of your meetings, so I just went into the park for pizza.” She paused and then added, “After all, I thought the best way to put the weight back on was by eating the foods that appeal to me.”

  The long, tense silence on the other end of the line made it pretty damn clear she hadn’t done a damn thing to assuage his anger, but she hadn’t really expected to.

  “And did you eat?”

  “Yes.” She had. She’d actually eaten three damn pieces of pizza. Right before she’d met . . . No. Don’t think of him. If you think of him, you’ll think about that kiss. And you can’t do that—oh, that kiss. Cool it, Dru. Don’t let on like anything is up.

  Bloody fuck, if Patrick had any inkling that she’d been snogging a total stranger . . . he doesn’t feel like a stranger, though . . .

  She needed to have her head examined.

  “What else did you do?”

  She laughed a little. “Oh, I walked around. Went into the stores, rode some rides. It’s been years since I went into the park.”

  “Hmm. Did you use the credit cards I gave you?”

  “Oh, no. I used some cash I had. I . . . well, silly of me perhaps, but I’m still not used to having you pay for things for me,” she said glibly. Looking to trip me up on something, are you, you prick?

  “The reason I gave you the credit cards was so you would use them, Ella. Please keep that in mind. You’ll be my wife and I’ll be the one providing for you.”

  She curled her lip, staring at her toes so none of the cameras he had in the room would catch the sneer that crept over her face. “Of course, Patrick. As I said, silly of me. I’m just so used to doing for myself and all that.”

  “Something you need to get over.” He spoke to somebody else, his voice muffled. “I’ll be up to see you shortly. I’m glad your appetite is returning. Perhaps you’ll be a little less tiresome.”

  Tiresome. She gripped the phone, clenched her jaw. Oh, she could show him tiresome.

  “I can’t wait to see you,” she murmured.

  But he’d already hung up the phone.

  Hanging the receiver up, she lifted her head to stare into the mirror.

  Tiresome . . . that was his code.

  There was one thing she hadn’t been prepared for when she started this job. A job she was sacrificing everything for. Even her sense of pride, her self-worth.

  She’d never planned on sleeping with him.

  Nor would she have if she hadn’t realized just how messed up things were. At least she liked to think that. But after he’d raped her, things changed. It hadn’t been cruel, not compared to the way he’d treated many of the girls he sold—she knew that in brutal, stark clarity—but the son of a bitch had still ignored her when she said no. She hadn’t been able to fight him and make him stop the way she could have . . . not without making him question too many things.

  It had come to down to two choices . . . lie there and just take it, or make him stop. But if she’d done that, it would have shattered everything. All the things she’d done would have been in vain.

  She still had the shame, the anger tugging inside her. Even knowing she’d done the right thing, it had taken her weeks to be able to look herself in the eye. Now, she lived with that memory in her head. The next day, he’d informed her, “Hopefully you won’t always be so tiresome in bed, Ella.”

  From then on out, even as the nausea twisted through her later, she made it her mission—she’d damn well not have the choice taken out of her hands. If she was going to have sex with the twat, she’d do it on her terms.

  If that made her less in the eyes of some, so be it. But she’d rather have sex with the monster and be in control than be another one of his victims.

  It wouldn’t last forever, either.

  Sooner or later, it had to end, she told herself.

  Sooner or later.

  Sooner or later . . . but how much longer was that going to be?

  * * *

  HE was staying on the property.

  Joss figured that little detail out about two hours later, after Mike had finally stopped trailing along after Alyssa Brascum.

  Mike had managed to get her full name out of her, had flirted with all the girls in the group, had made buddies with the guys, and then disappeared, a nice, friendly sort of guy who had been killing time in between jobs.

  That was the line he’d used.

  Contract work. He did contract work and he was between jobs.

  Nice way to describe stealing girls, Joss thought as he settled himself down in the shadows, staring toward the little cabin. All around him there were trees, and it was the best camouflage he could ask for. It wasn’t bad security there, and Sellers wasn’t exactly unaware. Still, neither the security nor Sellers was prepared for somebody like Joss.

  As he shifted on the ground, back against a tree, he pulled out his phone, checked his e-mail. So far, no information back from Jones about this scumbag. Not promising, that. Could be somebody they didn’t know about.

  Could be—

  Heat . . .

  Joss hissed out a breath as lust hit him square in the gut, hot and hard, like somebody had just shot him full of some seriously powerful aphrodisiacs. Blood drained straight down and his cock grew achingly full, hard, and his blood pounded hot in his veins.

  And when he closed his eyes, concentrated, he could feel her. All but inside his head. The sensations were so intense, he could practically feel the slide of her skin against his . . . like she was there, and they were both stretched out, naked flesh on naked flesh.

  “What the hell . . .”

  But even as he muttered that question into the silent night, he knew.

  She was thinking of him. Thinking hard and heavy. Thinking hot, dirty little thoughts and getting hotter, dirtier by the second.

  When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her spread out beneath him. All night, he’d worked to keep that connection tenuously thin, all but ready to break, but now . . . now he threw everything he had into it and he could feel her. All but taste her arousal. All but hear the moans vibrating in her throat as she moved.

  Could all but feel his own dick, plunging inside her . . .

  Damn.

  The woman had one killer imagination.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d almost swear they were having sex . . .

  * * *

  IT was the only way to get through it.

  Lying naked in the bed beside Patrick, eyes closed and her heart racing, she kept her face pressed against the pillow and hoped he’d just keep his bloody mouth shut until she managed to get her mind back together.

  That had been . . .

  Whoa.

  It had almost been like he’d been inside her mind.

  As long as she hadn’t opened her eyes and looked at Patrick. As lo
ng as she hadn’t opened her mouth and tried to kiss him. As long as she hadn’t breathed in his scent. Just keeping her focus on him . . . on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy, a man she’d seen for all of thirty seconds before they decided to go and put their hands all over each other.

  Tall, Dark, and Sexy, who felt like she’d known him all of her life. Tall, Dark, and Sexy, who had a mind that felt like . . . home . . .

  All she’d done was think of him and those fantasies had flared to hot and vibrant life. It had made shagging Patrick much more tolerable, that was for certain, although it was definitely best that she hadn’t known Tall, Dark, and Sexy’s name.

  Dru was quite certain she would have called her fiancé the wrong name. Not that she ever cried out his name during sex. He wasn’t much more than a vibrator she forced herself to use. But if she’d known Tall, Dark, and Sexy’s name . . . Well, that would be trouble, wouldn’t it? Patrick would have taken that rather personally.

  If he really decided to unload on her . . . shit, what would she do then? Just sit there and take it? Break her cover and risk those girls?

  Her heart rate slowly leveled out, but her mind continued to buzz and hum and she could still feel him, vibrating inside her head, and she was almost certain she could feel him pushing at her shields, like he was trying to come inside her head. Talk to her, or something. No. Can’t do that, she thought almost desperately.

  Can’t have that at all.

  Although it felt like she was cutting off her arm, she forced herself to break that connection with him. Floundering, cut adrift in a lake of her own misery, she couldn’t keep from shuddering.

  Patrick stroked a hand down her back. “Are you cold?”

  “Yes,” she lied, keeping her voice quiet.

  He reached down and flicked a blanket over her, patting her ass. “That was rather nice. I’m almost tempted to stay the night so we can do it again.”

  Get the fuck out of here, Dru thought. She had to get her head back together. Soothe the ragged bits and pieces of her heart.

  He rolled closer and pressed his lips to her shoulder. “You should have told me you wanted to go into the park so much. It’s a silly wish, but if you had that much fun, we’ll do it occasionally. When you’re good.”