Her Savior_A Dark Romance

by Nicole Casey

  Think like him, a rational voice in my head whispered. Strange that the rational part had taken on Scar’s voice, but it—or she—was right. So, I did my damnedest to push everything else out. If I was him…I’d be heading north in a hurry. Especially after failing to take out the mark’s vehicle, I wouldn’t be making stops or detours for anything.

  I’d be on the highway, slipping above the speed limit as much as possible without risking getting pulled over. An expensive car meant there likely wasn’t a lot of trunk room to stash her in, and I’d be nervous about doing it anyway because of the weapons I’d have stashed in there. So, Scar was likely lying beneath blankets in the back seat—not the best scene for a cop to find if I was pulled over.

  I turned on the highway, scanning every black car I passed. Nothing. I pressed down on the gas pedal. I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about keeping a low profile. I had time to make up for, and if a cop wanted to pull me over, he could chase my ass all the way to the car that held Scar. In my Aston Martin, there was no fucking way a cop could keep up anyways.

  Minutes passed. No sign of her. It was entirely possible they’d changed cars, but I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of spotting her then. So, I ignored the bleak possibility and kept looking for an expensive, black car and a driver with a scar across his cheek.

  Ten minutes…twenty. Fuck, they’d changed cars. It was the only explanation. Driving at over a buck ten, I would have caught up with them by now. My stomach churned violently to think I could very well have driven right past her if she was concealed in a different vehicle.

  I swerved off to the side of the road, cutting in front of two lanes of traffic to get there—I didn’t give a fuck. I yanked the phone out of my pocket and dialed the number of the only person I could call. The only person who might have a hope in hell of pooling resources to help me track her down.

  There was no point in putting it off. If there was any hope the prick could help me find her, I’d gladly stand in front of his bullet once she was safe.

  The phone rang once…twice. Every second was excruciating. Impatience crawled beneath my skin while barely checked rage simmered in the veins beneath.

  Three times. Four. For fuck’s sake, pick up.

  “Hello?” a smooth, deep voice answered.

  “James Donovan? Your daughter’s been kidnapped, and I need your help to get her back.”

  “Who is this?”

  Was that a flicker of concern in his voice? God, I hoped so.

  “I’m the man who took your daughter.” There was no point in beating around the bush.

  The line was silent.

  “You kidnapped my daughter and now you want…what? Ransom?”

  Yeah…this is where the explanation got convoluted. All I had was the truth, and I was going to have to find a way to make that enough.

  “I don’t want your money. I need your help. I was wrong. She showed me that. I was trying to get her away, but my employer…was a very powerful man, and his goons got her.”

  “Let’s say I believe you for a moment. What is it you think I can do?”

  “I know despite the humble appearance, you’re still involved in many…shady markets” I hedged, mindful of the possibility of a phone tap. If I helped get the guy thrown in prison, his usefulness would plummet.

  “And you want me to find out if there’s been any commotion lately?”

  “That’s all I want. Just information. Any buyers unhappy about a missing purchase, or contracts put out to retrieve a product.”

  “I suppose there’s no point in asking who I’m speaking to…”

  I didn’t have to tell him. It wouldn’t seem the least bit suspicious for men in our particular field, but if I told him who I was, it would show I was putting myself out there. My name was well known in our circle. It might help him take my call seriously. “My name is Derek Vaughan.”

  Silence again.

  “Where are you?”

  My location? And if the man just put out a price on my head and looked for Scar on his own? Then she’d be safe. That’s all that mattered. It was worth it.

  “I’m heading up through San José now. She was taken from a motel on the outskirt of Cartago approximately twenty-seven minutes ago.”

  “All right.”

  All right, what? What the fuck did that mean?

  “You believe she’s being taken north of your location, I assume?”

  “Yes. My guess is the assailant is bound for somewhere in the vicinity of Sonora.”

  “Keep heading north. I will meet you in La Fortuna in three hours. Leave your phone on and I will contact you with an exact location when I land.”

  It was like grating salt in wounds to take orders from James Donovan. Weeks ago, I’d been ready and eager to rip away everything right in front of his eyes and then shoot him between them. Now I was essentially begging for his help. “Fine,” I gritted out and slammed my thumb down on the off button.

  It seemed my intel on him had been correct. James Donovan had most definitely been leading multiple lives. Getting from the States to La Fortuna, Costa Rica in a matter of hours meant he either still had a plane on standby or could get one easily. He also hadn’t made any mention of the information I needed being difficult to get.

  Then why? Why did he live in an ordinary home, letting his daughter work at some photo-processing shop? He could have been living, and keeping Scar, in the lap of luxury all these years. Instead, he’d buried himself so deep in ordinary and anonymity that if Marcos and I hadn’t been hell-bent on finding him, he would have remained buried.

  He’d taken an awful risk, living without the security his money could have bought them. And if he’d used it, maybe I would never have been able to get my hands on Scar in the first place, and she wouldn’t be unconscious in the back of some sick fuck’s car.

  A flash of sleek, black car up ahead caught my attention, drawing it away from useless conjectures. It was a luxury vehicle and pulling off onto the exit ramp. I veered into traffic without looking and followed. It was her. It had to be her.

  I followed at a safe distance for a mile after the exit. It was so damn tempting just to run him off the road, but I needed him in a less conspicuous location. And it looked like I was about to get my opportunity. The car swung hung a left and then turned onto the residential street on the right. It wasn’t the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough. The houses were spaced far apart. I hit the gas, got ahead of him ten seconds later and swerved into him to stop him.

  Before he could back up, I was out of the car and outside his door. I yanked it open and hauled him out before he could gather up Scar to use as a hostage. The fucker was armed, but I kicked the gun out of his hand before he’d even raised it.

  I yanked hard on his arm and twisted it back at the same time, forcing him to his knees while he hollered in pain. I dropped my gun out of reach and grabbed the knife to drive into him and feel the blood draining from his worthless body. Bloodlust. Pure and potent.

  I raised my arm, my muscles taut, ready, but the glint of the sun off the rear passenger window caught my eye. It was empty. The rear seats were empty. Scarlett wasn’t there.

  “Where. Is. She?” I ground out slow and careful because I wasn’t going to ask twice.

  “She’s gone,” he replied with absolutely no inflection in his voice. “You’ll never find her.”

  His eyes were lifeless. He’d put up a minimal fight. Why? He had to know I was going to kill him, yet he seemed resigned. “What’s going on?”

  The guy shrugged. “I take the girl, you kill me, my family’s safe.”

  “Safe from whom?”

  “I handed the girl over ten miles back. That’s all the information I can give you.”

  He lunged up all of a sudden and I drove the knife between his ribs. He gurgled as his body went slack seconds later. Fuck, what had I just done? I withdrew the knife, and he coughed, spraying blood all over my pants from his mouth and his chest. I dropped him
to the ground.

  He’d done it on purpose. Fuck. He’d deliberately come at me so I would have no choice but to put him down.

  “Where? Where is she?” I demanded, dropping down beside him. The blood loss was substantial. I didn’t aim to wound. I aimed to kill. It’s what I knew, what Marcos had taught me. So, in just a few seconds, my only link to Scar would be dead.

  He opened and closed his lips, trying to make sounds past the blood filling his mouth. I leaned closer. His mouth opened and closed again, soundless. Once more, and I heard him this time, just a second before he choked on his final breath.

  One word. One word and the vice that had been squeezing my heart gripped tighter, threatening to stop it altogether.

  Hell.

  He’d said she was in hell.

  4

  Derek

  I left the body lying next to the car where Scar had been just moments before I’d caught up with him. But I hadn’t caught up with him, had I? He’d passed me deliberately, orchestrating the distraction that would put me even further from her. It was smart. Premeditated. I didn’t credit any of Marcos’ goons with that much intelligence. So, who?

  The buyer? Would the man have gone to all this trouble for a slave he hadn’t even seen in person? An image of her flashed through my mind, on her knees, seeing her like the buyer would have seen her. Yes, a buyer might be compelled to go to an awful lot of trouble to get her back, especially if he’d already come to think of her as his. But she didn’t belong to him, damn it. She belonged to no one.

  I nearly lost it again, thinking about the buyer putting his hands on her, hurting her. I’d never been more tempted to swallow a bullet. I deserved to die for my mountain of sins, didn’t I? I held no illusions about that. The world would have been better off without me. Scarlett would have been better off without me. She’d be safe now, and completely innocent of the corrupt world that had been my home for too many years. But I couldn’t do it. No yet.

  I kept driving, innately keeping my eyes out for signs of trouble. Would I recognize it in the faces I passed by?—the kindred spirit of a monster? I didn’t know, so I looked anyway. The hours passed in a blur of faces. Young, old, men, women; none of them stirred anything inside me. No alarms. No intuitive pull toward a fellow evil spirit.

  The only thing to take up my mind was sickening images, made even more gruesome because I didn’t have to imagine what could be happening to her. I knew firsthand the things monsters were capable of because I was one. By the time my phone rang, the images of Scar had me so tortured I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t open my mouth or I’d end up screaming and I’d never stop. Instead, I pressed the button and held it to my ear with a trembling hand.

  “I’ve landed. I’ll meet you at the Inspira Café in twenty minutes. Meet me there.”

  I made some strangled noise of agreement in my throat, turned off the phone and tossed it on the seat next to me. Scar’s seat. The place her body had occupied not ten hours before.

  Get it the fuck together, her voice of reason spoke in my head. I listened. It was my turn to obey.

  By the time I reached the café, I had it together. I’d tucked every selfish feeling of agonizing misery down deep. It would be there waiting for me later. And if I didn’t get to her in time, I deserved every gut-wrenching second it would bring. It would only be seconds though. Maybe deep down I really was a coward, because if I couldn’t save her, if she died or was lost irrevocably, I’d blow my fucking brains out. I deserved the eternity in hell I had coming to me.

  It only took me about three seconds to spot him. No disguise. No obvious bodyguards lurking around. Of course, there wasn’t. James Donovan was an average individual who hadn’t existed until the day he’d stolen Scar and killed my parents. Before that, he’d been James Garcia—that man needed protecting, not the man in the café who could have passed for an ordinary businessman.

  The overwhelming rush of anger I felt when I saw him surprisingly had little to do with my parents’ death. The desperate urge to rip him apart limb from limb stemmed from his carelessness with Scar. If he’d been protecting her, using even a small fragment of his fortune to have her watched over, a monster would never have been able to get his hands on her. The men I’d had take her would have been shot dead on the spot, and she would be safe.

  I kept my hands to myself though. It was easy to blame him because I needed to blame someone. Someone needed to die for what happened to her, but the bitter truth of it was, that someone was me. I’d get to that, just not yet.

  “Donovan.” I nodded to him as I slid into the seat across from him.

  “You look younger than I expected,” he observed, looking me over to size me up.

  He wasn’t wrong. For years after he’d rescued me, Marcos had teased me about not looking old enough to fuck, never mind train pleasure slaves. Even now, I could still pass for a couple years younger than my 25 years.

  Nevertheless, it was a comment meant to establish himself as the superior in this arrangement, and I wasn’t about to let that slide. I returned the once over and then met his eyes, “And you look rather worse for wear after your years in suburbia.”

  “Touché,” he replied and his shoulders loosened. The expression on his face relaxed, but he wasn’t fooling me. A man with eyes as cold as his never actually let down his guard. It was an act, but I had no choice other than to play along. Still, this wasn’t a social call.

  “Have you heard any news?”

  “I have to admit, Derek, it was a rather big risk calling me. I could have lured you here just to kill you for taking my daughter.”

  “I know that.”

  “And you’ve called me here anyways, which means you either intend to kill me for what I did to your little family or else you have some very desperate need to get Scarlett back.”

  “If I’d intended to kill you, I would have done it the second I walked in the door.”

  He was silent, considering. “I am inclined to believe you. Tell me though, what did you do to my daughter?”

  Fuck, this was not going to be a productive path to travel down, so I summed it up as succinctly as I could. “She was meant to be my vengeance for what you stole from me.”

  “Yes, I gathered that, but I want to know what you did to her.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should have been better prepared for this. I couldn’t voice what I’d done to her. Not to this man. Not to anyone. “You know what it is I do. She showed me I was wrong.”

  “If you feel no need to…use her further, why is it so imperative to get her back? Why abandon your thirst for revenge?”

  “Because Scarlett is all that matters.” Never had I spoken truer words.

  Even Donovan seemed momentarily stunned by my confession. It passed. “Yes, my daughter is a rather unique creature.”

  His words were sincere, but there was ice behind them. The man was either doing one hell of a job hiding his emotions, or he really was the cold bastard Scar had said he was.

  “All right,” he said, pouring cream and sugar into the coffee in front of him. “I will help you locate my daughter, but when we’ve found her, you belong to me.”

  I wasn’t surprised by the deal. I knew his involvement would come with a price. I could walk away and bet the cold prick would continue to look for his daughter, but there was no fucking way I was going to take that gamble. Given the cold shiver at the base of my spine, it felt imperative to draw out the details of this agreement though.

  “When we have found Scarlett, and the men holding her are dead, then you can do with me what you want.”

  “We have a deal.”

  I put out my hand over the table first. In an agreement, in a handshake, never let the other man take the upper hand—Marcos had taught me that. Donovan’s handshake was firm, his skin warm, but it felt like the slimiest thing I’d ever touched.

  “Don’t worry, Derek. I have no interest in killing you. You are a valuable asset, and I am never wasteful.”

>   That’s what I was afraid of. I wasn’t just selling my soul to get Scar back—assuming I still had one to sell. I was selling lives—men he would want me to kill, girls he would want me to train.

  I had no choice. She’d hate me for the things I would have to do, but she would be alive, and she’d be safe. Perhaps that was my penance for the life I’d lived—to have to return to the things I’d abandoned and live with her hatred. I wouldn’t tell her why I was doing it though. I would never let her think it was because of her.

  “Have you received any news?”

  “Yes, in fact, I have. There was a contract activated two days ago to retrieve a missing product—a product that belongs to Marcos Caballero.”

  It made me sick to listen to Donovan talk about her like a thing, but it was necessary—common lingo in the industry—to avoid incrimination.

  “Who put out the contract?”

  “It’s sketchy. It seems someone is going to a great deal of effort to remain anonymous. Strange though, that there’s been no word on the subject from the man himself, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, very strange,” I agreed. It was clear he wasn’t expecting to hear any word on the subject from Marcos. Donovan knew he was dead. And more than likely, he’d put the pieces together and knew I’d killed him.

  “Well, there’s no sense in worrying about that, is there?” Something in the tone of his voice had my attention. He was suppressing some emotion linked to Marcos’ death, but I couldn’t guess at which one.

  “Shall we go?” he said before I could consider it further, and he rose to his feet. “A plane is waiting for us. While I don’t know who put out the contract yet, I do know it was initiated where you expected—somewhere in Sonora. We’ll fly there while my contacts keep looking. If you’d like, I’ll have your car transported there.”

  I nodded, not because I couldn’t replace the fucking car, but because Scar had been in this car. As I strode out of the shop and toward the car to retrieve my bag, I could see her there, smiling at me from the passenger seat. Even when I got her back, she’d never sat there again. As soon as she was safe, I’d have to put as much distance between us as I could. I didn’t want her to see me return to the man I’d been.