Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Landon
She’s mad.
It’s not just the fact that she stayed in the bedroom all day, but her rigid posture and the somewhat stilted conversation tells me I fucked up.
I just don’t know what I was supposed to do.
I have a fair amount of experience with women, but never one who was raped a week ago.
And I’m pretty sure there’s no guidebook for something like this.
I should say something, clear the air, but how do I do that without making it worse?
Yes, I’d really like to take you to bed but I’m afraid it might bring on more nightmares or bad memories?
The last thing I want to do is evoke some kind of flashback. That would be a different kind of nightmare.
At least we’re talking now, even if it’s not like the easygoing conversations we’ve had in the past. Where we opened up, talked about the past and the future, and connected on a level I rarely allow with the women I sleep with.
Maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping with her.
The devil on my shoulder is an asshole but Allora has just given me an opening into a more serious conversation with what she said.
“How were you a prisoner?” I ask curiously.
She laughs but it’s without mirth. “The club takes protection seriously, and on one hand they’re complete womanizing asshats, on the other—they protect what’s theirs fiercely.
To the point of suffocation sometimes. It wasn’t too bad when I was little but once I hit puberty?
My boobs popped. Guys in general started looking at me.
Dad was wayyyy over the top. My mom had to intervene almost daily so I could have somewhat of a normal life. ”
“Normal how?”
“Like, he didn’t want me to stay after school to run cross country. My mom talked him into it, but one of the guys from the club would park on the street when we ran our daily two miles.”
“But he let you run,” I say, trying to understand what part of this is bad. “I might be a little worried about my young teen running on city streets unsupervised.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was fourteen. We ran in a group of, like, ten. The high school is in a nice, suburban area. No major intersections, no danger beyond the normal freak accident or something like that. It was annoying as fuck.”
“I guess as a teenager it would be, but now that you’re an adult, you don’t see it differently?”
“No. Every other kid did it with no issue. It was only me who had to have a freakin’ babysitter.”
“Bad things happen, and I imagine you worry about all of them once you become a parent.”
She shrugs. “You have to let children grow up and find their own way. How else do we learn to be independent? I’m willing to bet no one babysat Courtney when she was fourteen.”
I wince, because she’s right. Not only did our father not babysit, he didn’t give a shit at all. “I think there has to be middle ground between overbearing and completely absent.”
She hesitates. “Is that what your father was like? Absent?”
“He was either mean and raging, or blackout drunk. I was the one who looked after Courtney, as much as I could.”
“Someday, I’ll tell you about life growing up in the club in more detail.”
Her tone is dismissive, indicating the end of the conversation, so apparently that day isn’t today.
“Anyway,” she continues, “what’s the protocol for the trip to Denver?”
“We’ll set up the logistics on our end. Once that’s done, I’ll explain the details to you.”
“Are we sharing a hotel room?” she asks, frowning.
“Most likely a suite.”
I can’t tell if she’s relieved or annoyed, that’s how fast the kaleidoscope of emotions drifts across her features. Then she just nods and stands up. “You cooked—I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
I stand at the same time. “You don’t have to.”
“I need something to do,” she says firmly, gathering up our plates.
“All right.”
Instead of letting her do it alone, we work together. She rinses bowls, plates, and silverware, and I put them in the dishwasher. She hands me the dishcloth so I can wipe down the table while she washes the frying pan. I put away the condiments and she wipes down the counters and stove top.
Then we’re done and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
I like having her around.
I enjoy her company.
And me behaving like a gentleman seems to have screwed everything up.
That’ll teach me, I guess.
I follow her into the living room, and she scoops up Cleocatra, nuzzling her neck.
Why do I suddenly envy the damn cat?
“Want to watch something?” I offer.
She glances at me. “I…guess.”
She’s reluctant but is probably bored out of her mind after spending all day in the bedroom.
“We could rent a movie or find something on cable.”
“I don’t care.”
I pick up the remote and pull up the guide. “What’s your pleasure? Jurassic Park, reruns of Big Bang Theory, or the housewives of somewhere.”
“Jurassic Park is always a favorite,” she says without hesitation.
Good to know.
I click on the channel and the familiar scene from early in the movie comes on, showing a calm, sunny day at the ill-fated dinosaur park.
She settles on the couch as far away from me as possible, with Cleo on her lap.
This is going to be a long duty assignment if things are going to be like this.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
* * *
After watching both Jurassic Park and the sequel, Allora and Cleo are dozing on one corner of the couch. I could pick her up and carry her to bed but that might be overstepping, so I cover her with a blanket instead.
I’ve just settled on the other side of the sectional, trying to decide if I’m tired enough to sleep, when I hear a strange scratching noise.
I’m instantly on my feet, reaching for the revolver I keep in the drawer of a side table near the front door. Since I live alone, there’s no need to lock up my weapons, and I keep them all over the apartment. Just in case.
The scratching noise continues, and I realize someone is trying to pick the lock.
What. The. Fuck.
My movements must have woken Cleo, because she stands and stretches, watching me warily. That must have woken Allora because her eyes pop open and it looks like she’s about to say something, but I quickly put a finger to my lips, shaking my head.
She notices the gun and her eyes widen.
“Go into the bedroom,” I mouth, pointing.
She grabs Cleo and moves soundlessly across the floor in her bare feet.
I walk to the door and disengage the deadbolt, throwing it open in one smooth motion. Someone is there, but he or she immediately takes off running. I watch without moving.
Nice try, assholes.
This trick is the oldest one in the book. They send a decoy to distract me, I take off after him, and leave Allora unprotected. Yeah, not my first rodeo, dickhead. I close the door, turn the deadbolt, and engage the alarm.
I call Rage as I walk to the bedroom to check on Allora.
“What’s up?” he answers on the first ring.
“I think our trafficking assholes have found me,” I say.
“Shit. You okay?”
“Yeah, but we need to get out of here in the morning.”
“You want me to sit in the parking lot?”
“Nah, I got this.” I look at Allora, who’s sitting on the bed watching me intently. “They were hoping I’d chase after the guy at the door so they could walk in, grab Allora, and get out before I realized what was happening.”
“Obviously, they don’t know you.”
“Obviously.” We both chuckle.
“Call if you need me.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll be there bright and early, just in case getting out of there proves complicated.”
“See you then.” I put the phone in my pocket and turn to Allora. “You okay?”
“Other than scared to death? Sure.”
“I guess we have to move.”
“To where?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let Daniil know what happened and he can pick a place for us.”
“This is annoying,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Like, what the fuck? Why are they so determined to get to me?”
“All I can think of is that we saw their faces.”
“You think they’re after you too?”
“Possibly. But it could also be that they just want you. That’s the thing with traffickers—you used to be a model and stuff, so there’s a chance that some stupidly rich sheik somewhere saw your picture and decided he wanted you.
That’s not usually how sex rings work, but at this point, we have to consider all the options. ”
“Do you think they’ll continue coming after you if they get me?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not?” she asks in confusion.
“Because if they got you, that means I’m already dead.”