Chapter 11
Heathen
There's absolutely nothing I can do about the trembling in her body once I come back out of the other room.
I don't know what that big motherfucker said to her, but whatever it was has clearly left her more shaken than before.
It only took five minutes for Dima to go over the expectations, return policy, and payment, but it might as well have been a lifetime for the terror I see in her eyes.
Thankfully, she doesn't hesitate to place her hand in mine when I hold it out to her.
Neither of us says a word as we leave the warehouse, and even after helping her into the passenger side of the Cerberus SUV, she doesn't speak.
"They're going to be watching us," I mutter as I turn out of the industrial park.
"Please take me home," she whispers, the threat of a sob in her tone.
"I can't," I say as we slow to a stop behind a pickup at the red light. "I need time to figure out the next step."
The last two hours have gone against everything I promised Kincaid back in New Mexico. We were selected for this position because we had the ability to think shit through, and here I am, seventy-two hours in the city and married to a woman I don't know, while also putting myself and my real name on the radar of a criminal organization. If there were more ways to fuck this all up, I probably would've done it by now as well.
"It isn't real," she whispers, trying to dash tears away with the back of her hand.
"It's very real," I argue. "The danger, the threat to Morgan. Is that a sister? Your mom?"
I don't know how I expect her to respond, but utter silence isn't it.
I know she has to be traumatized. I know I have some very hard questions to ask her, namely how long has she been there and what has happened to her since arriving. Also, how in the world did she end up inside the warehouse? Did they abduct her after catching her snooping around?
"I'll take you to a hospital. I don't think it's too far-fetched for them to think I'd want you tested for STDs before our wedding night."
"There will be no wedding night," she snaps. “I don't need a hospital."
"The hospital is for a check-up. What have they done to you?"
I watch her throat swallow, ignoring the person behind me laying on their horn because I'm sitting still at a green light.
"They didn't hurt me," she says, refusing to look me in the eye.
I don't know enough about her to believe her or not. I know a lot of women who have been victimized refuse to admit to it, especially to a man.
Cerberus New Mexico has several women on their team to help with situations like this. The women are badasses in their own right but they're also more likely to get another woman to talk about their experiences rather than the same gender who hurt them.
This chapter here in Las Vegas doesn't have someone like that.
"Tell me what you need," I say as I look away and begin driving again.
"I need to turn back the clock a full day, no, make that a couple of years. I never should've come to Vegas."
"Why did you move here?" I ask, wondering if she has dreams of being a poker-winning millionaire or if she wants to be on a stage performing every night.
She doesn't answer, and I'm in no position to demand anything from her.
"Are you a cop?"
I don't know exactly how to answer that, so I choose the absolute truth.
"I'm not a cop."
"FBI? CIA? Anything?"
"I don't work for the government, at least not anymore."
"Former CIA?"
I shake my head. "I was in the Marine Corps."
I look at her briefly, catching the frown on her face. Since when did people start finding military service so distasteful?
"So you're a wannabe hero with a savior complex?"
"Is that what you think of military men and women?"
"That's what I think about a creep who sees me at the grocery store one night and purchases me the two days later," she mutters, her tears beginning to subside as she lets anger take over.
I wanted the crying to stop, but I don't know if the anger directed at me is any better.
"I followed you the other night," I confess, earning a scoff from her.
"Something you do often?"
"I can't get into what I do for a living. It's... classified."
I feel her eyes burning into the side of my head, but I don't look at her. I know how crazy this sounds, but is anything at this point too far-fetched? One day, she was a cashier at a grocery store and the next, she was being sold and married off to a man she doesn't know. This entire situation is off the wall fucking nuts and I never would've suspected I'd be here when I stepped off that damn plane the other day.
"Of course it is," she says. "How will you help my friend? Or was that a lie?"
I lick my dry lips, wishing I could just tell her everything, but I don't know enough about her to disclose anything about the organization I work for.
"I can help," I assure her.
"What are you doing?" she asks when I pull into a fast-food place.
"Aren't you hungry?"
She glares at me.
"It could take days if not weeks to find your friend. Are you planning to starve yourself until then? I doubt they've fed you anything worth eating. Those other women look like they haven't eaten in weeks. They were all so damned skinny."
She looks down at herself, that ridiculous gold dress catching the afternoon sun.
"Don't even," I warn, seeing the thoughts forming in her mind. "I wasn't calling you fat."
"It's only because I'm so short," she mutters, wrapping her arms around her waist.
I see fire, rage bubbling inside of me.
I slide across the seat and get right in her face, one hand at her hip and the other bracketing her in with my palm on the passenger side window.
"You're fucking perfect," I growl. "Anyone who has said anything different is a piece of shit. Understand me?"
She snaps her head back as far as the seat will allow as her eyes dart between mine, swallowing a few times before she speaks.
"How do you not know you have a speck of pepper between your two front teeth?"
The laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it, but on my way back to my own seat, I get close to the rearview mirror and check. There's literally nothing between my teeth. I haven't eaten today and I'm very thorough when I brush my teeth.
"Such an asshole," I mutter, catching the smile that threatens on her cheeks before she shuts it down. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," she confesses. "There's actually a really great taco place just down the block," she says, pointing toward the right.
I pull out of the burger joint parking lot and drive to the Delicioso Taco.
"Drive-thru or inside?"
"Drive-thru," she says. "They kept my wallet. I don't have any of my stuff. No money, no license, no social security card."
"You don't have to worry about money," I assure her. "I asked Dima about the other stuff, and he said he's planning on keeping it safe for you."
"Such an asshole," she whispers. "I'll keep track of what I owe you."
"What you owe me?"
"For the food, and whatever else," she says. "I don't like owing people."
"So you want me to add the fifteen thousand to that?"
Her eyes grow wide. "Excuse me?"
"That's what it cost to marry you. Oh, and the hundred-and-two-dollar license fee."
"Shit," she mutters, making me smile again.
"I said you don't owe me anything. How many tacos?"
She chews the inside of her lip before replying.
I lean out the window and speak into the box when the person inside prompts me for my order. "I'd like five crunchy tacos with extra cheese and a side of frijoles. Wife?"
She narrows her eyes once again. "I'll have the same."
I see the challenge in her eyes, as if she's expecting me to tell her that's too much food.
"Can I make that a dozen tacos with extra cheese and two orders of frijoles?"
She doesn't say a word as I pull around and pay.
As we sit and wait for the food, I try and think of a way to explain this to Kincaid, but I can't formulate one that doesn't leave me jobless.
My parents would love me crawling home to them after such a failure, and I swear I'll live under a bridge before I ever do that.
I grab the massive bag of food and set it in the center of the seat before driving off.
"I'm going to go to a hotel," I explain. "I don't live alone, and that's not a conversation I want to have right now."
"I knew it," she says on a gasp. "You have a partner and kids. All of that junk food."
I pull in a deep breath, sort of happy that she thought about me at all after our meeting the other day.
"I do not have kids," I assure her. "And there's no partner. I live with... coworkers."
"That's the strangest thing I've ever heard," she mutters as I pull into the parking lot of a well-known hotel chain.
"That's the strangest thing?" I challenge.
She shakes her head in frustration as she glances out of the windshield at the hotel. "You know what I mean."
"Is this okay?"
"It's fine," she says, her eyes dipping to the bag of tacos.
"You can stay in here and eat while I get a room."
"I can wait until I get into my room," she assures me.
The check-in process is super easy, but when I turn around to face her with the key card, I catch her eyes a little lower on my body than necessary. I try and tell myself that she's just lost in thought and looking more through me than at me, but her cheeks turn pink when she notices that I caught her looking at my ass.
"The elevator is right over there," I instruct when I approach and she doesn't budge.
I follow close behind her, the bag of tacos in hand to the elevator, and she doesn't speak until we get on.
"We aren't consummating this marriage," she snaps, as if we're in the middle of an argument and I missed the first half.
"Okay."
"We have to get an annulment as quickly as possible," she continues.
"Is that the only reason we can't hook up?"
She sneers at me, and I swear she looks just like I imagine a wet, angry cat would look.
"Don't flatter yourself," she mutters.
I think I like this feisty side of her. It's much better than the crying one, that's for sure.
I open the door with the provided keycard and hold it open for her.
She doesn't hesitate to leave me standing alone in the small living room area as she heads into the bedroom.
A couple of seconds later, I hear her on the phone, and I can tell she's calling into work.
The woman has been practically held prisoner and she's worried about her job. I like the work ethic but she really needs to focus on priorities right now.
By the time she comes back into the room, I have the tacos split evenly on the small dining table.
Wordlessly, she takes a seat across from me and works on opening the first wrapper.
I wait until she has eaten the first taco, praying it takes the edge off of her hangry state before speaking.
"I need you to tell me everything you know about that place."
"I don't have any clean clothes, none of my personal things. This hotel was a bad idea."
"We can get you new things."
"There's no sense in getting new things when I have perfectly fine things at my house."
"Are you always this argumentative or are you simply trying to avoid the other conversation?"
"The other conversation makes me look really stupid."
"I'm sure you had a good plan," I cajole. "Let's talk it through.
She pulls in a deep breath and then tells me how the simplest of desires somehow turned into a situation of her putting her life in jeopardy.