17. Kinleigh
SEVENTEEN
KINLEIGH
PRESENT.
I don’t make a habit of doing things that I know will purposely piss off Forrest Conway. Or, I didn’t.
If I can free Colton—if I can get him the information that I know he already saw—he can go save those women and young girls. He can ride off and free them, and put an end to this specific trafficking chain. I know there are many, many operations like this, even in Wyoming. But to end this one—to put my father out of business and burn him to the ground while doing so—that’s what I’m fighting for now.
And Colton.
The moment I saw him in the cellar, beaten and chained, everything I’d told myself was young, foolish love came rushing back. My feelings weren’t adolescent. They weren’t based on the fact that I’d never loved again. When I laid my eyes on the wall of man that Colton Beckett grew up to be, my entire soul gravitated toward him. My body ached to be in his arms, my head burned to feel his lips on top of it, my fingers itched to lace with his. A low hum rumbled through me, reminding me that he is the man I love.
The only man I’ll ever love.
And if everything goes to plan, the man I love will save those women and take down my father in my honor. Because Forrest will kill me if I free Colton.
And I am freeing Colton.
Quietly, I twist the knob to the office and step inside, careful not to close it so I can hear if anyone is coming. My father went into town for feed, and because it’s the middle of the month, I know transfer day is nearing.
Prior to transfer day, he gets nervous and squirrelly, as most busts are made during the transfer process. That means he’ll stay in town longer and come home drunk and angrier than normal, which means I need to make myself scarce.
Until then, I need any and all information that will help Colton.
Cautiously, I move toward the desk, my stomach in knots. When he realizes what I’ve done… My hand trembles as a sour memory flashes behind my eyes, Forrest’s hand pushed so hard between my shoulder blades that I was sure he’d break my back, the sound of his belt being unbuckled, him spitting into his palm, the sickening groan he made as he grabbed himself and forced his way inside of me.
Then Colton appears, ethereally handsome in the tall grass with the sun hanging high, the sky so blue it could be made of paint. A smile curls his full lips, and where there was once a clean, sharp jaw, now there is a thick, full beard. I feed my fingers into the coarse hair and kiss him. Behind us is a large home, white with painted black brick accents and black-and-white striped awnings. Lush grass and lots of dandelions comprise the expansive front yard, and when I squint and look at the porch, a pitcher of tea waits, and a long row of rocking chairs do, too.
I don’t know where we are. Maybe it’s heaven. Maybe that’s where Colton and I finally get to be together.
Either way, seeing him happy keeps my hands moving, the fear of Forrest far from my mind as I open folders and slip into the seat behind the desk. The computer isn’t unlocked, but I’ve known the password for ages. After getting in, I begin furiously printing SPEC SHEETS, the paperwork outlining each human prospect as well as their value. I don’t know if these can be used with the police or if they’ll say we doctored them, but if Colton can find the shipping container with the coordinates, the police will have no choice but to believe him.
Near a folder of photos, one in which I’m too terrified to open, there is a folder titled ESTATE. I don’t know what draws me to it, knowing there are likely many other folders full of incriminating information just waiting for me to print and take, but for some reason, my eyes linger on that word.
ESTATE.
I can’t help but double click, needing several moments to read everything inside. When I’m through, I’m both surprised and angry, and somehow also expectant.
My human trafficking rapist of a father has put this entire property in my name, signed off by a notary named— surprise, surprise —Neely Pierce.
I scroll up and down through the documents, reading faster than I ever have. My name is everywhere, his signature is everywhere and—so is mine.
I don’t remember signing but that’s not to say they couldn’t have forced me. My father tested his favorite paralytic on me for months before he began administering it to captives, and there were many times I appreciated that he drugged me. It allowed me to tune out the horrors of reality, but now I’m seeing its use has taken chunks of my memory with it.
Memory or not, I know why he’s done this.
Should this operation ever be discovered, everything is in my name. I keep scrolling, only to realize I own the house, the land, the vehicles, the bills are in my name, the bank accounts are in both of our names, and, wouldn’t you know, should I be caught or killed, Forrest Conway, my loving father, is my sole beneficiary.
I scoop the documents from the printer, queuing a few more to print as I peek through physical papers on his desk. A red circle grabs my focus, and I shove bills and statements aside to expose the desk calendar beneath.
In a few weeks from now, my father and my uncle Garrison—who has been stopping by more frequently than he ever has before—have a meeting with the sheriff. 1 p.m., it says.
My pulse speeds and my hackles rise—that’s when I have to do it.
When Forrest and Garrison are far from here, tucked securely in town, more than forty minutes away, I’ll free Colton. I’ll let him go and send him to go free those women and children.
He’ll be a hero, and he’ll be free.
I close my eyes, trying to center myself in reality, trying to find a moment of calm as the printer fills the room with a low, mechanical whir.
When it’s done, I take the papers and quietly move through the house, stashing them in the unsewn corner of my mattress.
With them safely stashed away, I return to the kitchen, making a roast beef and provolone on toasted wheat, one of Colton’s favorites.