21. Dominguez Hills #2
I heaved a breath to ease my constricted throat, shook my head, and strolled into the hallway.
The upper level of the a-frame cabin overlooked a two-story massive glass wall.
Yep. A cabin on steroids, which I’d barely previewed yesterday in between bites of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—my only meal for the day.
Sunrays streamed in and framed a picturesque lake.
No, why should I play myself? That lake, although appearing warm and inviting, would leave me with shattered teeth.
It seemed so peaceful in December. A dusting of snow fell during our arrival last night. With the sun shining today, looks could be deceiving.
Below, somewhere, Jamie continued to speak.
I glanced back at the bedroom we shared.
The bed, not so much. An icy feeling overcame my heart.
Jamie said he could desire me. And I wanted to respect him and his body.
Not doing so made me as bad as the traffickers that used mine.
But surely he had to know I had needs. Heck, if he wanted to marry me this very minute, I’d officiate myself.
Could I officiate it and be the bride ? Dang, I was a mess. If I took my last breath today, I’d be satisfied with that large hunk of a man.
“Is that all you need?” Jamie spoke into the receiver, strolling into the living room spread out below.
His choice words almost made me do a double take. Though he’d spoken into the phone, it felt like he meant the words for me. Jordy, stop being so desperate!
Jamie looked up at me and smiled in a way that set my soul on fire.
Or left my heart ten degrees colder than Antarctica because I couldn’t have him this very instant.
Yes, I understood him a lot more after our argument at his family business, but a woman still had dreams. Jamie continued to speak in a tone too low to hear, then pressed the Off button.
“Your brothers?”
“No. My old CO.” When my brows perched, he added, “Commanding Officer. I gave him Uncle”—the vein in his forehead pulsed—“Nolan’s name.
He saw me on the news, apparently. Reached out about the altercation.
Now, we have someone on our side who can help us.
My brothers are good, by the way. They spent the rest of the night in the business’ basement. ”
“Ah, the good old trapdoor-and-festive-holiday-rug trick.” I nodded.
“Yep. Serves a purpose.” He then licked his lips. “What? You’re thinking?”
“It’s nothing.” I giggled. “Okay. Old movie. Fried Green Tomatoes was old when I first saw it. Still watch it on occasion, though. I wonder if they cut up the bodies and …”
Jamie blinked.
Yeah . He hadn’t seen that movie. Horror widened his eyes. “Jordyn … don’t tell me they eat more than tomatoes in that movie?”
Another laugh. “Just once. Apparently, abusive husbands make for great barbecue ribs. But it was a joke. And I’m sorry for upsetting your stomach, soldier.
Anyway, I’m glad they’re fine.” I remained in my position at the upper railing.
I didn’t want to get any closer to this beautiful man who had high standards.
This is a cruel joke . “Let’s change the subject.
Before I ask you about good ol’ Uncle Nolan,”—I smirked—“where’s Reb? ”
“I got her some dog food, water, and cleansed her wound. Rebel’s about as triggered as I am when you call that man ‘good, old Uncle Nolan.’?” He thumbed behind him. “She’s out on the deck. Refuses to come in. I might need to find my girl a therapist.”
I offered a sad smile, knowing he might need that same therapist after he brought up Nolan.
Jamie cleared his throat. “Nolan McGregor was a detective with LBPD when I was growing up. He brought me out of captivity without getting the cops involved. A favor for my dad. Used all the law enforcement resources at his disposal.”
“Sounds like … a good guy?”
“We didn’t start calling him Uncle for no reason.” Jamie patted the seat next to him. “Come sit.”
Nope . I’m fine right here . Had to protect my heart—because Jamie had set up his mind to protect him.
Okay, so maybe it was my body I needed to protect.
My heart was fine with the romance of it all …
a slow burn. But my body had turned into a traitor the second I set eyes on him.
Every part of me reacted to him. Without even a touch. But you might wait forever, dummy.
But I owed Jamie. If he said jump, I should say how high, right? He’d rescued me.
And the confusion wins again . Annoyed, I shuffled down the stairs across the wood floors and sank onto the couch next to him.
Don’t breathe him in . Don’t breathe —dang.
Woodsy. Amber. Frenzy. Strength. I remembered every second of having his hardened body flush against mine at MacKenzie Freight.
The torture was real. Sinking onto the couch, I leaned against the armrest to give us space.
“I think he’s … the reason I forgot about you.” Jamie’s voice was tight. His eyes dropped. Shame flickered across his marble face like a shadow.
“What?” I whispered, shifting beside him. My leg brushed his as I turned to sit crisscross on the couch, fully facing him.
But Jamie didn’t respond. His lips moved. Barely. I caught the words that spilled out under his breath. McDonald’s. Lincoln Continental .
Sounded like nonsense. Then, the repetition, the focus—it clicked. These weren’t just random words.
They were keys. Keys unlocking the doors of his mind that had been bolted shut for decades. His whole body stiffened like a current had gone through him. His jaw clenched, and a storm rolled into his eyes—grief, rage, recognition.
Like he’d swallowed poison but somehow lived through it.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“Jamie?” I asked finally, my voice barely a whisper. “What is it?”
He looked at me, but not really. His eyes were somewhere far away .
“Three Scots took me,” Jamie said slowly, voice hollow. “Flipped me to the man who owned us in less than a day.”
Owned us .
That hit me like a slap.
Jamie went on, his voice breaking like he couldn’t stop now that it had started.
“I remember getting out of his Lincoln Continental like it was yesterday. But before we got home, we stopped on the side of the road. One of the men—the first three—he was still in the trunk. Slammed his hand against it, repeatedly.” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “He wanted out.”
“Oh my gosh.” The words seemed to spring from me as I sat frozen, heart pounding, throat tight.
The love of my life had protected everyone but himself for so long … and now here he was, breaking open.
“The sounds. Nolan’s trying to get me to eat some stupid McDonald’s.
” He suppressed a dry heave. “To this day, I still gag when I think of Mickey D’s.
I associated that with the day. But I didn’t really assess the way Nolan acted when we sat in that Lincoln.
He couldn’t care less about the three in the trunk.
Fine by me. But he didn’t care about me either.
It was like he was presenting gifts to a monarch. ”
“You included?” I frowned.
“Yep. Except I didn’t belong in the basement with the others.”
“Your parents thought he’d vindicated you? They handled your three original abductors? They didn’t know about … the governor.”
“My time with you was spotty. I remember that old guy.” A lethal look flashed before his face. Then awareness. “He … liked when we called him Governor .”
“Jamie, you forgot?” I gasped. “Yeah. That’s true.
He’d ask us to call him that. It was the key to getting fed or-or a toy when he pulled us out of our cage to—” I cleared my throat instead of triggering him further.
“Oh, my gosh, I love your brain. It’s totally protected you from so much.
He was the governor , Jamie. Not just some wannabe, pretending.
” At my side, Jamie grew quiet. I waited for some form of emotion to flit across his face. Malice. Anger … Something.
Nothing.
“Now, Hagerty is President Pro Tempore. He presides over the entire U S Senate. But I think you get the whole ranking up situation, right?”
“Hagerty?” Jamie sat forward, pressing his thumb onto his laptop power button to disable the screen lock. Apparently, he changed his mind. He whispered our abductor’s name again, rose from the couch, and pulled his phone from his jean pocket.
“You calling your family?”
A snort. And then he walked toward the sliders and onto the deck overlooking Big Bear.
“Oh, no, he didn’t,” I muttered, leaning back in the seat.
While I wanted to keep my distance from Jamie, the other way around didn’t seem to factor.
Not in any way that made sense. My stomach’s growl prompted me to set aside that thought for another time.
“Time to eat.” I patted my abdomen. As I rose, my attention turned toward social media images on Jamie’s laptop.
I sank back onto the super cushioned couch and pulled the computer into my lap, reading over the headlines.
“Former Marine Raider involved in high-speed pursuit with LAPD.” My eyes fell on the subtitle, and I whispered, “But who’s the true culprit?
” My gaze flicked back up to the top of the online post. Reputable website.
Switching to a new Safari tab, I modified the search and came up with internet gold.
Social media sites ran rampant with the story.
One such YouTube video displayed footage as if someone in front of Taco Bell had caught the entire police stop.
The video transitioned into a split screen showing Jamie complying as he kneeled to the ground and an officer shouting about a weapon.
The footage paused, and the Youtuber’s smirk was deeper than mine.
Arms folded, I watched the rest of the video.
This dude was a professional. Grabbing aerial views from KTLA and other news stations before coming back onto the screen to ask his audience their thoughts.
As if this were Alice in Wonderland , I fell into a rabbit hole of comments. Most of them were positive. A few others argued about police rights, and some who agreed with Jamie’s stance tried to explain that what the one officer did was wrong while praising Officer Brown. And Jamie. Obviously.
Then the comments got worse—not for Jamie.
For my heart. Women wanted him. The depraved acts men had slapped me around to do … well, they’d do it. Gladly. Yuck .
“Sleazy, fast-tail women have to have their say too,” I muttered, walking into the kitchen to whip us up some breakfast. Fast-tail. I never used that phrase, but it whisked me straight to the past. Again, that memory of escaping Rocket and hoping to find refuge in an LA church came to mind.
“Cutie Pie, get away from that fast-tail girl.” The older woman had called after the gorgeous honey-brown girl who’d ran out of the beautiful church after me. Sixteen and pregnant and unloved. A shame.
Even more shameful? Churches, despite their aesthetic beauty, harbored the most wicked people.
I’d never been to a church before, and the way they treated me … I’d never return. So, I’d thrown the teeny, old gargoyle, glaring at me beneath a wide-brimmed organza hat, the same loving glare she’d offered me all through service, then turned so fast my cornrows slapped my face.
“Cutie Pie, go back inside the church,” I said. The girl looked like that precious American Girl Doll that Governor Hagarty often pulled out when playing nice. Man, I’d loved that doll. Hated myself more after how compliant it made me. “Listen to your momma.”
The little girl shook her head, hazel eyes bright. “Uh-uh, that woman ain’t my momma. She ain’t even family. She’s just a church older. Um … elder.”
“Then listen to your elder. And don’t say ‘ain’t.’ You’re dressed too pretty for that mess.” I started down the steps, shuffling one flip-flopped foot after the other. Maybe that was why they gave me the stink eye? But I was wearing a dress.
Ugh . A cheap dress with spaghetti straps. And these stinking flip flops would be the reason me and my baby … I took a deep breath, wishing the anxiety away. I needed to find another hiding spot. Somewhere, Rocket wouldn’t find me. Or our child.
Tiny footsteps gave chase once I was a few feet away from the sidewalk.
“Wait.” Cutie Pie held up a gerbera daisy just as an SUV with flashy rims pulled to the curb. “We’re giving them to all the mothers.”
“Why?” My tone rose to an octave that made shame stamp my cheeks as I glared toward the cross above the church. I couldn’t turn around. Look into that vehicle.
“It’s Mother’s Day, and”—those sweet, big marble eyes dropped to my belly—“you’re a mommy.”
A whistle broke off from the SUV as I took the daisy into my trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
I spun toward the street. Rocket sat behind the wheel, his hand resting leisurely behind the passenger headrest, a gun partially concealed.
He was bold like that. Or he didn’t suspect the gargoyle, too afraid to come closer, could see that far.
The little girl was too short to peer in the vehicle.
Just as I reached for the door, she lurched into my arms, offering me a hug.
The stiffest hug ever .
The only hug teenage me had ever received, so maybe I had nothing whereby to assess it.
As she clung to me, she spoke, her mouth practically warming through my womb because of how short she was.
“I’m only supposed to give everyone a flower when they leave.
You stepped out before the offering, by the way.
That’s okay. Some rich people don’t even put a dollar in the bucket. But-but I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I asked, secretly reveling in the tiny arms wrapped around me.
“Sorry you didn’t have a childhood like mine. Anyway, He didn’t ask me to talk to you. He just told me to hug you.”
“Who?” My voice was barely a whisper this time. “Who told you to hug me?”
She’d smiled up at me. “Jesus.”