Too eager to see the worst, because I knew I was becoming too invested.
After a few blocks, I slow to a stop, panting slightly. This is useless. She could be anywhere by now. I need more information.
Pulling out my phone again, I call Primal Fantasies, the agency that arranged our contract. "This is Thorne Ashwood. I need the particulars on one of your contractors. It's an emergency."
“I’m sorry, Sir.” The overly polite receptionist tells me in an irritatingly perky voice. “But all our client details are confidential.”
I resist the urge to yell at the woman who’s only doing her job. That’ll just get me hung up on. “Of course. Perhaps you could put me through to Mr. Smith,” I try, instead. “It’s a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Let me just see if he’s available,” she chirps, and I have to muffle my growl. What part of urgent didn’t she understand?
It seems to take forever before I'm transferred to the top man, although I doubt it was more than a couple of minutes. Iuse the time to start heading back to the underground garage where my vehicle is parked.
“Mr. Ashwood,” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Juno - the girl I’m contracted with. I have reason to believe she’s in danger. I need her contact information," I demand urgently. "Her real name, address, phone number - anything you have."
Smith sighs heavily. "Mr. Ashwood, you know I can't give out those details. It violates our confidentiality agreements."
"Damn it, this isn't about the contract!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "She could be in real danger. Some thug came to my apartment today, and I read the situation wrong. I made a terrible mistake, and I need to make it right before something happens to her."
There's a long pause on the other end of the line. I can almost hear the gears turning in Smith's head as he weighs his options.
"Please," I add, swallowing my pride. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely critical. But if you really don’t feel you can do this, then please, go to her yourself. Make sure she’s okay. I’ll cover any expenses. Anything she needs.”
“That’s hardly my job…” he starts.
That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’ve tried doing this the nice way, now it’s time for the big guns.
“In that case, Mr. Smith, prepare yourself for a visit from the police, because I have no other choice but to report the assault on her, and you can explain to them why you refused to help a woman in trouble.”
“Now, Mr. Ashwood, let’s not be hasty…”
I stay silent, allowing him to make his decision.
Another sigh. "I shouldn't do this, but since I’m aware of some of her story, and can corroborate it could lead to some danger, I’ll bend the rules, just this once. But rest assured, Mr. Ashwood, if there’s any complaint or comeback from doing so,there will be consequences. Her name is Linnea Reed." He reels off an address, and I barely manage to thank him before I hang up and sprint for my car.
This has all taken far too long. I just hope I get to Linnea before that other fucker goes back for her.
Because I have absolutely no doubt he will.
Chapter
Twelve
Linnea
Ihurry to the bus stop, thankful I don’t have long to wait before it arrives and doubly thankful that Mom’s at work. I have absolutely no doubt Reggie will be lying in wait at the house for me, but I plan to outsmart him.
He won’t hang around all day. Too many other dodgy deals to make. Too many payments to collect either by way of cold, hard cash, a beating, or sexual favors. One thing I know for sure is Reggie loves his job, and that works in my favor. I can almost picture him tapping his foot impatiently, checking his wristwatch every few minutes. Well, he can wait all he likes - which he won’t - I'm not going back there, not today. Well, not until much later on, anyway.
The bus lurches forward, and I slump into my seat, letting out a shaky breath. My heart aches, along with my bruised cheek, a dull throb that won't go away no matter how I try to distract myself. Stupid, stupid girl. How could I have been so naive? I squeeze my eyes shut, willing away the image of Sir'scold eyes, his dismissive tone as he cast me aside like yesterday's trash.
I don't even know his real name. That thought hits me like a punch to the gut, and I have to swallow hard against the lump in my throat. All this time, all those moments I thought were special... and, yeah, I don't even know his name.
That should have been a big, fat flag, waving in front of me and reminding me not to give away the emotional parts of myself he was never interested in. To remind me it was only ever my body and my submission he wanted from me, not my feelings. My hopes and fears. My… no, I don’t want to call it love.
But it was something.
