I turn to her, her slim form shaking in the corner, curled in a ball. “You say when, and how, and with who. You don’t have to be a victim.”
She gazes up at me with wide, shocked, ebony eyes. I hope I got my point across. With that, I leave. The store clerk can clean up the mess.
I hop in the car and peel out, my back-seat passenger still dead to the world.
An hour later, I pull up to a remote log cabin literally in the middle of nowhere. March had to hook me up to a black-market satellite network just so I could find the place. I’ve been to a lot of questionable areas around the globe, but thisDeliveranceshit definitely creeps me out the most.
I don’t get out of the car, as instructed. I’m supposed to wait for him. Who is ‘him’? I have no idea. He’ll be wearing a plaid shirt. That’s all I was told. I can only assume he’ll emerge from the house. A minute after I put the car in park, someone does. A man, in his mid-twenties, same as me, appears on the porch. My heart thumps harder from the sight of him. He has a dark aura for sure, and for a moment, I reconsider this job. I was assured this girl wasn’t going to be harmed. That she was just a puppet in a political game of Russian roulette. A Senator’s daughter to use as a pawn.
I glance back at the sleeping girl one last time as the man in plaid strides to my car. He stands on the passenger side and motions for me to get out. This is his turf. His rules, his game. I need to follow his direction. Stealthy, I slide my Glock back into the waist of my jeans before opening the car door and getting assailed by the smell of the salty marsh.
“Lose the gun,” he orders. “This is a nonviolent transaction.”
“My gun doesn’t mean it’s violent. If anything, it keeps the peace,” I argue.
He shakes his head. His shaggy black hair and hard, inky eyes give him a sinister look. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. I drop the gun onto the driver’s seat and shut the door. I tread lightly. I don’t know this guy, and he sure as hell doesn’t know me.
He waits for me to walk around the back of the Chevy and open the back door. I show him his goods.
“There she is, unconscious, just like you requested. She should be out for a few more hours. I drugged her up pretty good.”
He nods. Approving.
A chill runs down my spine. He isn’t a bad-looking man. He isn’t that intimidating either, but there is something about him. Something ominous underneath that chiseled face and those long eyelashes.
He goes to reach for her, but I stop him. “Send the text first.” He’s not getting his hands on her until I get paid.
He nods again, the sounds of strange bayou wildlife echoing in the distance.
A minute or two later, my phone buzzes with a text from March:
Transaction complete.
I step aside,swallowing the lump in my throat. “She’s all yours.” I don’t usually pull jobs like this. I’m more a shoot ’em and leave ’em type of girl. But this was just too easy, and the money was just too good. March practically died of a coronary when I said I had to think about it. He gave me all of five minutes.
The man in the maroon-and-blue plaid reaches into the back seat and pulls the girl out. My heart flutters faster. He cradles her in his arms like she weighs nothing but doesn’t look at her like she is nothing. No, I know that look. That intrigued stare. He likes what he sees. I don’t think there’s a man alive who wouldn’t. She’s beautiful and young. Olive-skinned and blonde highlighted hair. A thin nose, high cheekbones, and plump, pink lips.
Someone completely innocent.
“You can go,” he dismisses me, and that suppressed rage that’s always there rears its ugly head.
“Hey.” I snatch his arm. “I was told she wasn’t going to be hurt.”
He looks down at my hand and then back up at me. I’m as intimidating to him as I was to the guy in the bathroom. Looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to me.
“Whatever happens after you leave is none of your concern.” There’s a malicious hiss to his tone. “Your job is complete.”
That answer is not going to fly with me. I pull the knife from my boot and press the tip into his balls before he can take his next breath. “Let me leave you with this parting note. If I find out this girl is hurt, injured, or violated in any way, I’ll come back, cut you into pieces, season your ass with Creole, and feed you to the first alligator I see.” I flick my wrist, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Next time, it won’t be just the seam of your pants I slice.”
“I see why they insisted on you now.” There’s actually some respect in his response.
I cock an eyebrow and accept the roundabout compliment.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he reassures me in a low, cool, collected tone. It reminds me of a sociopath I once knew.
“I better not.” I nod.
I can only take him on his word. It’s unfortunately all the assurance I’ll get.
