Page 17 of Her Wicked Hero

“I’m sorry Raymond, I’m just getting a little tired, so I was wondering how much longer before we get where we’re going.”

“Days. But we’ll take a break at nightfall. Do you need more water?”

She shook her head. If she had water, she’d need to pee. She didn’t want to have to do that here in the marsh with him looking on.

He shoved the device into his backpack, this time wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go. Should only be about two more miles, then lucky for you, we won’t have to walk anymore.”

Marcia sloshed through the water, grateful he had at least shortened his stride, so she could more easily keep up. She looked down at the muddy water, wondering if there were snakes in it. She was so tired. It took all of her energy just to put one foot in front of the other. She thought about Christie, Debbie, and their father, and her stomach turned over. She sent up fervent prayers all of them would be okay.

Who were the men who had come to their rescue? Would they be able to assist Mr. B.? He’d been trying to hide it, but Marcia had known his injuries had been bad. He’d been having trouble breathing.

“What?”

It took a moment for her to realize that Raymond was talking to her.

“Huh?”

“You were mumbling. I wanted to know what you were saying.”

Marcia realized two things, the water was only as deep as a mud puddle, and Raymond was squeezing her shoulder tightly as he glared down at her.

“I was praying,” she finally answered honestly.

He barked out a laugh.

“What a waste of time. God isn’t going to save you. You need to pray to your new god, and that would be me.”

“I was saying prayers for,” she stopped herself before she called Harold Brockman, Mr. B. “I was praying for my dad and my sisters. Do you think they’re okay?”

“You better be praying for your dad’s safety. He’s the one who’s going to have to get you out of this.”

“What do you mean?” Marcia asked carefully. She didn’t want to give away the fact that she was excited to get information from Raymond. What did this man Jefferies want her for?

“You’re pretty enough but selling a white woman into the sex trade only gets me so much. I’m looking for a hell of a lot bigger pay off than that.”

Marcia stumbled.

“Bitch, keep walking, we still have a long way to go.”

Pull it together Price, she admonished herself. Protecting the girls from the human trafficking had always been on her mind ever since they’d been kidnapped, so why get her panties in a twist now? She needed to keep herself together.

“Don’t like the sound of that, do you?” Raymond laughed. He pulled her along, so they were walking again. “Come on, Lesley, one foot in front of the other, don’t make me have to carry your ass, it’ll just make me angry.”

“I don’t want to make you angry.” Boy, wasn’t that the truth. Her face still hurt. “But what do you mean Dad can get me out of this? We’re not all that rich.”

“Rich is a relative term. Once I can get to a phone, I’ll be able to negotiate a price that will make me rich.”

“With Jefferies? What will they do with me? I thought you said if you gave me to him, I could go home?” Marcia couldn’t stop the rapid-fire questions from shooting out of her mouth.

Raymond squeezed her neck. “You’re kind of cute when you get all cat curious. It won’t hurt to tell you the ways of the world. You know the old deal we had in place. Sell you, your sisters, and your dad to the highest bidder. Then let that bidder do whatever the fuck they wanted to you and your sisters while Daddy-dear watched until he confessed everything he knew.”

Marcia hadn’t been able to think of anything else for days. It was the reason she hadn’t been able to hold down food.

“I was always behind that plan because that meant that your dad would suffer. Like he made my friends suffer and die.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcia demanded as she struggled to pull her right foot out of a deeper hole of mud.

“Your father fucked up last year when he provided intel on one of his projects. He only had one fucking job, and that was to determine when those Al-Qaeda fucks were going to show up. He screwed up on the time. He told us in absolute terms they would arrive at ten p.m. They showed up at three p.m. and seventeen good men died because of his fuck-up.”