Deliver (38 page)

He dragged his nose through her hair, his head swimming. Fifteen days ago, he’d sat in his Christian Ethics class, rooted in the belief that murder was a grave moral evil. A capital crime punished with eternal damnation. That was before he’d met Mr. E and the buyers’ network of soulless greed. Before his convictions had been tested.

He stroked his thumbs along her rigid arms. He certainly hadn’t felt unclean after shooting the bodyguard. Killing that man had been a last resort, one that saved her life. As for Mr. E…the bastard strangled Liv. Bashed her head against the wall. Enslaved Van’s mother. Trained his son to kidnap and torture people. He was beyond saving.

Hell, there were countless examples in the bible that justified homicide to protect one’s self and the lives of others. A heady sense of responsibility heated his blood and tightened his muscles. Liv was his to protect.

Across the street, Livana interlaced her tiny fingers with those of a man who trafficked sex slaves. A man who followed through on his threats, evidenced by Liv’s dead mother. A reminder that, once again, there were no nonviolent options left. As long as Mr. E lived, that little girl’s life was in danger.

As Mr. E looked down at her, it was difficult to interpret his expression in the dim light. If there was love there, even just a microscopic tenderness, what would killing the only father she’d ever known do to her?

A soft mewling noise rattled in Liv’s throat, her round panicked eyes locked on Livana’s affection toward Mr. E. “Oh God, Josh, why did he raise her as his daughter?” She pressed a hand to her abdomen, rubbing, her body shaking.

His arms locked around her belly, hugging her close. He wanted to believe Mr. E raised Livana because she was his granddaughter, but he suspected the reason was more perverse. What better way to keep his arrangement with Liv tightly fastened than to keep her daughter as close as possible.

“What if he figures out Van is gone? Oh God, he has my daughter, and I killed his son.”

“He’ll investigate why neither of you are answering your phones before he eliminates the only hold he has on you.” Maybe Mr. E considered Livana his daughter, but it wasn’t a mercy Josh would count on. The man had abandoned his own son to a woman who was too stoned to prevent her child from being raped. What kind of life was Mr. E giving Livana?

He buried his rising panic and kissed Liv’s head. Leaning her backward against his chest, he lowered their bodies below the windows.

The front door opened a third time. A blond woman stepped out, slender frame, hair in a pony tail. She was maybe a decade younger than Mr. E given her swift strides, the muscle tone in her arms, and her trendy jeans and blouse. With her purse in hand, she strode toward Mr. E. “I’m starving.”

Mr. E stared at his phone. “Change of plans. I need to be somewhere.” His gaze shifted to Livana who yanked on his hand in a futile attempt to move him forward. He untangled their hands and patted her head. “I’m going to drop you and Livana off at the station. We’ll pick up dinner on the way, and you can eat there.”

For a heart-stopping moment, he glanced at the street, his eyes probing the lines of parked cars. Then he climbed in the driver’s seat.

Josh’s muscles ached with tension. “Why would he take them to the station?”

“He’s paranoid.” She stroked his fingers absently. “For the first time in seven years, we’re not answering our phones. My mom’s murder gives me a damned good reason to revolt, and he knows the first thing I’d do is search for Livana.”

The woman clasped Livana’s arm, holding her in place. “We’ll just stay here.”

“Get in the car,” the voice barked from within the SUV.

The woman jumped and hustled Livana into the backseat. As she slid into the front seat, the engine started, and the brake lights illuminated the driveway.

“Shit. He’s backing up.” Liv slumped lower on his lap, dragging him down by his shirt. “Josh, he’s going to Temple. We need to be there.”

His pulse raced. “Shh. It’s okay.” He hugged her against him. “As soon as they leave, we’ll head back. We’ll beat him there.”

She pressed her face against his chest, nodding, her body trembling. “She’ll be safe at the police station. We’ll kill him at the house and…Jesus, what if he doesn’t come? It’s a huge risk.”

He stroked her hair as the rumble of the SUV grew closer. “This is a blessing, Liv. We’re captives. We’ll end this where he imprisoned us. It’ll be self-defense. We won’t have to run or try to cover it up.” He would see his parents again. She could live a normal life. His muscles clenched, his heart thundering. He wanted that for her so badly.

The rumble came to a stop beside them. Was the darkness and the tinted windows enough to conceal them? He popped open the glove box where the guns were stored and held his breath, his pulse drumming in his ears. Her fingers dug into his ribs, her body heaving against his.

The engine growled and the soft whir of tires on asphalt sounded the SUV’s retreat down the street. He blew out a shuddering exhale.

She melted against him, rubbed a hand up his chest, and curled her fingers around his neck. Raising her head, she blinked at him with watery eyes. “I—” she kissed the spot over his heart, leaned up, and kissed his lips, softly, breathlessly “—you.”

His heartbeat catapulted, strumming every cell in his body. “You, too, girl.” His mouth moved against hers, and during that brief, stolen connection, he felt her lips curve up.

For the next hour, they detailed their plan. The setup. The strike. The aftermath. When they pulled into the driveway in Temple, they had the story they would give to police ironed out and rehearsed.

She used the remote to open the garage door, and the emptiness within tingled down his spine. “Where’s the van?”

Her forehead furrowed as she parked the car and closed the doors. “Camila would’ve taken it to transport…” She rolled her lips, chin quivering, and rubbed her nose. “To transport the body.”

The tingle on his spine receded, replaced with a fortitude to do anything needed to ensure they survived the night. He handed her the LC9 from the glove box, grabbed the PT-22, and followed her to the kitchen door. His muscles burned through his strides, amped up and ready.

Her pass code released the door, and he slipped in before her, gun raised in two hands. He had three bullets left. He’d only need one, unless someone was waiting for their return. Did Mr. E have a larger network? Would he have called someone to meet him here?

The silence in the kitchen stood as still as the dark. She moved behind him, her footfalls trailing to the sink where she flicked the switch. Light flooded the room.

The yellow linoleum floor showed no evidence of blood. The matching yellow sink was also scrubbed. The chairs were pushed in at the table. No body, no bloody rags, and no dolls.

“I’m glad they took the mannequins,” she whispered.

No joke.
In the end, Van had surprised the hell out of him. Perhaps Liv’s influence in Van’s life had altered his journey to one of redemption. Nevertheless, the memory of that man would be an eternal prickle creeping over the back of Josh’s skull.

She lingered above the spot where Van had bled out, eyes on the floor, her arms wrapped around her tummy. Her pallid expression produced a sympathetic ache in his chest.

Trusting that her friends had been thorough, he gave her the two phones from the counter and pulled her by her hand up the stairs, his gun out as he scanned the sitting room and hallway. The absolute stillness of the house was both reassuring and nerve-wracking.

She checked her phone as they climbed the stairs. “He sent one text, a little over an hour ago. All it says is,
Where is Van?
”

“He would’ve sent that around the time he came out of his house.” At the top of the stairs, he entered the code with his gun hand. “You’re not texting back, right?”

“Of course not.”

Good.
No communication would force him to show up. “What about Van’s phone?”

“I’ve tried every code I can think of to unlock it.” She walked through the outer chamber and snagged a black costume from the cabinet. “It’s a no-go.”

Fifteen minutes later, he knelt in the middle of her room, facing the closed door, his naked body prickling with goosebumps. With his wrists crossed behind his back, he was her slave.

She stood by the keypad, phone in one hand, the LC9 concealed in her thigh-high boot, the sheath of her minidress clinging to her curves. Holding her body motionless, she was his Deliverer.

Chains spread out around him and locked to the hooks in the floor. They led to the cuffs on his arms but didn’t attach to the cuff rings. Instead, they wedged beneath the leather straps. One jerk of his arms, and they would fall away. With his hands hidden behind his back, he held the PT-22.

The minutes stretched, his heart beating to the unfamiliar melody floating from her lips. Her lyrics were indiscernible, but the beauty of her haunting voice massaged its way into his muscles and invigorated his blood.

Their foremost priority was to lure Mr. E far enough into the room to close the door. Once locked inside, he wouldn’t be able to escape if something went wrong. And while she’d been adamant about being the shooter, he’d denied her pleas to relinquish his mom’s gun. No way would he allow her to defend them on her own.

Finally, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and tossed it on the bed. “It says,
Open the door.
”

Sweat formed on Josh’s skin. His heartbeat thundered against his ribs. He dropped his chin to his chest and rested his finger beside the trigger guard, the gun held tight against his back.

Liv opened the door and stepped back.

Black boots stopped in the threshold. The door opened all the way, and a bath towel landed on the floor. Mr. E kicked the terrycloth until it was wedged beneath the crack, propping the door open. “Van’s phone is somewhere in this house. Where is he?”

Josh’s blood pressure spiked. There went their plan to lock him in.

Her heeled boots shifted a step backward, her silence constricting his chest. If Van planned to kill his father, he certainly wouldn’t have told the bastard where he was going or what he was doing. Why wasn’t she answering him with some kind of lie?

Josh raised his chin as subtly as possible, and his breath caught in his throat.

Mr. E wore his cotton jumpsuit and that god-awful canvas mask. His body angled toward Liv. She stood a few feet away, staring down the barrel of his semi-auto pistol.

Josh locked his jaw in a painful clench, his entire world a trigger-squeeze away from death. His fight response pummeled at him to attack, hardening his muscles and heating his veins. Timing would be everything.

A tic bounced in her cheek as her fingers stretched along her thigh, dipping into her boot and grasping her gun. “I’m not Van’s babysitter.”

The pistol swung, colliding with the side of her head. She fell to one knee, and her gun clattered on the floor.

Josh jerked so hard one of the chains fell loose from his wrist cuff. It clanked behind him, drawing the mask’s eyeholes in his direction.

She lurched for her gun and collided with Mr. E’s boot as he kicked it toward the shower stall.

“You gonna shoot me, you fucking whore?” He shoved the barrel beneath her chin, forcing her to lift on her knees. “Where the
fuck
is Van? You’ve got one second to answer. One—”

“Dead.” Her eyes burned, wide and fierce.

The compulsion to protect her wracked Josh with indecision. His pulse raced. No way could he level his gun before Mr. E fired.

Mr. E crouched and shoved his canvas mask into her face. “I don’t believe you. Last chance.” His gloved finger began a slow squeeze of the trigger.

A tremor gripped Josh’s spine as her throat bobbed against the press of the barrel. Her fingers curled against her thighs. “Your son cleared out his room before I killed him. Go see for yourself.”

Oh, God, Liv.
Josh tightened his grip on the gun.

“You’re dead,” whispered from within the hood. In that everlasting second, as Mr. E’s finger pulled the trigger and the hammer released, Josh plummeted, gutted. Lifting his arms, he met his breaking point with a single-minded focus to join her in death and take the son of a bitch with him.

His heart roared with fear for her as he snapped his arms forward, clattering the chains and aiming the gun.

Mr. E’s semi-auto clicked, a jarringly quiet sound. Josh stopped breathing. It clicked? The pistol jammed?
It misfired! OhGodOhGod, thank you, God.

Liv swung her arm, knocking the barrel from her neck, and Josh trained the .22’s sights on the mask. He squeezed the trigger as Mr. E jerked his hand to readjust his aim. Both guns fired.

The double
boom
pierced his ears. He choked on his terror as Liv’s eyes widened, her hand cupped around her neck.
No, no, no.
She couldn’t be hit. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and forced his attention on the threat.

Mr. E’s pistol dropped. Red spouted from a hole in his canvas-wrapped neck, and he collapsed beside her. Josh had aimed true.