Inevitable Detour (17 page)

“Is this like something mob related?” I question.

“I wish it were that simple,” Farren says, scrubbing his hand down his face. “The criminal organization that engages in those practices does have mob ties. But it’s also part of a larger conglomerate, a conglomerate with many legitimate businesses, businesses it can hide behind.”

“So,” I ask, “it’s just the one arm of the conglomerate that’s bad?”

“Yes,” Farren confirms. “That’s why Mr. Barnes’s daughter was taken. He refused to sell one of his companies to a very powerful man within the corrupt part of the organization, a man known simply as Dawson.”

“Dawson,” I whisper. The name alone turns my stomach.

“He stays behind the scenes, this Dawson. I’ve met with him a few times, and on first glance he gives the impression that he’s just another older, conservative-looking businessman. But, really, he’s a very sick and twisted man.” Farren’s voice grows grim. “He delights in the humiliation and pain of others.”

I cringe, and Farren hurriedly finishes up with, “Bottom line, Dawson lost a lot of money when Barnes wouldn’t play ball. Taking Mr. Barnes’s daughter was retribution.”

“But to take his
daughter
.” I’m aghast. “Good Lord, what was her name? And how old was she?”

Farren looks stricken when he says, “Her name was Annemarie.” He composes himself almost instantly, though, and adds, “She was sixteen.”

I feel sick. “Poor Annemarie,” I utter.

Sixteen and captured by a sick, twisted man, a man who has the power to make people disappear with no questions asked. I lower the window an inch for some fresh air.

“Are you okay?” Farren asks.

“I think so.” I wave my hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Go on.”

Farren breathes in deeply, like he’s calming himself. “Anyway, Mr. Barnes presented a compelling case when he spoke to me. He said I could bring on whomever I needed to make things happen. And then he made me an offer…a very lucrative offer.”

“An offer to do what exactly?” I inquire.

“Infiltrate the organization. Bring it down, for good.”

“Bring down the entire conglomerate of businesses?” I exclaim, flabbergasted that such an endeavor could even be possible.

“Not the entire conglomerate,” Farren confirms. “But he wants the human trafficking stopped. He wants the sex-slave trade incapacitated. That means the criminal organization must be brought to its knees, including Dawson.”

“And you and Rick have made progress in that direction?”

“Yes, but it’s not always the two of us working together. We sometimes work alone, and we sometimes work with teams we’ve assembled, men we’ve worked with before, men who can be trusted.”

“Special Forces guys?” I venture.

“Often, yes,” Farren replies.

Softly, I inquire, “Is that why Haven was targeted?”

Farren nods, running his hand through raven hair that’s gotten longer since we first set out on this trip. “Rick and I have caused some major damage, as have our teams. We’ve disrupted their operation.”

“This was why you were spending time in Thailand and then in South America?” No wonder Farren said the places he’d traveled to were far from pretty. God, the things he must have seen.

“Yes,” he replies. “Most of the human trafficking passes through places where corruption runs rampant. It’s easier that way to pay people off, to get away with things. Last month I was in Venezuela. I was alone down there. The operation was too sensitive for more than one man.” He takes a deep breath. “Even so, I was able to save eight women. It was pretty rough for a while, though. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get them out, especially since I had no backup. But knowing I was helping those girls get away from that life kept me focused, and I was ultimately successful.”

“That’s amazing, Farren,” I say in a low voice. “What you’ve done, how you’ve put yourself on the line.”

I want to add that I’m in awe right now, but I don’t.

Farren glances over at me, and then back to the road. “Anyway, in Venezuela, I infiltrated the drug cartel that was holding the girls captive, and that’s where I met Eric and Vincent. They thought I was on their side. Naturally, their opinions changed once I escaped with the women. Kidnapping Haven is retaliation, a warning to stop.” He pauses and then says quietly, “So now you know, Essa.”

“Now I know,” I echo.

We’re both quiet for several minutes, and then I reach over and touch his arm. “I knew all along you were one of the good guys.”

Farren gives me a sad smile. “That’s debatable. I’ve had to do some bad things along the way, things that have been less than honorable.”

“I’m sure,” I murmur.

Drug cartels, human trafficking, duping a corrupt organization into thinking you’re on their side…

I hasten to add, “I don’t think I want to know any specific details.”

Farren replies dryly, “No, Essalin. I assure you that you don’t want more detail.”

Silence descends. But, after a while, there’s comfort in the quiet. All this honesty has torn down any remaining barriers between us. There are no secrets anymore, none that matter, and I am left with the knowledge that despite things he’s had to do, Farren Shaw is ultimately a good man.

We continue on our journey, closing in on the New Mexico border, and it soon becomes apparent from the relaxed set of Farren’s shoulders that confiding in me has been a relief for him, too.

We talk and listen to music. Farren smiles more frequently as we log mile after mile, and God is his smile beautiful. At one point a sleek sports car passes, and I make a joke about our SUV.

Farren laughs. “Is that a hint that you’re ready for a different car?”

“Um”—I hem and haw—“you want the truth?”

This earns me another sidelong glance, one filled with mock impatience. “Yes, the truth would be good.”

Scrunching up my face, I admit, “Yes, I kind of am ready for something different.”

Farren makes a quick call on his burner phone, listing a series of numbers (latitude and longitude?) to whoever’s on the receiving end.

“What was that all about?” I ask, just as we’re entering the state of New Mexico. We exit the interstate almost immediately and turn off onto some lonely desert road.

“That was about a surprise for you,” Farren says cryptically.

Ten minutes later we’re at an abandoned warehouse, not a soul in sight. Farren stops the SUV, gets out, and slides open a large metal door on the front of the building. When he gets back in the SUV, he drives straight into the warehouse. A motion-activated light illuminates the empty interior.

But the warehouse isn’t completely empty.

When I see what is in there, I promptly gush, “Oh…my…God…”

Farren places the SUV in park, leans over, and whispers in my ear, “Do you like your surprise?”

“Do I ever,” I remark.

In front of me is the car I was expecting Farren to have from the start of this adventure—a sleek red sports car.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a car, Essa,” he deadpans.

Since he’s still close to me, I push him away, albeit playfully. “Ha-ha. I mean what
kind
of car is it?”

“I know what you meant,” he tells me, opening the driver’s side door. “Come on. We’ll go check it out together.”

Farren knows exactly what kind of car it is. After all, I soon come to learn, it’s his.

“Not a rental?” I ask, just to be sure I’ve heard him correctly.

“It’s all mine, baby,” he says, smirking.

He then informs me that the shiny red car is a Ferrari 458 Italia. That doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot to me, but I suspect it’s fast as hell.

Farren begins to fidget with the removable hardtop, saying as he works at it nimbly, “This is only the first part of your surprise.”

I circle the perimeter of the car, admiring its sleekness. “What’s the second part?” I distractedly trace my index finger along the smooth hood.

I look up when I get no response. Wow. And if I thought Farren’s smiles earlier were amazing, I was sadly mistaken. The smile he gives me now blows all the others away.

He fishes a key from his pocket and hands it to me. “Let’s go have some fun,” he says.

I whisper, “No way.”

“It’s your turn to drive, right?”

I take the key hesitantly. “So,” I say slowly, “it’s finally my turn to drive, and you want me to drive
this
car?”

“Yes.” Farren chuckles and takes my hand. With his other hand at the small of my back, he guides me to the driver’s side door. “You’re going to be driving a Ferrari, Miss Brant, one of the fastest cars in production. This news should make you happy.”

My response?

I level him with an are-you-kidding look.

And then we get into the car.

There’s no need for words, since I can’t begin to convey to Farren how excited I am. Nor can I express how incredibly happy he’s made me feel in this moment. But it’s not just the Ferrari that’s brought me joy. It’s Farren. Farren in my life is good for me. He’s entered my life at the perfect time, even if the circumstances have been far from ideal. And maybe I’ve come into his life at the right time, too. It sure seems that way when I look over at him and take note that he seems pretty damn contented himself.

And that is the point when I realize I want this relationship we’re building to continue. I don’t want things to end after Haven is rescued and we return home. My life, the life I want, well it feels like that life just beginning. One inevitable detour has led me here, but now I need another to keep us together. I’ve had a taste of Farren, and I’m hungry for more.

I glance over at Farren as I place the key in the ignition. He smiles back at me. There’s something more in his expression, though. Something that makes me entertain the notion that maybe, just maybe, Farren Shaw wants this to continue, too.

A
hundred and twenty miles per hour—that’s what the speedometer reads when I glance down at it.

I hit the gas.

With me in the driver’s seat of a car I never dreamed I’d ever even sit in—let alone
drive
—I barrel down a long stretch of blacktop desert road that’s as straight as an arrow.

“I can’t remember ever feeling this free,” I shout to Farren over the loud engine noise and wind.

He smiles. “You’re doing great,” he shouts back.

“Damn, Farren”—wind whirs through the open top, blowing my hair everywhere—“this thing is fast.”

He chuckles, nods. But at 150 mph, he urges me to “ease up a little, baby.”

My cheeks warm, and it’s not from the blazing sun beating down on us. No, I’m heated by the recollection of how Farren uttered those same words to me an hour ago, before we left the warehouse, and after he’d loaded our luggage and his cache of weapons into the Ferrari. His hand trailed up my skirt when he was back in the car. I was seated in the driver’s seat, and within minutes, I was grinding down hard on his fingers.

Now, just like then, I don’t listen.

I don’t ease up, and when we hit a patch of gravel, the wheel jerks in my hand. I lose control—again, just like earlier. But instead of coming hard, like I did clenched around Farren’s fingers, my whole body now tenses in a different way.

“Essa,” Farren warns.

Finally, I ease up on the gas and hit the brakes. The car fishtails but remains on the road. When we come to a full stop, I let out a held-in breath. “Oh my God, that was awesome.”

Farren twists in his seat, placing his hand at the back of my head. He twines his fingers in my hair and closes the gap between us. His lips crash to mine, hungry and greedy. We can’t get enough of each other these days. I lose myself in Farren as he urges my mouth open. He touches his tongue to mine. He tastes delicious, even as he consumes me.

The ache between my legs that never really completely goes away when I’m with him—no matter how many orgasms he gives me—pulses now. I drop my knees apart, and since I have on a dress and the panties I put on this morning were lost somewhere in the car during our earlier encounter, Farren’s fingers are on my clit immediately.

“That feels so good,” I murmur as he works his magic.

We’re in the middle of the road, but there’s not a soul in sight. It’s all brown desert landscape everywhere you look. And when I lean my head back, the only thing above us is a clear and vibrant blue sky.

Farren’s lips touch my neck, and he kisses up to my ear. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he urges. “Come all over my hand, just like you did before.” He twists his fingers inside of me, hitting just the right spot, and he gets what he wants.

While I am pulsing, hard, he whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to fuck you, Essa.”

I buck against the seat, my orgasm prolonged by his words. And then I’m over-the-top, time-stops coming when he huskily adds, “Show me how much your pussy wants my cock.”

I explode, implode. Time stops. When I recover enough to once again move, my hand goes to Farren. I unzip his jeans, lower his boxers, and grasp his swollen length. He’s more than ready, so I jack him how I know he likes—hard and fast.

“Shit, Essa,” he groans. He raises his hips, lowers his pants and boxers a bit more. “Keep doing it just like that, baby.”

When I sense he’s close, I lower my head and take him in my mouth. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself, it’s that I love the taste of Farren. He knows I’m into it, so he releases in my mouth. And after I’ve swallowed and pulled back slightly, he taps his dick to my lips. “Lick the last of it,” he commands.