Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) (10 page)

I looked around for help, an exit, anything. The pit in my stomach was fear, but there was a boulder in there, too. A big boulder of disappointment. I thought I’d meant something to John; deep down, that’s why I thought he’d rescued me and brought me here. Not because Cruz was paying him. And never in my dreams would I have thought that someone had paid him to capture me.

“I thought you liked me,” I whispered, ashamed. To my absolute horror, I felt hot tears spill down my cheeks.
I was an idiot beyond belief. A stripper, just one step up from a whore, believing in stupid dreams.

John sighed and rolled his eyes back into his head. “You know, I am royally fucking this up,” he said. He pulled me onto his lap. Ridiculously, my body lit up like it was on fire.

He stroked my hair. “I do like you, Liberty, very much. That’s how I know that this was no coincidence,” he said. He reached up and wiped away my tears with one of his hands. Even though his skin was rough, rugged, he touched me so carefully that it felt gentle.

I wanted to bury my face in his neck, to let him hold me. But I had to know.

I slid off his lap and the warmth I had felt evaporated. I saw his face fall at my distance. He put his arms loosely around my waist and turned me towards him, so we were facing each other. Oh, I could kiss those lips now. Pink, full, slightly chapped. I felt like I was pulled to him without a choice, like I was a magnet and he was a suit of armor. Even though I was worried he was about to duct tape me, I wanted him.

“Who hired you to take me?” I whispered.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, and brushed the curls out of my eyes. “It’s confidential, for now. But you do need to know something: there
is
an asset in your case, but it isn’t you. I need your help. We’re going to work on this together.”

I looked at him doubtfully. He either had the wrong stripper or maybe he was lying. This didn’t make sense. I had a limited skill set, and I couldn’t picture myself being any help to John. I certainly didn’t know anyone who had enough money to hire a crew of suited-up vigilantes.

“Who is the asset?” I asked, skeptically. If I racked my brain, I could certainly think of some people I’d known who’d broken the law and gotten away with it. And one person in particular who had done very bad things, who had a black soul. But no one cared about Ray. Not the police, not my landlord, not even my mother, eventually, even though a lot of what he did wrong involved her directly.

“I think maybe you grabbed the wrong girl,” I said. He must have. Surely one of the other girls had rich relatives and an exciting, dark past.

“I know I have the right girl,” he said, and stroked my hair. He pulled me back onto his lap and I felt flooded with warmth again, with relief.

“How do you know?” I whispered into his neck. I let myself sit there, mesmerized by his proximity and his scent. I let myself relax and feel safe. This was uncharted territory for me, all of it. I knew I was way out of my league, and that I would pay for it later, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Because,” he said, and his voice was firm.

“Because? You’re gonna have to do better than that, John,” I said, letting him cradle me in spite of myself.

“Because I told you...everything happens for a reason, and I finally have mine,” he said, and bent down to whisper into my ear. “You are my reason, Liberty.”

I looked up at him with wide eyes. “Your reason for what?” I asked. I could barely hear myself above the thudding of my heart.

“For all of it,” John said, and kissed the side of my face. “For the long road that brought me here.”

My heart twisted, like he was squeezing it, and I felt a ringing in my ears. I had to make a choice.
He could be feeling what I’m feeling — this crazy attraction, this crazy pull.

I could believe what he was saying to me, believe what I was feeling, and take a leap of faith. He was right here in front of me. The rest of it, the desert, the club, my memories of the past ... they were with me, they always would be.
But what if John was for real?

The odds were stacked against it. If I had learned anything, it was that you should never lose control. We saw it in Vegas all the time: even if you’ve won something more than what you had, you could lose that — and more — in an instant. The regret was so much more miserable then. Even though you were losing something that wasn’t really yours, it had the illusion of belonging to you, briefly. So not only were you losing the thing itself, you were losing the possibility of it, the hope of it. It would be worse for me to think that I had something with John and then lose it. As it was I had nothing, so I had nothing to lose.

He was asking me to take a chance. My heart, which had been so bruised and silent in my chest for so long, ached for me to take it. I didn’t know who, or what, to trust.

I closed my eyes and pulled him to me.

I was probably going to regret all of it. In that moment, though, I savored it. He grabbed my hair, pulled it back, and kissed me. Hard. I felt heat surge through me as I kissed him back. I jumped onto his lap again, unthinking, unselfconscious, and threw my arms around his neck. I tried to wrap my legs around his waist, to press myself against him, but he had to pull himself forward, to readjust, and it was enough of an awkward movement that it cleared my mind. I slid quickly off his lap and caught my breath.
Um ... I probably should not be straddling him on a tour bus filled with his coworkers ... and his prisoner.

I could feel my face burning red. “I’m sorry,” I said, exhaling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I hope you’re kidding,” John said, looking at me with hooded eyes. “We’ll get back to that tomorrow,” he said, and took my hand. His shirt was rumpled now and his brown hair was tousled. He looked sexy as hell.

I reached over and smoothed his hair. “Tomorrow,” I said, and I knew that even though I was ready, I would never be ready.

“Where are we?” I asked, shaking my head, trying to clear the hazy lust out of it. It was midmorning at this point. There were fields outside the window, and flatness.

“The lovely state of Nebraska,” John said and kissed my forehead. “You should try to get some more sleep. When we get back you’re going to have work to do.”

“What kind of work?” I asked, and yawned. The tall grasses blew in the fields. There was so much that was different, so much that was new. I was exhausted.

“Hard work,” John whispered to me, and nestled me against him. “Now sleep, Liberty. Sleep. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

I was dreaming about pizza, of all things. We used to get the best pizza in Eugene. Thin crust with extra cheese. It was about as fancy as we ate. My mouth was watering remembering the smell. I felt some saliva slip out of my mouth and as I sat bolt upright, suddenly awake, I realized that I was drooling.

I clapped my hand over my mouth and wildly looked around. John was in the back talking to some of the guys.
Phew
. I lifted my shirt up to wipe off my mouth. My stomach started growling then, loud.
I’m just a mess.
I needed a hot shower, some food, and some privacy, so I can think about John in peace. Without him touching me and making me so crazy that I tackle him in public.

I looked out the window: it was twilight. The fields were gone and we were on a highway in a more urban area. I had no idea where. The furthest from Oregon I’d ever been was Vegas. I figured I must have slept for eight hours or so. Again, I had to pee. I needed to brush my teeth and change my clothes. The tour bus was cool and all, but I really wished I was someplace alone, or someplace alone with John, so that I could take care of my human needs without being on display.

I stood up and stretched my legs. “Liberty,” John said, walking up from the back. “You must be starved.”

I nodded. “I have to use the bathroom,” I said, suddenly dreading walking by Darius again.

“I’ll walk you back,” John said. “I have some clean clothes for you if you’d like to change, too. Although I’m fond of that outfit.” He smiled at me and my heart stopped. I looked down at my stripping outfit, which was badly wrinkled and wet from drool. I had long ago kicked off my shoes, and they were under the seat in front of me somewhere. I shook my head and looked down at my bare feet.

“Forget the shoes,” John said, “I have new sneakers for you so you’ll be more comfortable.” I nodded and he let me out into the aisle first, ever the gentleman. “After you change, would you like dinner? You must be starving.”

My stomach howled again and I felt my face start to turn red. “That’d be great,” I said, thankfully, trying to at least have good manners.

We were getting closer to Darius’s aisle. I looked straight down at the floor. I didn’t care if he glared; he couldn’t do anything to me, but I still found him unpleasant. I looked up out of the corner of my eye and there he was again, shooting me a filthy look, trying to say something through his taped-over mouth to me. “Shut up!” said the guard next to him. He pushed him back roughly into his seat.

But that wasn’t good enough for John.

Before I knew what was happening, he leaned over the row of seats. He slammed Darius in the nose with his fist. Blood spurted everywhere. I yelped and I could hear Darius’s muffled howl.

John grabbed the prisoner’s chin, ignoring the blood, and looked him in the eye.

“Don’t you EVER look at her like that again,” he said, and his voice was fierce, scary. “Or you’re going to have some other body parts bleeding. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” I could see Darius’s jaw clench through the blood smeared on his face, but he nodded.

“Clean him up,” John directed. “Liberty, go ahead.” He nodded towards the bathroom.

I went in and gratefully locked the door.
Holy hell
, I thought. Now he really seemed like a bounty hunter. I was shaking; adrenaline coursed through me.
Am I scared or excited?
I wondered. John was a little scary, but I’d never had somebody stick up like that for me before.
Both,
my inner voice offered.
You’re both.
Plus, John was pretty hot when he was mad.
It must be some sort of testosterone thing,
I thought.

I was starting to worry myself.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself for a moment. Then I unlocked the door and stuck my head out. John was standing there, drying his hands off with a towel.

“John?” I asked. He looked at me expectantly. He was completely unruffled, unfazed by the blood on his hands. Clearly, this was just another day at the office for him. “Can we please have some wine with dinner?”

He smiled. “Of course. Might help take the edge off,” he said, and shrugged.

“That would be great. Thanks,” I said, and happily locked the door again.
Now I was almost all grown up,
I thought.
I not only knew what it felt like to really kiss someone, when you really wanted to, but I knew what it felt like to need a drink.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

John had left a pile of clothes for me on the vanity. There was a pair of new black Converse high-tops on the floor, size eight.
How did he know?
I wondered, checking the labels on the rest of the clothes. The tee shirt, which was gray and fabulously soft, was a medium. The jeans, which were a dark wash and looked expensive, were a size 28. This baffled me, but they looked like they would fit. The bra, which I noticed was black and lacy, was a 34C, and it had matching, very sexy, underwear in a size four.