Vanquish (30 page)

She stood beneath a spotlight in the corner of the large room, eyes closed and sheathed tits to feet in a black gown as she sang a bluesy melody with a sultry sway of her hips.

Remarkable how he didn’t entertain a single obsessive thought for the woman. Amber had truly cured his fever.

Pinching the paper bag between his arm and side, he scanned the lounge for her clunkier half and his gaze collided with Joshua Carter's wide eyes at the far end. The man shot from his chair, all six-foot-two of him, his expression shifting from shock to fury. The burly linebacker glanced at Liv, ten feet away, and back again.

Joshua wasn't a bad looking guy. Age twenty-two or twenty-three with black hair, he had that chiseled jaw women loved and green eyes, which were really narrowed and pissed right now. But even so, Van would've gladly fucked him if he didn't have something better waiting for him at home.

And that something was tied to his banister, waiting for his cock. Damn, he needed to speed this along.

As Joshua strode toward him, choosing a path that blocked his view of Liv, he let his gaze rest on those furious flames of green sparking in the dim light. A year ago, he'd been Joshua's captor. He hadn't fucked him, but there'd been some non-consensual kissing and dick stroking. A friendly greeting was probably too much to ask.

Because of the money he’d wired Liv, Joshua knew he’d survived the gunshot wound. Beyond that, did his former slave assume he was still trafficking slaves? What were the chances they’d even hear him out?

He slid a toothpick between his lips and closed the distance. This should be fun.

As Van approached the charging ex-football player, it reminded him of a game of chicken. Who would yield first? Or the worst possible outcome, neither of them. Amidst a crowded bar of patrons, the confrontation needed to be handled delicately, which wasn't a strength he'd mastered.

At the center of the room, Joshua's hand landed on his shoulder in a hard grip, those tightly pinned lips lowering to his ear. The voice he'd heard groaning orgasmically through his mics for six months was now harsh and clipped. “What do you want?”

Van leaned back, deliberately removed the toothpick, and glared at the hand on his shoulder until it dropped. “What, no hello kiss? Afraid my tongue might make you come again?”

A sharp inhale. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Right now.”

So much anger in those eyes. He didn't remember wrangling that much of a reaction when the man was bound and nude in his attic. “Down, boy. I'm not here to fuck you or your girl. I just need to talk with her.”

Joshua glanced over his shoulder at Liv, and Van used the opportunity to catch her eyes.

As her gaze clashed with his, she belted her voice through an eerie cascade of notes, the scar on her cheek a shadowed line beneath the angle of the lighting. She excelled at hiding her emotions beneath a cool facade, her intentions well disguised through cunning and underhandedness. She appeared to be lost in song, but she was probably planning the hundred and one ways he would die when she finished the set.

Whether it was by coincidence or design, she ended the melody with a hum, and stepped out of the spotlight, heading directly for them amidst the rise of applause.

When she reached them, her hip-swishing gait carried her right on by and to an isolated table in the corner. Joshua trailed her like an obedient puppy, and they slid into one side of the booth.

Returning the toothpick to his mouth, Van took the opposite seat and set the doll beside him. Liv knew he’d collected dolls over the years. The night she’d shot him, he let her see replicas made with her hair for the first time. He hadn’t seen her reaction. No doubt it was one of horror. He’d never explained what they meant to him. Maybe someday he could trust her enough to tell her.

Folding her hands on the table, she appraised him with God-knew-what swirling in her dark brown eyes. Her hair was shorter now, shoulder-length and fringed around her pale face. She was still beautiful. In an inhuman, callous kind of way.

Once upon a time, he'd been turned on by the perplexity of her masked expressions. Now, he felt strained to his limits. A twinge lit behind his eyes.

She tilted her head. “I see you haven't lost the toothpick.”

He rolled it between his lips and grinned. “I see you haven't lost your puppy.” He glanced at Joshua's scowl and back at her.

“Where's the hoodie?” The bubbled pink gash on her cheek moved with her lips.

His own scar itched, but not with the same tingling connection he'd once felt. Maybe he'd imagined that bond. Perhaps their shared pain hadn't really been shared at all. He slid a palm down his tie and tapped the heel of his leather loafer beneath the table. Fuck, he was sweating already. He needed to lose the jacket. “People change.”

She held herself so impassive, so stock-still, one might question if she were breathing. “Why are you here?”

Typical Liv, skipping past friendliness and shoving straight to the facts. He could only blame himself for her coldness. Beneath that defensive shield lay the warm and caring woman she was, the girl who existed before he’d taken her.

The year that separated them should’ve tempered her visage, and maybe it had. Most likely, she wore her protective mask now because of
him.
His stomach sank. He was there to change that.

“I've stumbled upon something incredible” —someone with a wealth of spirit and strength, someone he
hadn’t
ruined— “that has put all my mistakes in perspective. I've found a reason to try harder. To be a better man.” Ah, there it was. A flicker of warmth beneath her frozen face. “I
know
I'll be a good father.”

Her thawing expression hardened into ice. “Absolutely not.”

Joshua grabbed her folded hands and squeezed. “Hear him out, Liv.” Green eyes locked with his. “You found someone?”

More like she found him. His very soul lay in the palms of her bound hands. He nodded. “I love her.”

Liv's lips twitched, barely a tic, but it could've been a smile. “Does she know what you've done? Did you tell her about us, all
nine
of us, and your father?”

He tapped the toothpick with his tongue and reclined against the seat back. “She knows everything.”

“I'm happy for you, Van.” It was undetectable in her tone, but a glimmer of sincerity touched her eyes. Then it was gone. “If she loves you in return.”

“She loves me.”

“So where is she? You're hardly a man who would leave his girl unattended. Why isn't she with you?” Her emotionless voice set his molars together. Worse was the diligence in her questioning. She didn't believe the relationship was consensual. She would’ve been right two months ago.

He held her unwavering gaze. “She's agoraphobic. She can't leave the house.”

“Convenient.” She inhaled a subtle breath, and her tone hardened. “Cut the crap, Van. No manipulations. No bullshit. Tell me what you want.”

He held his hands still on his lap and maintained strong eye contact. If he showed any sign of nervousness, she'd jump on it. “I want to meet Livana. Take me with you on one of your visitations.”

Joshua bent forward, his dark brows lowering over narrowed eyes. “You know about the visitations? You've been watching Liv?”

“Of course he has.” Liv stared back without a hint of surprise on her face. She was smart. She had to have known or at least suspected. “Stalking and abducting is what he does.”

His cheeks burned, and his body tensed. Yeah, he had been stalking. “She's my daughter, too.” How could he explain?

“Do you have someone tied up in your house right now?” she asked.

Fuck yes, and he was two seconds from shoving out of there to be with the one person who had faith in him.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “How many times a day do you beat her and make her suck your cock?”

He launched toward her, mirroring her pose. “Asks the hypocrite who fucks her slave boy on the kitchen table with a strap-on.”

She put a hand on Joshua’s suddenly heaving chest and sat back with a satisfied smile. “Only one way you'd know that. Some people
don't
change.”

The toothpick snapped between his teeth. He spit it on the floor and faced her again. “Come to my house. You can meet my girlfriend. She'll validate everything I've said.”

A waitress appeared at the table, beaming a smile at Liv. “That was an incredible performance, Miss Reed. The manager wants to meet with you before you leave to discuss a regular schedule.”

Liv nodded. “Thank you.”

“Can I get y'all any drinks?”

“No, we're good. Thanks.” Joshua waved her off and folded his forearms on the table. “Why on earth do you think I'd ever allow Liv to step foot in your house?” He continued in a harsh whisper. “You blackmailed her for seven years. Beat her. Raped her. Gave her no choice but to train and sell slaves.” His voice pitched in a state of disbelief. “You kept her daughter from her.”

“Besides that,” Liv cut in, “Van has a
talent
for training people to obey. I'm sure a sweet submissive girlfriend would say just about anything.”

He tightened his fists beneath the table and whispered furiously, “That's logical
if
I were trying to con anyone else. But you have both been there. You'd recognize coercion from a mile away.” He turned to Joshua. “And you read people better than anyone I know.” He flicked a hand at Liv. “If you can see through her fucking masks, you should damn well be able to see through mine and my girlfriend's.”

His former slaves stared at him with furrowed brows as if they were considering his words.

“I'm just asking for a chance.” His words rushed forth with the pump of his heart. “I've done some horrible things, and I want a chance to protect her from the kind of man I used to be. I grew up without a father's love, and I want to fucking be there to give her that.”

Their silence wore on. He scrubbed his hands over his face, and when he looked up, her expression sent a chill down his spine. Not her usual detached frigidness. In its place were soft, sympathetic features that didn't belong there. He didn't want her looking at him like that. She was about to break his heart, and he couldn't bear to hear it.

“No,” she said. One soft, excruciating word.

The pain exploded in his chest, and he struggled to breathe through it.

She wasn't done. “You coerced me for seven years, and I let you. But this isn't about me. It's about Livana. I can't let you” —her breath hitched, and her jaw stiffened— “I
won't
allow you to fuck with her.”

“Liv, I would never—”

“If you go near her, I won't involve the authorities.” Her eyes blazed with rage. “I'll kill you myself, and when I dispose of your body, no one will ever find it.”

His heart pounded, and his stomach soured with regret. He'd told her the same thing once.

Her voice dropped to a heartless rasp. “You know why?”

The answer he’d given her a year ago about her own death crawled from his thick throat. “Because no one will care enough to search for it.”
Or wouldn’t be able to cross the porch to search for it.

Joshua wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against his chest, her eyes closing not with satisfaction but with heavy sadness.

He should've stood and walked out of there, but he needed to know his options. “You won't kill me.”

Her eyes flew open. “No? How do you think I freed eight slaves and ended your father's operation?”

The real question was how she disposed of the buyers’ bodies. “How did you come by your cartel connections? It was Camila, wasn't it?”

He hadn't been able to confirm the connections, let alone link them to the first slave they'd kidnapped together. But her averted gaze validated it.

Fuck.

Liv had cartel connections through Camila.
If he approached Livana, he was a dead man. His pulse thrashed, and he yanked at his collar. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck!

He felt sick, his throat tightening. He reached for the paper bag beside him, removed the doll with a shaking hand, and held it out. “My girlfriend and I made this. Will you give it to Livana?”

She cringed. “Ugh, you still have those things?” Her face distorted with disgust as she climbed over Joshua's lap and strode away.

Fucking moronic how he’d thought bringing a doll to the meeting in place of Amber could’ve proved anything. Didn’t matter that it was handcrafted, beautifully detailed, and made with so much goddamned hope. His daughter would never see it. His gut clenched.

Joshua gave him a pitying look. “Van...”

Fuck him. He shoved the doll back into the bag and got the fuck out of there.

The leaded weight of his feet dragged through the parking lot, the humid air pushing down on his shoulders. When he reached the Mustang, he stripped the jacket and tossed it in the back seat. With his hands clenched around the wheel and the doll in his lap, the weight of the night came surging in, burning his eyes, clotting his throat, and filling up every splintered crack inside him with thick, oily crap. Yet he felt so fucking empty.

He opened the glove box and shoved the doll inside. Then he slammed it shut and numbly stared at the closed door.