When I get back into the living room, Regan is sifting through all the stuff. The near-sleepless night and early morning excursion is hitting me. I stretch out on the sofa and watch her as she unpacks the bags.
“This is a lot of stuff.”
“Figured you can tell the consulate that you lost all of your luggage but a carry-on. Not sure how long it will take you to get them to ship you back, so I got you a bunch of stuff. There’s a carry-on for all that shit in one of the bags.”
Regan looks pissed at something, but I decide that I’m too tired to care. The adrenaline spike from my fight outside is fading fast. I’ve been hunting for her for weeks now and getting into Gomes’ whorehouse wasn’t easy. I figure that killing the last scout bought us a little time. I need some shut-eye if I’m going to do Regan any good because I can’t think right now. I’m too fucking tired.
“I’m going to take a quick refresher and then we’ll talk about taking you back to the consulate.” My eyelids are heavy, and I allow them to drift shut. “By the way,” I say sleepily, “there are biscuits in the refrigerator. They’re for breakfast.”
Seven
Regan
I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT the breakfast he’s left for me. I can’t possibly eat, not when he says he’s going to take me back to the consulate. That can’t happen, and I need to act.
My mind is whirling a million miles a minute as Daniel relaxes on the couch and pulls the blanket over himself. He looks exhausted, and part of me feels a little bad that he’s clearly been run ragged looking for me. The panicky part of me doesn’t care though, and it’s screaming in the back of my mind. It wants me to run over to him, shake him awake, and force him to protect me from the world.
Sad how quickly Daniel has become the only safe thing in my life. Pretty sure there’s something fucked up about that.
The clothes he’s picked out are garish, in bright, touristy grandma-ish patterns that I would have laughed at back before all of this. Now, I touch the soft fabric of a cotton sundress and appreciate that it’ll cover all of my body. There are bras and panties here, too, and some boho-looking leather sandals. They don’t match the clothing, so it’s clear he was trying to find me something practical for my feet. Nice thought.
I pull out a bra and underwear, frowning at the sight of them. These are not granny-like in the slightest. These are a bit slutty. The fabric of the bra and matching panties are sheer and clearly meant for romance and not practicality. I shoot Daniel a suspicious look, but his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed as he sleeps.
Or pretends to.
I consider the lingerie. Did he buy this with an ulterior motive in mind? Or was this the only thing he could find? I don’t know the answer, but I don’t trust men anymore, so I suspect the worst. It confirms that Daniel wants me. As long as I can use it against him, I’m fine with that.
I watch his sleeping face as I slide the panties under my clothing and tug them on. They’re a little tight across the ass, but I don’t care if I have a plumber’s crack. They’re clean. That’s all that matters. I don’t leave the room to put on the bra, either; I slide my arms under my current clothing and work the clasp around my back, watching Daniel as he sleeps. I should go to the other room and change, but I don’t want to.
The thought of leaving the room kind of freaks me out. It’s like, if I leave, he’ll vanish and I’ll be alone all over again. So I stay, switching out my clothing piece by piece, pulling off tags as I do so. Daniel sleeps through all of this.
When I’m dressed, I sit down at the kitchen table and try not to panic. I’m clothed now. I’m clean and I’m clothed. I should be feeling human now, more relaxed. Instead, I’m shaking with fear, my mind whirling and chaotic. When Daniel wakes up, he’s going to take me back to the consulate. If he takes me back to the consulate, Mr. Freeze is going to find me and I’m going to end up right back where I started. If I tell Daniel, though, will he care? He’s made it clear that he’s ready for me to be out of his hair, and I only made things worse by falling to pieces last night. I could kick myself for having a sniveling sob-fest last night because I think it scared him.
Think, Regan, think.
I drum my fingers on the table, and my gaze rests on his lightweight blazer on a hook by the table. I bite my lip, look over at Daniel, and when I see he’s still sleeping, I get up and approach his jacket. I search his pockets, curious to see what I’ll find. Condoms? Bullets? Knives?
I find a wad of Brazilian dollars, a vial of some sort of white powder that looks kind of dangerous, and a cheap flip phone. A burner. All righty, that’s interesting. I flip it open quietly and hit the down arrow, looking for messages.
He’s got several, all from unlisted phone numbers. I read the most recent one.
Understand R. is retrieved. Need status update on Emperor.
Another from the same number sends me into a panic.
R. is not en route to US. Report back. I grow impatient.
My heart thumps erratically in my chest. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s clear that Daniel is on a retrieval mission for me. He’s supposed to be done with me, and someone’s unhappy he’s not. Damn it. I bet I’m not his only pick-up. He’s going to dump me at the consulate and be on his merry way unless I do something.
I gingerly snap the phone shut again, thinking. I don’t have a lot of options. I could take Daniel’s gun and escape on my own with the cash he has—but an American woman alone? I don’t feel safe. Plus, I can’t get very far because I don’t have a passport or ID on me. Going to the consulate would take care of that, except for obvious reasons. If Daniel is rescuing American girls from brothels and thinks nothing of shooting men and walking away, he’s got better connections than I do.
I think about the texts. And I think about Freeze. Daniel is good with a gun. I need to stay with him.
I need to.
I know what I must do. I swallow hard and close my eyes, bracing myself. You can do this, Regan. He’s another john. I’ve had plenty of those since I was captured, and most blur into a faceless blend of rapists. What’s one more meaningless fuck, right? My stomach is queasy at the thought, though. Daniel has been nothing but kind to me. It feels wrong to use him.
And yet, I know he wants me. I’ve seen the way he looks at me. It’s clear he thinks I’m pretty—and off-limits. Time to make myself no longer off-limits for him. If I’m his favorite fuck toy, he’ll keep me at his side and protect me.