To the Ends of the Earth: A Stripped Standalone (2 page)

His name is Luca.

I learn that early, from the driver of the big black car we’re in. I can’t see him through the dark-glass divider, but I hear him over some kind of speaker system. “Where to?”

“Away from this hellhole,” he snarls. “I’ll need to stop in a few hours. I’m hit.”

A whistle. “Someone shot you? Damn, Luca, you’re losing your touch.”

Green eyes narrow on me. “Don’t worry. I’ll get mine.”

My heart thuds against my ribs. What will he get? What will he do to me?

“Open that,” he says softly, voice laced with menace.

I glance sideways at the glossy wooden panel. Is there a gun inside? He’s waiting for me, infinite patience while blood continues to seep onto his white shirt. My hands grope at the smooth surface, searching for a latch. I must find it, because a small door levers open.

Inside a compartment there’s a neat stash of alcohol swabs, of cotton gauze.

A first aid kit is more terrifying than a weapon. How violent is this man?

His voice runs over my skin, dark and silky. “You need to clean the blood first.”

My breath catches. He takes off his shirt, revealing miles of muscle, tan skin, and tattoos up his arm. The wound looked extreme with blood spilling out, but it hardly registers against the hard-shaped masculinity of this man. He looks like he could have been shot four times and kept going, a machine built from sinew and stone.

He gestures to the cabinet. “Alcohol wipes.”

I jump at the reminder, pulling out three packets with shaking hands.

His body reclines in the seat, watching me through hooded eyes. He wants me to clean the blood? It’s fair, considering I’m the reason he’s wounded. Except that will mean getting close to him. It will mean touching him.

The car sways gentle from the deeply rutted road. It will be an hour until we hit the farmer’s market where I sometimes help sell vegetables. And beyond that? I don’t know what’s beyond these hills, but I’m about to find out.

Keep my back against the side of the car, I scoot around to his side. Already it feels warmer, this close to his body. Like he’s vibrating with energy even while he stays still.

A single drop of blood works down his chest, drawing through the smear left by his shirt. It’s a portrait of anger, of control. It’s a portrait of the despair I felt in that moment.

I fumble with the heavy packets, producing a white cloth. The sharp tang of alcohol fills space. I wrap the damp fabric around my finger, forming a point. He’s still too far to reach, so I scoot a little closer. We’re not touching anywhere, but he’s close enough to grab me.

There’s a lump in my throat. Every time I’ve ever fought.

Every time I’ve ever
lost.

It builds inside me until the same sense of despair overcomes me. My finger on the trigger. My heart in pieces. My alcohol-swab-covered finger against his tanned skin, white on dark with crimson soaking through.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, but he must know the answer.

“You’re a sinner.”

He laughs, the sound reaching into the shadows of my heart. “And what do you think your precious Leader Allen was? Was he a saint?”

I look away, unable to face the mocking in his eyes.

His thumb and forefinger captures my chin. He makes me confront him, his green eyes serious now. “What did he do to you, little bird?”

He punished me. “The same thing you’re going to do.”

He strokes my skin, almost absently, considering this. “Did he tie you up?”

My heart jumps. Leader Allen didn’t need to restrain me. “No.”

“Did he beat you?”

Sometimes, but mostly I knew better than to fight. “Are you going to beat me?”

A slow smile. “No, little bird. You’re going to like what I do.”

Because I’ll have learned my lesson? “Please.”

His eyes narrow. “You want mercy now? When I’ve got a fucking bullet in my shoulder because of you? I’m not a merciful man, little bird. A fighter. An enforcer. A fucking bulldozer. That’s what I am.”

I swallow hard before pulling out a fresh alcohol swab. This one I have to touch closer to the wound, on the burnt skin itself. “Not mercy for me.”

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even move. “For who? For whoever your precious leader sent to scare Candy at the club? Because that’s the first question Ivan’s going to ask you when we stop.”

My heart squeezes. Candy—is that her name now? I knew her as Sister Candace. I clenched my fists every time Leader Allen talked about her, half-praying he’d never find her. Half-praying he
would
find her so that he’d leave me alone. And the worst part is he sent my brother. His best soldier.

When the wound is clean, I pull out clean gauze and tape.

It doesn’t seem like enough for a bullet wound.

“Will this be…okay?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, sounding amused. “I won’t die anytime soon. Not before I’ve had a chance to find out your secrets. Not before I pay you back.”

I shudder, smoothing the tape over his skin. His muscles ripple under my touch.

And then I’m finished, except I don’t move away. I set the bloodied wipes aside and kneel at his feet. We’re in the car, but I have enough experience in this position to hold myself with grace. I have enough experience in this position to know what he’ll want from me.

My hands are stained red from his blood, dark and dry. I move them to his pants, opening the clasp. His large hand covers both of mine, stilling me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands.

I flinch at the word
fuck.
It’s a plea. A prayer. I’ll give him this in the hopes that he’ll be soft with me. Because it isn’t only me he’d hurt. Isn’t only my brother. There’s another life at stake. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

I hadn’t wanted to tell Leader Allen, but he noticed my lack of courses. He noticed the small bump during prayers. And he declared the baby a child of God.

Luca showed no pain during the entire time I cleaned his gunshot wound.

Now he sucks in a breath. “Whose child is it?”

I meet his emerald gaze, certain of this much. “Leader Allen.”

Fury flashes across his face. “He forced you.”

He didn’t have to. There are no choices in Harmony Hills—not for women, not for children. Not for me. “I’m not sorry he’s gone.”

“No,” he murmurs. “You were ready to shoot him. Instead you shot me, because you think I’m the same.”

I see the way he looks at my body beneath the shift. I see the hard ridge in his pants when I’m near him. He wants the same thing that Leader Allen took from me. And maybe I could have survived that, if I didn’t have someone else to think about.

We stop in a city so large it takes my breath away.

There’s a hotel room with windows that look out over the buildings, so high it makes me dizzy. In that room Luca steals some of my secrets. He makes me tell him who Leader Allen sent. My brother. Alex. I don’t know whether Alex deserves to be punished, to be killed, for what he’s done, but I don’t want to be the one to cause it. My only solace is that he never returned after his last mission. Luca will have to find him first.

It’s a shock that Luca doesn’t take my body, even though I see the way he looks at me. I feel the way he tightens whenever he touches me. It’s only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time before I escape from him, too.

I have to, because I’ll never trust a man again. I can’t risk it, because more than anyone I know what they’re capable of. And I have someone else to protect.

So I run from him. Candace helps me with that.

No matter how hard he tries, he’ll never catch me. I’ll run until my legs give out, until my dying breath. There’s a child inside me, one who deserves a life without violence. Without pain.

Maybe I deserved that too.

One year later

The night passes in a dark blur of grabbing hands and sloshing amber liquid. There are too many faces to remember, and why would I want to? They’re either drunk out of their minds or leering at me. The tiny top I’m wearing with the Last Stop’s compass logo emblazoned across my breasts doesn’t help. Neither does the short skirt that’s part of the uniform.

I’m lucky it covers the white fabric of my panties. When you need to get paid in cash, there aren’t many options. I’ve worked in the steamy cavern of dry cleaners, looking the other way as drugs were sold out the back door. I’ve cleaned houses and barely escaped from one overzealous customer’s bedroom. I can’t say that I enjoy working at the beer-and-wings joint, but at least it’s honest work that pays well.

At the end of the night I count my tips and come up with seventy-four dollars and a heavy handful of change. Enough to pay the sitter, get food for the week, and put some in my emergency fund.

Angelica grabs another stool beside me. I don’t know much about her, but she works well and always has a smile for the customers. Now she looks tired, probably reflecting my own exhaustion. “Not bad,” she says, nodding toward my small stack of cash.

“Thanks, but I’m guessing you have me beat.” She was already here when I started working.

Every time I move, I end up a little farther from home. Texas, New Mexico. A detour over to Oregon and then straight north to Canada. Crossing the border was easy, but finding work without the proper work visas was harder outside the country. But I can’t stop. That’s how they catch me.

I kept moving north, crossing the Aleution Islands by ferry. That was two months ago, when the cold Alaskan summer felt comparable to a hill country freeze. I’m not sure what we’ll do when the winter hits hard, but I’ve learned not to plan too far ahead.

Angelica shrugs. “I let them cop a feel. Not too many women around here. They’re hard up. You could earn more if you wanted to.”

They cop a feel whether I let them or not. “This is more than I made at my last job.”

“You gonna tell me where that was?” When I don’t answer, she gives me a slight smile. “Didn’t think so.”

I can’t trust anyone, not even someone in the same position as me. I learned that a long time ago. People will betray you if they get the chance. They’ll leave you if they can. And unlike before, I’m not only looking out for myself.

“Nothing personal,” I say, slipping the cash into my little apron.

“A few of us are heading to Dominic’s house. He usually has good shit.”

That was probably slang for drugs or something. Weed? Coke? Maybe if I’d grown up in a regular house with regular friends, I’d know. “I can’t.”

I start to turn away, but she stops me with a softly spoken, “Beth.”

The way she says it, it’s almost a question. She knows it might not be my name. It’s common enough that I usually use it. And that way I can answer to it when someone calls me.
Beth Smith.
Beth Jones. Beth, Beth, Beth.

Schooling my face into mild interest, I turn around.

Her eyes are narrow, studying my face. Memorizing it? Comparing it to a picture she’s seen? My blood chills. That frantic beat kicks up in my heart, the one that tells me to run, to hide.

I take a step back.

Her eyes flicker away. “Someone was asking about you.”

The knot in my stomach turns hard and thick. I won’t be able to breathe again until I see Delilah, safe and asleep in my arms. I won’t be able to breathe again until we’re fifty miles away. Except the nights are freezing. What if my old car busts on top of a mountain?

“Elizabeth,” she says, her eyes knowing. “Blonde hair. Said you owed him some money.”

There are two men after me, but neither want my money. One wants to save my soul. The other wants to own my body. Either way there’s only one thing left to do. Whenever they get too close, I run.

I force my voice to remain even, conveying none of my panic. “Must be the wrong girl.”

“Yeah,” she says, not believing me for a second. “That’s what I told them.”

Relief floods my mouth, metallic after the rush of fear. If someone’s this close to me, they’ll find me soon. But it’s good to have a reprieve, even if only a few hours’ head start. “Thank you.”

She hesitates. “They offered me fifty bucks for information.”

My hands tighten on my rolled-up apron. If I need to go on the run again, I need all the money I can get. Gas money, convenience store food. Deposit at another crappy apartment.

Still, she protected me. That counts for something, doesn’t it? I don’t know anymore what true friendship would be. Maybe I never did. All I can hope for is the fleeting kindness of strangers. My fingers numb, I fumble for fifty dollars.

The slap of the cash on the scarred table surface is the only sound in the bar. She watches me, her eyes dark and mysterious. Did she really tell them I wasn’t here? Or maybe they’re already at my apartment. People will lie if I let them. Didn’t I learn that a long time ago?

Without another word, I’m gone.