To the Ends of the Earth: A Stripped Standalone (5 page)

Most mornings when I wake up, Delilah is still asleep. Even with the sunlight coming in through the blinds, that girl can sleep. I can’t complain because she’s all smiles when she’s awake.

If I’ve had a particularly rough night at the Last Stop, I might sleep in, which means I wake up to a snuggly body on top of me, chubby fingers grasping my hair.

This morning I wake up to the distant sounds of cheerful babbling.

A low voice responds, maybe asking a question.

More babbling, this time with a happy squeal as punctuation.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I follow the sounds into the kitchen. What I find makes me blink, more confused than ever. There’s a picnic happening on the cracked caramel linoleum, a thin blanket spread out. Luca sits across from Delilah, him cross-legged, her little legs in front of her. Between them is a sleeve of crackers, an open jar of peanut butter, and a sippy cup.

“Do you want another one?” Luca asks.

Delilah responds with a string of syllables that probably mean
yes
, along with several other thoughts. She claps to illustrate her point. Or maybe to get him to hurry.

He doesn’t hurry. He takes his time with a butter knife in the jar, spreading thick, creamy peanut butter onto the cracker, making it completely even. “Take a drink,” he says, holding it out.

Her black curls shimmer under the kitchen light as she shakes her head. “No.”

That’s one of the few words she knows. And though I’ve never seen a more cheerful child, she also has a stubborn streak. She will say no plenty of times throughout the day, albeit cheerfully.

“One little sip.”

Another string of baby talk, ending with a very clear, “Water.”

“Water isn’t my favorite either,” he says reasonably. “But it’s all I could find right now. Maybe they’ll have milk on the plane.”

With a sigh Delilah picks up the sippy cup for a brief sip.

Luca hands over the cracker, and she munches away. My heart has turned into something less muscle, more balloon—expanding, stretching beyond what I’d known I was capable of.

Seeing such a large, brutal man, his bruises even more prominent the morning after, at ease with my one-year-old daughter does strange things to my insides. There’s guilt that she’s had to grow up without a father. There’s fear that this precious light will somehow be extinguished.

And worst of all, something like hope aches in my chest. Because Luca is so unbearably gentle in this moment. I hadn’t known he could be like that. Hadn’t dared imagine it.

As if sensing me, Luca looks up and meets my gaze. “Good morning.”

The words catch in my throat. All I can do is nod.

He gestures to Delilah. “I hope this is okay. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s perfect,” I whisper.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the picnic blanket, Luca stands. His body unfolds larger than I remembered, as if he’s built for different rooms. Barracks instead of a crappy apartment. A gladiator ring instead of the parking lot of the Last Stop. He’s a soldier. A fighter.

“The car’s waiting outside,” he says more quietly, glancing back at Delilah to make sure she’s still occupied. She’s given up on the cracker and is sticking her fingers directly in the jar.

“I’ll just be a minute to pack what’s left. You should have woken me up.”

He frowns. “You didn’t get enough sleep as it is.”

My body agrees with him, reminding me that I had a long shift last night, the small aches and subtle bruises pointing out the places where Jimmy John grabbed me before Luca stepped in. “I’m fine,” I say. “Whatever we need to do to get Delilah to safety.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ll be able to sleep on the plane.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The sound he makes raises the hair on my neck. “Someone needs to take care of you, little bird. If you aren’t going to do it, then I sure as hell will.”

I flinch. “Don’t swear in front of her. Please.”

“She doesn’t mind.”

My cheeks flush with warmth, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. I know that people swear out in the world. Adults use words like
hell
and
damn.
It doesn’t mean anything. But I can’t shake the twinge of fear I feel every time I hear them any more than I can cut my hair. I’m too well trained. I’m Leader Allen’s creature, even now that he’s dead.

Luca’s expression softens. “I’ll try not to swear.”

I expected him to fight me to the death on this. How does a man like him take orders from someone like me? It doesn’t make sense. He could have insulted me, called me names. He could have sworn a blue streak, and as long as he held the key to Delilah’s safety, I would’ve had to bear it.

Instead he’s given in, leaving me disarmed and off balance. “Thank you.”

“I followed you from city to city, tracking you until I found you in that stink hole they call the Last Stop. How the hell—” He shakes his head, looking bewildered. “How did you survive in a place like that?”

Every word feels like a blow. Every touch I couldn’t control rips at my soul. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do—and the easiest. I glance at Delilah, who has now turned the peanut butter jar upside down and created a cracker tower on top. “She makes everything possible.”

He glances back at her. “Yeah. I think I’m starting to understand that.”

I can’t help but ask. “How did you track me?”

“That long hair,” he says, laughing softly. “Bread crumbs wherever you go.”

I manage not to flinch, but it still feels like a slap. It’s a weakness, this hair. It’s a weakness that I still feel beholden to all the tenets I was taught as a child. They were drilled into me. Literally written into my skin. I can’t forget them any more than I can become a different person.

“Will you cut it?”

“Of course not,” he says softly. “It’s beautiful.”

Awareness sinks in. “And it’s part of the trap. The bread crumbs.”

His eyes darken as he studies me. “Everywhere I went, people remembered your hair. That was the first thing, what people notice the first time they meet you.”

“I’m not very good at hiding,” I whisper.

“And then they all noticed something else. The way you brought soup to the elderly woman next door even though you’re a single mother, with barely enough money to survive. How you fed the cats in the neighborhood until there was a damned—” He shakes his head, an abbreviated apology for swearing. “There was a buffet outside your back door. How you are always the first to give and the last person to take. Yes, you were the worst fucking—the worst at hiding, because you never stop helping. Even after what that monster did to you, you never stopped caring.”

I take refuge in the ordinary tasks I need to do—rolling up Delilah’s sleep things and then mine. Washing the peanut butter off her face and brushing her two teeth. It’s easier to focus on ordinary tasks than to think about what Luca said to me.

But his words are like a seed, and every moment that passes, it burrows a little deeper into the soil of my soul. There was water all along, a strange hope, a wistfulness that I could be something more than Sarah Elizabeth. That’s why I called myself Beth when I left Harmony Hills, but that’s just a name. Not a person.

I might be stronger than I thought. Might be memorable for more than just my long hair. At least Luca seems to think so—which is the most compelling realization of all. He sees me as more than my body.

Trucks are common in Alaska, with snow tires at this time of year. That’s what I’m expecting when I go outside. Instead I find a string of three sleek black SUVs, a man in a suit standing beside one of them. These aren’t limousines; these are their tougher, more protective cousins.

Inside the seats are covered in butter-soft beige leather, wood enamel along the door.

The pink car seat from my car, the one I left at the Last Stop, now sits in the middle of a wide back seat. Delilah clambers into her spot with relative ease, as if we normally use a car with low ambient lighting and a minifridge.

I buckle her in, feeling a little dazed. I think Luca might take one of the other SUVs—why do we need three of them? But he steps into the car after me, shutting us inside.

Absently I dig in my bag for a set of plastic rings, which Delilah prefers for car rides. She begins to teethe on them immediately, making delicate baby grunting sounds.

Luca sits in the forward seats, facing me, his expression enigmatic.

“Where did these come from?” I finally ask, unable to stop myself.

“After what happened last night, I called in reinforcements. I couldn’t be sure whether those fuckers—those men would have relatives wanting revenge. I made sure we were covered for the ride to the airport.”

I can’t imagine the expense involved in getting these armed men, these glossy SUVs, out into the middle of nowhere. The newest car I’ve seen in weeks is a decade old, its back bumper torn off. This is a hard-scrabble place, which is a backward solace for me.

It’s always reminded me of home.

The relief I feel at being safe is greater, though. I can’t know what will happen next. Being bait for a man who’s been indoctrinated by a murderer and abuser is hardly a safe destination. But as long as Delilah is alive, I don’t care what happens to me.

Someone needs to take care of you, little bird. If you aren’t going to do it, then I sure as hell will.

Luca’s words come back to me in a rush of illicit pleasure. I can’t deny that I like the idea of him taking care of me. Isn’t that what he’s doing? Even though he scares me, he’s helping me protect Delilah. And he’s using me to complete his orders from Ivan Tabakov. It’s not a purely altruistic goal, nothing so special as love, but it’s something. More than I’ve had before.

He remains quiet on the drive to the airport, only occasionally taking a phone call. From his terse replies, he’s still coordinating our trip to Tanglewood.

“Is the plane ready?” he asks.

Someone answers on the other end, sounding brusque.

“I don’t fucking—I don’t care,” he says. “We’re taking off in an hour either way, and your other client can go and… Well, they can just deal with it.”

I have to smile at him, my throat a little tight, eyes too watery to be normal. It’s the same way I felt watching him at the kitchen-floor picnic, this fighter turned soft by one sweet little girl.

Then his earlier words register.
The plane.

My stomach drops. “Luca. I don’t have a passport.”

I don’t have any form of identification at all. No driver’s license. No birth certificate. According to the US government, I don’t even exist. Harmony Hills didn’t exactly follow legal procedures when babies were born. The less interference from the government the better.

Actually Delilah doesn’t exist either. I sneaked out of the small women’s shelter where she was born in the small hours of the morning.

“You won’t need one,” he says.

The SUV slows. I look out the window to see a small aircraft, only three windows across the side. “This is what we’re taking? Are you sure it’s safe?”

He gives me a small smile. “It’s safe, little bird. And even better, they don’t ask questions.”

The words are pointed, reminding me that I’m asking too many questions. But I understand the deeper point, that we need someone who will let me fly without paperwork. And hopefully no one will answer questions if someone asks about a girl with long blonde hair.

The plane takes off within an hour. I’m clinging to the seat, my knuckles white. Delilah fusses at the loud noise of takeoff, the strange feelings in her ears. Her cry is drowned out by the roar of the engines.

Only Luca looks unaffected by the rush and the noise.

He turns to dig through a small compartment on the other side of his seat. He finds an empty glass and a bottle of water. Pouring only an inch into the glass, he turns it this way and that near the window. A sliver of rainbow appears on the carpet at my feet.

Delilah quiets, noticing the colorful light. Luca entertains her through the takeoff, the incline, making rainbow shapes on the floor until our ears are clear. By the time the sound of the engines level off, I can hear her squeals of delight.

“More,” she says. “Wah more!”

It’s only a matter of time before she demands the cup itself. Not for drinking, but to play with the small amount of liquid, sticking her hand into the glass, splashing it, spraying droplets at me until I have to laugh.

I’m still laughing when I turn to Luca. The seriousness of his expression makes my smile fade. Suddenly I’m self-conscious, wondering how I look playing with a one-year-old. Do I seem like a child myself? Like a backward country girl on a plane for the first time?

Do I look like a victim?

I’m all those things, but maybe, just maybe, if we make it so I don’t have to run, I can be something more.

The caravan of luxury SUVs that carry us away from my apartment felt extravagant. The small private plane feels extreme—but they’re nothing compared to the private jet that awaits us in Seattle. It’s sleek and gleaming, with the word
Pajarita
across the side. A man in a suit and dark sunglasses waits beside metal stairs. Delilah has been fussy since halfway through the drive, not at all pleased to be confined to a seat when she wants to roam.

“We have a few minutes before takeoff,” Luca murmurs.

He pulls the car seat away from me and heads up the stairs.

I follow him, my eyes widening at the inside of this plane—all wood paneling and plush carpets. The seats aren’t stacked together like the small plane. Instead they’re arranged in a casual circle, each with a large headrest and wide leather arms.

It’s a relief to kneel in front of Delilah’s seat where Luca sets her down, to focus on something mundane like stroking her hair into place, unlatching her seat belt. She springs up with a wordless exclamation of gratitude.

“Thank you,” I murmur, unable to look at Luca.

I knew that my apartment was small and dingy, but this is a whole new world. What did Luca think when he saw my broken car and the sleeping mat? I must look pathetic to him.

“Hey.” He touches my arm, and I look at him. “I know we’re the reason you don’t have a home. Because we showed up with fucking—with guns blazing. And then I took you.”

Doesn’t he understand that he saved me?

Delilah grasps the edge of the leather seat, pulling herself into a wobbly stand. She uses it as leverage to edge toward the back of the plane. A shiny mirror at the back is her goal.

“Stay here, baby,” I tell her.

Luca glances down. “Everything in here is safe to fly. She won’t get hurt.”

A flush burns my cheeks. “I’m more worried about her breaking something.”

“Let her.”

“Won’t Ivan be angry?”

“I doubt he’ll care. It’s my plane.”

I take in the luxurious surroundings with fresh eyes. I knew that there was money to be made in the criminal underworld. Otherwise why would anyone do it? I didn’t realize that Luca had this kind of wealth. Muscle, yes. Pure force.

What had he done to earn this kind of money? “How many people have you killed?”

His chuckle is low, unoffended. “More than my share, but I earn most of my money through fights. Big money fights, sponsorships. And betting, when I’m not in the ring.”

“Oh. Then why do you—” I bite my lip, remembering it’s none of my business. Girls were slapped across the face for asking questions in Harmony Hills. Living on the run brought me out of my shell by necessity, but I can never forget the pecking order.

His eyes darken. “You can ask me anything, Beth.”

Already he has shown me more tolerance, more kindness than any man I’ve ever met. But his hands are huge, his arms bulging. His entire body weighs more than twice mine, hard packed and built to fight. If he ever decided to teach me a lesson, I wouldn’t survive it. “Okay.”

“Then why do I work for Ivan?” he asks, his voice droll.

I wring my hands together. “You don’t have to answer.”

“Technically you didn’t ask.” He nods toward one of the wide leather seats. “Did you see the name of the plane?”

“Pajarita,” I say, not knowing what it means.

His eyes darken. “Little bird. I named it after you.”

My heart thuds heavy in my chest. Something this huge, this luxurious—after me?

He gives me a small smile. “Do you want anything to drink?”

As soon as he mentions the word, my mouth feels parched. A desert. I take a seat, feeling out of place in the plush armchair. I shove my hands between my knees, holding myself tightly.
Pajarita.
“Water, please.”

He walks to the bar, a counter above where Delilah is blowing kitten-breath clouds on the mirror. He stirs around in the fridge before pulling out a clear bottle. He brings me back a glass.

“Thank you,” I whisper before taking a sip. Bubbles tickle my nose.

Even the water is different here.

He takes the seat across from mine, our knees almost touching when he reclines. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?” he asks, his voice mild.

My knuckles turn white as I clench the glass. I force myself to relax. “What do you mean?”

“You fought me tooth and nail when I took you from Harmony Hills. And you were ready to fight me again last night when we were alone in that shit hole—in your apartment. That’s the Beth I know, but this morning you’ve been the picture of obedience. Tell me what changed.”

When I fought him, I thought I could get away.

I thought I could keep Delilah safe on my own. I learned a long time ago never to rely on a man, never to trust him, never to believe that he wouldn’t hurt you if he got mad. And Luca is so big and so strong it would be even worse.

Then he found me at the Last Stop, saving me in my final moments. Which meant my brother would have found me eventually. No matter how careful I am, they always catch up.

I choose my words carefully, knowing I can’t risk insulting him. “I appreciate you helping me and Delilah. That’s all I can focus on, keeping her safe. And you’re helping me do that. Why would I fight you?”

Unless he wanted to hurt Delilah. I would turn into a lioness if he laid one of those large hands on her. I cringe, imagining the backhands I got when I was little. Those men hadn’t been half as big as him.

“They fucked you up good,” he says, his voice low enough that Delilah can’t hear.

I flinch. “It’s not a nice place.”

“And I’m not a nice man,” he says, as if acknowledging the conclusion.

“You’ve always been good to Delilah.” And that’s all that matters. That’s all that can matter now. My brother would hurt me, but he would take Delilah away. And that means that I choose Luca, even if he requires my body as payment.

He leans forward, touching two fingers to my knee. I’m wearing jeans, but the feel of him burns like a brand. “I liked the Beth who fought me. You look like you’re made of glass, so damn fragile a harsh wind could blow you over, but that’s not true. I saw it when you stood in that office holding a rifle as big as you were.”

A shudder works through my body. I contemplated hurting Leader Allen so many times. Every afternoon, our daily prayers. His wrinkled face above me, flushed red, panting.

Then when Candy brought those dangerous men back to Harmony Hills, I knew that was my chance. My only chance to escape. And I took it.

“I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

He laughs softly. “You were a goddess. And the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

He must have met so many women—beautiful, confident women. And of course he’s seen Candy. Our looks are similar, both blonde, both slender. But she has wide eyes and full lips, curves in all the right places. “I’m not anything special.”

“You wanted to know why I worked for Ivan. We met when we were kids. Both stupid, fucked up—sorry. Both of us dumb kids who wanted to get out of the
barrio.
He lived in a group home, parents long gone. I still had my mom at home. She turned tricks to keep food on the table.”

Sympathy clenches my heart. It’s hard to imagine this large man as a small boy, vulnerable to the cruelties of the world. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It made us tough. Forged in fucking—forged in fire. Like you, Beth. That’s what I see when I look at you. A goddamn mirror.”

My breath halts. “Me?”

“You and me, we’re the same.”

I swallow hard.

The sound of a cabinet door thumping draws my attention to the far end of the plane. Delilah tugs on a door, but it’s caught by some kind of lock that must keep it closed during flight. Her black curls shimmer under the ambient lighting, a dark angel.

She doesn’t look anything like her father, at least not how I knew him—old and deranged. It would be a comfort to imagine that she was implanted by God, but I know better. Despite what Leader Allen preached, God never lived in Harmony Hills.

“I learned not to fight,” I whisper. “Not to speak. Not to breathe when he didn’t want me to.”

The creak of leather lets me know Luca leans forward. “I’d kill that fucker all over again if I could.”

Maybe we are the same, because I would too. “I don’t want to be quiet anymore.”

“No,” he agrees gently. “Don’t stop fighting me either.”