Torn from You (17 page)

Dave stopped
and dropped to his knees at a grate in the ground. He pulled
several times before it gave way. “The ladder’s slippery.
Careful.”

I slid through
feet first and felt for the ladder rung then started climbing down.
I stopped when I heard a clang of metal. “Dave?” I didn’t trust the
guy, and I had no idea why he was helping me escape, but right now
he was all I had.

“
Don’t
stop,
Chiquita
.” His
voice carried down the damp sewer. “You need to hurry.”

“Are you ...
are you coming?”

“
No,
Chiquita
. Go
quickly.”

Oh God, he
wasn’t coming. I was all alone in a sewer with no money and
somewhere in Mexico. I froze on the ladder, fingers tight around
the damp, thin metal. I didn’t know what to do, where to go, or
even how to get there. Maybe this sewer was a dead end? Had Dave
even checked where this led? Was this a test? Was Sculpt testing to
see if I’d leave if given the chance? Could all this be a cruel
sick game to torment me?

“Emily?”

My body
instinctively plastered against the ladder. The voice came from
below me ... It was vaguely familiar, but I was so scared I didn’t
trust anything my mind was thinking right now.

“Emily?
Hell.”

Deck?

The rush of
emotion hit me so hard I slipped down two rungs, and the sound
echoed like a drum through the tunnel.

“Emily?” Deck
called.

“Y-yes. Yes,
it’s me.”

“Climb down,
beautiful.”

I was sobbing
hysterically by the time I felt hands on my hips, and then I was
being lifted and placed on my feet. I turned in Deck’s arms and
collapsed into them, my cheek pressed against his chest, and my
arms holding him tight around the waist. I barely knew the guy, but
he was the best sight I’d seen in fifteen days.

The relief was
overwhelming, like I’d been pulled from being buried alive without
hope, without breath ... alone with no one to trust—until now.

Deck stroked
the back of my hair. “We have to move hard, Emily. You good to
run?”

I nodded,
sniffling.

“Matt’s here.
We’re taking you home.”

“Oh God,” I
cried. Matt. He’d come. Him and Deck. They hadn’t forgotten me.

I heard
several more gun shots and jumped. I thought about Logan; I
couldn’t help it. He had something to do with me getting out of
here. Even though I’d never forgive him for what he’d done. He’d
destroyed any innocence and tarnished it with mistrust and fear.
He’d put me in a world that would live in my nightmares
forever.

I didn’t know
why Dave didn’t come with me. Logan had sounded like Dave was
supposed to, but he’d opted to go back. For Logan? Did Logan need
help? No, Logan was Raul’s son.

Deck squeezed
my hand. “You’re safe now, Emily.”

Safe? I’d
never be safe again. I knew I’d never be the same girl who walked
into an illegal fighting ring and asked Sculpt to teach her how to
fight. I didn’t know who I’d become or how I’d do it or where I’d
even go from here.

What I did
know was that I’d never forget.

2 years
later

Gravel
crunched beneath tires as the distinct roar of a motorcycle come
barreling up the driveway toward me.

It was rare
anyone came to the farm except Deck who drove his sweet black Audi
with the tinted windows. It crept up the driveway so silently that
I rarely noticed it. Actually, the car reminded me of Deck,
mysterious, dangerous with a quiet calmness that awakened every
nerve in the body. Deck had taken it upon himself to check up on me
every so often ever since he and Matt had brought me back from
Mexico. Georgie said it was his way, and I was “in the fold” now.
Well, the fold could be a pain in the butt, and Georgie completely
agreed as she’d been on Deck’s radar since he was honorably
discharged from the JTF2. He’d started his own company called
Unyielding Riot. I recently found out that Riot was Georgie’s
brother’s call name in the JTF2.

Deck had been
a huge help when I came back. He assisted with the police and FBI
investigation and was with me when I had to tell them the story.
Although, certain details were left out—like Sculpt’s identity. I
never mentioned him; Deck’s doing and I guess mine too. Sculpt had
gotten me out of there.

Deck being an
ex JTF2 often worked with law enforcement on cases and therefore
had some ‘friends’ which helped when I wanted nothing more than to
stop talking about it. He kept the pressure off of me and dealt
with most of the questions and answers. At the time, I couldn’t
even recall most of what was said I was so numb to everything.

Stroking
Havoc’s sleek, white neck, I felt the veins popping out under her
skin. A quiver raced through her body, and she trembled. Clucking,
I moved Havoc into a walk. Horses were prey animals, and when
scared—they ran.

The bike’s
roar closed in on us.

Havoc’s ears
pricked forward and her muscles coiled like a spring.

I sunk deeper
into the saddle, yet made certain I stayed relaxed. Clamping down
tight on a fearful horse was like a mountain lion leaping on their
back.

“Good girl,
Havoc.” I urged her around so that we were facing the offending
noise that still wasn’t slowing. The bike paused at the fork in the
driveway, one way went to the main house, the other to the barn. It
revved then came straight for the barn.

“Damn it.”

Havoc sucked
in air to make a loud snorting sound.

I took my feet
out of the stirrups to hop off, and at the same time the offending
bike backfired.

Havoc
exploded.

“Shit.” I
looped my fingers in her mane as Havoc went up on her hind legs,
pawing the air. My lower back hit hard against the back of the
leather saddle as she came down on all fours. She took off in a mad
gallop around the ring, her hind legs kicking out to the side and
throwing my body off balance.

Havoc came to
an abrupt halt, her nostrils flaring and sides heaving.

Then it
happened.

The bike
skidded to a stop in front of the barn, dust and gravel pebbles
flew into the air hitting the aluminum barn wall and making a loud
crackling sound like fireworks going off. Havoc’s ears went
straight back, her spine arched, and both hind legs went straight
up into the air as she squealed.

I careened
over her head and landed smack on my ass. “Ughhh.”

I fell
backward and lay in the dirt while I listened to Havoc bolt around
the riding ring kicking up dust.

Undoing my
chin strap, I flicked off my helmet and stared up at the ominous
clouds. “What the hell.”

The gate
clanged.

Footsteps.

I lay
still contemplating what sort of pain I was going to cause the
culprit. I’d spent months gaining Havoc’s trust and this would set
me back weeks, if not months. The six other traumatized and abused
rescue horses that had come with Havoc from the slaughter house had
already been rehomed. I’d helped them gain their pride and
confidence back, but Havoc was taking much longer. She was an alpha
mare and pushing her would only make her rebel—the last reaction I
wanted.

I figured
another couple years of helping clients with “problem” horses—more
like problem clients who didn’t understand their horses—and with
the reselling of the abused horses to good homes I’d be able to buy
my own farm. I loved living here with Kat, but I wanted my own
place. I think in a way I needed it. I’d been latching onto Matt
and Kat for too long, and I wanted a career and to be able to
support myself.

The footsteps
stopped beside me.

My eyes hit
boots. Black leather with ankle mouldings—motorcycle boots that
were hidden partially by faded jeans on a pair of long, lean
legs.

My eyes went
up and up then—

My world
stopped.

Oh God, I’d
worked so hard at burying the emotions, the pain, the hurt, and
most of all the fear, and suddenly it was all back. Months of
therapy obliterated.

I couldn’t
breathe.

Trapped within
tightened lungs, suffocating with the shattering, mind-blowing
knowledge of who was right next to me. It was like I had never
left.

Logan.

Oh. My.
God.

No. It
couldn’t be.

But it
was.

Logan.

Then he
crouched, inches away from me.

My heart rate
tripled its speed, and the saliva in my mouth vanished as my past
slapped me in the face. Emotions swarmed, attacking me from all
directions.

I wanted to
run and hide, maybe even cower. This was the man who caused me to
hide a knife beneath my mattress for the last two years.

He looked
different yet the same somehow. Harder—scarier, definitely. He had
a scar running the length of his chin, the place where I used to
run my finger across to trace his dimple.

“Mouse.”

I stiffened.
No one had called me that since him. Hearing his voice ... him
calling me that again—

“Emily.” His
voice was barely a whisper, as if he had trouble saying my
name.

Logan was
still breathtaking, but now even more so, and it unsettled me that
I thought that. His hair was a little longer, falling just below
his ears in relaxed, soft waves, still messy and multilayered. The
scruff on his face was new, and—This man had torn my heart out.
God, he made me his sex slave.

Suddenly I was
wishing Havoc would trample him, so I could run away.

Logan stood
and reached out his hand. My eyes hit his right arm that was now
covered in tattoos from his elbow up to beneath his T-shirt. He’d
only had his left arm inked before.

Shuffling back
on my ass, I scrambled to my feet. In my awkward rush I fell
backward and tripped over my riding helmet.

He reached
again for me.

“No. Don’t.” I
held out my hands while I managed to gain my balance. Logan
touching me again ... no. I couldn’t yet register that he was here,
in front of me, after two years. Three things crossed my mind. Run
like hell. Beat on him, or leap into his arms and kiss him.

I did none of
the above.

Logan ignored
me and took my arm and pulled me back toward him before I had the
chance to escape. I landed with my palms resting on his chest and
my gaze hitting his neck. His corded muscles contracted, and his
Adam’s apple moved up then down as he swallowed.

Logan. I was
in his arms. The guy who wrapped me up in his heart then destroyed
it.

The guy I
tried to forget. No, damn it, I did forget him. I lived every
single day for two years without him. I lived. I suffered, and I
breathed. Then I fought my way back and won.

Ironic that he
was the one who ended up giving me the tools to repair from the
very fear he had instilled in me.

His hand
reached up to cup my cheek, and I turned my head away. Despite my
lies to myself, I never forgot him.

“Mouse.”

A sob wrenched
from my throat as he called me by my nickname.

I tried to
wiggle out of his grasp, but his fingers dug into my arms. He
wasn’t letting go, and despite Logan being leaner than when I knew
him, he was strong as hell. My mind was reeling with fear, anger
and despair. I had to get my shit together. I needed to. I didn’t
get this far only to get torn apart again.

Pushing up
against the wall of his chest I prepared myself for meeting his
eyes and grit my teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

“Emily.” His
voice was soft and gentle.

My instinct
was to hurt him anyway I could. To push him to the ground and have
Havoc stomp all over him with her hooves.

Maybe love
couldn’t be forgotten. But maybe, just maybe it could be smothered
by hate.

He ignored my
steady push on his chest and stroked my hair like he used to do
when I lay in his arms. “You hurt?”

“Like you give
a shit.” I saw him flinch and was glad.

“Eme.
Please.”

My stomach
bottomed out. Jesus, it was that voice. That tone. It was like a
punch to the gut. “Let me go, Logan.” I shouldn’t have said his
real name; I knew it. Damn it, I remembered. Not the bad, but the
warm protective man that sang to me. Who picked me up every morning
to take me to work. Riding on his motorcycle, my arms around him,
feeling so in love—

I pushed on
his chest again and the instant he let me go, I immediately took
three steps back.

Distance. I may be a little older and have developed
backbone but the moment I laid eyes on him again, that began to
break away, and I
felt
him.

“No. You have
no right to be here.”

His eyes
narrowed when I took another step back. “We need to talk.”