Page 50 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

Clint is driving, and I’m grateful. My hands are shaking as Taylor’s words replay themselves over and over in my mind. The things she’s experienced at the hands of her father have torn me up. The things she’s witnessed… Well, I know the damage that violence in the home can do to a person, and Taylor’s been through so much more than me.

She’s sitting next to me in the back of the vehicle, staring out the window. Her hands are clasped together in her lap. Maybe she’s shaking, too, and doesn’t want me to see. I take her dainty hand in mine, bringing her knuckles to my lips. I press a long, gentle kiss there, wanting her to feel tenderness and care in the face of so much anxiety.

“We’ll get there,” Jesse says firmly. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

He has so much confidence in his voice. That’s the thing with Jesse. In daily life, he believes he can will the things he wants into existence. He has an unshakable certainty that he can control the world around him. Apart from when his ex-wife took his son and moved halfway across the globe, he’s never felt a moment of turbulence in his life. He’s never felt powerless. Not like I have.

Taylor squeezes my hand, and I know his reassurances aren’t touching her. She has the same level of faith in the world that I do, which isn’t much.

In our world, bad guys have the power. The ones who will take what they want are the ones who get what they want, no matter how terrible their methods. Taylor escaped her father’s clutches when she no longer served a useful purpose to him. He discarded her, and she found her freedom.

Except she didn’t.

She went from one man who felt he owned her to three more who really did.

I cringe at the role I’ve played in her life since the auction, but when I turn to Taylor, she looks at me with the softest expression. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“What the hell for?”

“For helping me. For being good to me. For making me see that not all men are bad.”

Her words are supposed to be kind, but they only make me feel more ashamed. No woman should find themselves in Taylor’s situation.

When we get to Molly, we have to let Taylor know that we won’t hold her to the marriage or role in our household and lives. It wasn’t her choice to enter the auction, so we should give her a choice now. My heart aches at the prospect of losing her but shackling her to us is so deeply wrong. If you love somebody, set them free. We need to do that for Taylor, no matter how much it might hurt.

It’s almost seven pm by the time we enter Taylor’s hometown. She sits forward in her seat to direct Clint to her friend, Natalie’s, house. Squinting into the fading glare of the evening sun, she strains to find road names and landmarks.

“Take the next turning on the right,” she says, gripping the back of Jesse’s seat. “And then the first left.”

Clint follows her instructions. “It’s down here on the right—” She pauses, her eyes fixed ahead.

“Oh no—”

There’s a man on the sidewalk, picking something up from the ground. He tosses it at the house. When we get closer, it’s clear that he’s tossing rocks at a house.

“Is that your…?”

“Father.” Her hand is already on the door handle, but I grab her arm.

“You’re not going out there, Taylor. Leave this to us.”

Clint parks twenty feet up the road and the three of us are out of the vehicle in seconds, running towards Taylor’s deranged parent.

“Hey,” Jesse yells. “What the hell are you doing?”

The man turns with a large rock from the garden still clutched in his hand. “Who the fuck are you?”

He’s a grimy mess with a wild and feral look in his hollow eyes and his thinning hair hanging in loose matted strands. Malnourished and unsavory, he strains to stay upright as if he has already had a few drinks. And then the stench hits me. He sneers as he casts his hazy gaze between us, revealing a mouth of decaying teeth. His sunken cheeks make him look much older than his years, but the aggression radiating from every inch of him is no match for the rage and fury inside all of us. This sack of shit is Taylor’s father?

Jesse’s fist in the man’s face is the only appropriate response. The man’s head twists violently, and he drops to the floor, knees first, then shoulder, then head. It’s a hollow sound, like a watermelon smashing.

Feet pound the sidewalk behind us, and I turn to find Taylor running.

“Where’s Molly?” she gasps, running towards the home that must be Natalie’s. She bangs on the door before I can reach her, yelling “Molly. Natalie. It’s okay. Open up.”

A woman’s voice sounds from inside. “Taylor?”

“Yes.”

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