Page 57 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

“I bought one when I got out.” She's already stuffing clothes and personal effects into a duffle. “My friend's brother helped me pick something good. I drove to help my sister and then came back, so I know it runs.” She bites her lip and fixes me with her liquid brown eyes. “I came back because I needed to be here where you could find me if you came looking.”

She came back to wait for us. Sweet girl. “I prayed, too,” I confess. “That you'd wait for me. That you'd say yes to being ours.”

“I'm yours.” The words are rushed as she grabs her phone, charger, and what looks like a small album of photos from a shelf, but they still slide inside me and wrap around my heart.

Her apartment is tiny and barren, and once she's packed, it's almost like she never lived here at all. My chest aches when I realize her life before Blackstone was as unsettled and empty as ours. I can make her a home that will be so much more than this. We can both be happy.

But the ghost of Whitaker Evans chooses right now to linger in the shadowed corners of this shitty apartment. Lory doesn't know what we did, and I can't base the life I'd risk everything for on a lie.

I rest my hand on her upper arm, and she stills, staring up at me. “I have to tell you something before we go. Something that might make you change your mind about coming with me.”

“No,” she breathes. “Nothing you tell me will do that.”

“The thing we did for Grady—”

“I know.” She lowers the shirt she was folding, giving me her full attention. “I know what you did.”

I blink in the darkness, so surprised, I take a step back. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. “How?”

“I looked at local news from before the auction. I saw the reports about Grady's niece and…” Lory shakes her head, herexpression fierce and tense. “That man deserved what you did and more, Kinkaid.”

She knew about Whitaker, and she still ran into my arms. She knew, and she waited for us to come out so we could be together.

I close my eyes slowly, overcome with emotion. She knows, and she wants me… she wants us. The slate is wiped clean, but it isn't enough. I could leave the truth here, with her still half in the dark, but it's not fair, and I don't want something tarnished. I want the white sheets and the fresh start. I need to do this one thing right. I need to be honest.

“It wasn't just about Grady's niece,” I say.

Her eyebrows rise.

“Whitaker Evans wasn't new to hurting kids. He was an old hand… an old hand who'd already fucked up James' life fifteen years ago.”

Lory gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as tears fill her eyes. She knew he'd had a hard life. The scars he tried desperately to hide from her were evidence of that. But this is different. I touch her cheek. “Don't cry for him now,” I say. “We got the chance to destroy a monster, and we took it. I don't regret it. He was a worthless, terrible human being, and James needed to take revenge to hold on to his sanity. And we met you in the process.” She closes her eyes, leaning into the warmth of my palm. “If there was ever a silver lining in the world, Lory, it's you.”

She blinks, and her shoulders hitch. Then she kisses the center of my palm, and all the pent-up anxiousness about losing her leaves me.

“You're sure about coming?” I have to check one more time. I need to get back on track before they start looking for me. “Because if you are, we need to go.”

“Yes. Of course.” She continues packing like there's no more to say about it. She's made up her mind.

“We have to stop somewhere on the outskirts of town,” I say through a throat that's tight with emotion. “You have another duffle?”

“Yeah.” She takes a worn bag from the closet and tosses it to me. “You hungry?”

Her voice still sounds tight but with emotion rather than fear. She's still thinking about James and what happened to him.

“Bring whatever snacks you have.”

In less than ten minutes, with Lory now dressed in jeans and a black hooded jacket, we jog down the stairs. Out front, she unlocks an old gold, Corolla. Her brother's friend knows his stuff. These cars go on forever, and they're perfectly anonymous.

“You want to drive?” She holds out the keys.

“Better if you do,” I say. “I'll tell you where to go.”

Sleep-deprived and wired from nerves, we head out of town with the soft sounds of a country music station playing and the windows down. The air is cool, but the wind in my hair is a refreshing burst of freedom. I stare at Lory, overwhelmed by the way she looks in normal clothes, with her hair tied into a messy, tangled bun on the top of her head. She's wearing small round silver earrings now. They're plain and simple, and she deserves so much more.

I provide directions and avoid answering questions that won't serve either of us for her to know.

“If we're pulled over by the cops, I want you to tell them that I carjacked you, okay?”

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