Page 17 of Love Without Control

“Dr Pepper.” Juliette was a fiend for that soda, and she’d gotten me hooked on it when I moved to Texas. “Actually, I probably need to drink some water instead. I haven’t had any in… I don’t know… a long time.”

“Can I take your order?” a tinny voice said from the speaker.

Damiano leaned to his left. “I want the burger combo with a Dr Pepper and also two glasses of ice water.”

Five minutes later, I had inhaled one glass of water and started on the hamburger. I didn’t give a damn about manners, ravenously eating like I’d never seen food before.

“Drink your other glass of water, and then you can have the soda,” Damiano informed me.

I glanced at the cup between his thighs. “I thought that was for you.”

“Nope, all for you.”

By the time we pulled onto a gravel driveway, I had scarfed down all the food and was sipping on the Dr Pepper. The sugary soda tasted so damn good on my tongue.

The frame house wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either, the nondescript gray exterior a bit weathered. A garage door lifted, and when Damiano pulled the sedan inside the bay, I saw a man standing beside the door that led into the house.

The garage door closed behind us, and my stomach turned over at the sense of being trapped.

“Who is that?” I breathed around the bile in my throat, cramming the soda cup into the drink holder so I could clasp my hands into tight fists in my lap.

“That’s Rodrigo.”

The man appeared to be in his sixties or seventies, and in the muted glow of the overhead light, I could see a jagged scar that bisected one eyebrow before snaking upward and into his hairline.

Rodrigo. The name meant nothing to me, but I figured he was another agent. As soon as Damiano rolled up my window, panic seized around my heart. I needed to be out of this vehicle. Now.

Scrambling for the door handle, I jumped from the car so quickly, I stumbled. Strong hands caught me, and I gazed up into a pair of hazel eyes. Despite his scar, Rodrigo’s face was kind, and I swallowed hard.

“Sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed. “I don’t like to be closed up.”

“It’s okay,” the older man said. “Let’s get you inside. The house is spacious.”

He was right. Entering through the door into a tidy kitchen, I noticed the open floor plan that bled into a small dining nook and then a living room. There was no television there, only a couch that had seen better days and an end table.

“Thank you, Agent Rodrigo,” I said, and a bemused smile turned the corners of his lips up, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth.

“No problem. I’ve set you up in the middle bedroom.”

Damiano had followed us into the house, and he handed over the car keys to Rodrigo. “Let’s get Evie settled, and then I need you to run an errand for me.”

The man pocketed the key ring and nodded.

My bedroom was painted in a soft taupe, and a double bed rested in the center of the far wall. The bedcovers were a simple white and looked like something you’d see at a Hampton Inn or something.

“You have your own bathroom,” Rodrigo said, standing just inside the room and gesturing toward a wood paneled door.

Bathroom? Yes, please.

“I-I need a shower,” I stammered as the events of the past few days began weighing on me. I’d put on a brave face for as long as I could, butfuck. I was exhausted, and my nerves were frayed like an old rope.

Damiano’s hard face seemed to have relaxed slightly now that we were at the safe house, and he stepped forward and gently squeezed my upper arm.

“Take your time. I’m going to talk to Rod for a few minutes. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I barely managed to say through the swelling in my throat. I wished I could think of something else to say. I owed this man way more than a simple thank you.

“I’ll leave the door cracked,” Damiano said, stepping into the hallway and pulling the knob until there was only a slit between the door and the frame. “You’re safe, okay?”

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