Page 53 of Preying Heart
“We got to Boise where she died.”
“Oh, Heath, I’m so sorry.” I hug him tight. He just shared with me a precious nugget from his past, and even though I want to know more, like how old he was when she died, and what happened to him after she died, and even how she died, I stay quiet, letting my presence be a balm for his soul.
“It was a long time ago,” he mutters. “My dad found me after a year.”
“A year? What took him so long?”
His body shakes, and he hugs me too tight. “I was taken by her pimp and used as a servant.”
“You were trafficked?” The horror grips my heart, and I’m beginning to understand how Heath might feel compelled to rescue sex trafficking victims.
“No, thankfully not. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
He disentangles himself from my embrace and heads back to the mine entrance.
There are no words, only my imagination and the ache in my heart at how Heath wanted his mother so much he endured a harrowing escape with a broken arm. He followed her to her death, and then he was beaten and used before his father rescued him. No wonder he’s dedicated to freeing victims of human trafficking.
Heath
“Three ball in the middle pocket,” I call as Remi stands beside me. I line up the cue stick to aim. After the disastrous trip to the mine, I’m determined to forget about what I let Remi know and cheer her up the best way I can. I’m a man, after all, and she has no business feeling sorry for me.
Remi brushes me as she sights down my stick. “I don’t think you can make it.”
It isn’t a straight shot and I’ll have to take an angle shot, but I’m not going to let her faze me. “Watch and weep.”
I sink the ball in the pocket cleanly, and the cue ball bounces to the opposite side of the table, setting me up for an easy bank shot.
Remi wiggles her shoulders and rolls her eyes. “You’re about to strip.”
“No way,” I say, even though the entire premise of strip pool is to lose a shot and remove an article of clothing. It’s a been a week since I fell and scraped myself, and my scrapes are mostly scabbed up. Remi’s already seen the scars, so it’s not a big deal.
Still. I don’t like to lose.
“One bank five in the corner pocket.” I shoot the ball and it bounces off the rail, hitting the five too hard. The cue ball follows the five into the pocket.
“Scratch!” Remi shouts. “Go, Heath. Uh-huh, uh-huh. Go, Heath, take it off.”
How’d she talk me into playing strip pool? I must be getting used to her, or maybe I reverse psyched her into wanting to have some fun with me. Heaven knows she’s hard to resist—especially when I’m trying to do the noble and right thing. Still, I can’t fight the shift in my heart—the extra flutter and a slight pang—that affects me around her. It’s more than keeping the desire to keep her safe. It’s like she matters—a lot more than she should.
She chose to stay because she needs me, but I need her to stay because she wants—wants me.
So I’m playing like a frat boy or rookie cop. Adding a bit of swagger to my insane obsession with this woman full of contradictions—whose presence fills me with a craving for that feeling I’ve lost—like the scent of a lover’s touch and the gift of her intimate care.
While she takes the cue ball out of the pocket and places it on the table, I take off my belt and fling it on the sectional couch.
She throws me a wolf whistle and says, “Next you’ll be dropping those pants.”
“Not until you’re totally naked.” Oh, how I’ll relish that tiny tank top skimming off her.
“Fifteen in the corner,” she calls and sinks the shot.
She glances at me with a gleam in her eye. “Combination ten ball off thirteen into the corner.”
Again, she lines up, aims, and shoots. Both balls move exactly the way she wants, and she sinks the ten.
On and on, she goes, until there’s only the eight ball left—an easy one in the middle.
“Drop the pants,” she orders. “I win.”
