Page 11 of Dark OZ

“Okay. Given that you beat her face in with a snow globe, it’s probably an overstatement to say you were taking it. Let’s try this: why don’t we start with your name? Because right now, I’m running out of things to call you, and I’m just gonna settle on Sugar Tits for lack of anything more fitting.”

“Sugar Tits?”

He flashed me a devilish smile. “Absolutely. I’m positive you’d taste as sweet as cherry pie. You’re avoiding my question.”

I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. It was so dirty that you could barely make out its soft blue color. When I shifted my weight the leather of the seats pulled at the tender skin of my bare legs, making his whipping comment that much more poignant.

“You saw all of that?”

The relief knowing that I didn’t need to bear the load of that experience alone warred with my embarrassment. Eastin stripped me to my underwear and then made me kneel at her feet. Beatings aside, it was so degrading. By now, being degraded shouldn’t faze me, but having your dignity stripped from you hurt every time, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to the harsh reality of this world.

“How? There was no one there.”

“The security booth. I was scanning the feed to try and find Gigi on the cameras. Naturally, a woman kneeling before the Wicked Witcher herself gave me reason to pause.”

“Well, the witch is dead, so it doesn’t matter why I was kneeling.”

I groaned and flopped back in my seat, sliding down like it could somehow hide me from all that had transpired in that room. I regretted it instantly. My back flared to life, eclipsed only by the pain in my side from what I was certain was a broken rib.

“How about, instead, you start by telling me why you were in that garage? Gigi said you were picking something up for her. Or, hey, how about you tell meyourname?”

He seemed to consider it. The thumb resting against the wheel drumming in contemplation.

“My name is Vincent, but people call me Crowe.”

“Because of the tattoo?”

“No.”

I waited for him to explain, but when he didn’t say anything, I pushed further. “And you were in the building at midnightbecause..?”

“Mmm, sorry darling, I’m not in the habit of sharing intel with strangers.”

The city had all but disappeared outside the window, replaced by long stretches of rolling hills and the silhouette of mountains off in the distance.

“Where are we going? Since, apparently, you won’t take me to the Wizard.”

“Somewhere safe.” The long fingers wrapped around my hand tightened. For some reason, it made me feel safer, like for the first time ever, I could drop my defenses and breathe—a little.

“Em sold me as part of some kind of a debt.” My voice had a timidity to it that I wasn’t used to. Em had preyed on me my entire life, but until today, I never once allowed myself to feel like a victim. Now, I didn’t know who the broken girl beneath this bruised skin was. My survival suddenly felt like a gift and not a right. I hated it.

Like a cold draft, the ghost of the panic I felt in that office crept back in. I could feel it in the way each of my wounds seemed to throb with a heartbeat of its own. The fine tremor in my hands hadn’t fully gone away since Henry pulled me from the truck. I tugged on the hem of my shirt, tucking my bare knees beneath it, and refusing to make a sound when a sharp pain sliced across my back.

Crowe’s hand tightened around mine—a tether to keep me in the moment when it would be so easy to sink into the fear.

We drove in silence for several long minutes. The night streamed past the windows in one silhouette after another. I bit down on the thumb of my free hand in a desperate attempt to hold it together. I don’t know why being with Crowe made me feel like it was okay to feel all of this emotion. I’d never allowed myself to break before, but on instinct, I knew he’d hold me up if I started to crumble.

When Crowe finally spoke again, he seemed to have resigned himself to something. “The boys are going to kill me, possibly literally, but I’m going to bring you home.”

“Home?” That panic clawed its way to the surface, forcing my pitch higher. “Not to The Farm. Aunt Em will kill me. Please, Crowe, you don’t understand. Going back is a death sentence.”

While I had no idea where I was going, I knew for certain the next time I walked across the dusty grounds of The Farm, it would be while basking in the glow of it burning down.

Or, I’d be hauled in dead. There was no in-between.

“The Farm.” Crowe slammed a hand against the steering wheel, swerving the car and hitting the brake. “Ozma be damned! Emily Rosen is your aunt.”

It was a statement more than a question. Aunt Em’s reputation amongst the criminal networks of Oz was strong enough that nobody dared to mess with any of her shipments, not when she helped ensure all their wallets stayed fat. So it wasn’t surprising that Crowe knew her name.

---