Page 12 of Dark OZ

His look of astonishment shifted just as quickly into something far more fierce. “The Cyclone Shipping truck that you arrived on. It came from The Farm. And she…Oz damn, she sold you to Eastin! Her niece. That’s a whole new level of fucked up.”

I gestured to my general state of distress. “Obviously.”

He nodded, tapping against the steering wheel, this time harder than before. Flipping a switch, the car flashed and took over driving itself. I blinked at the steering wheel, watching it gently sway back and forth while keeping us perfectly centered in the lane. This cab was like we’d jumped into the future.

Crowe twisted into the back of the car, pulling out an old zip-up hoodie that was thrown carelessly in the backseat. Then he hit a panel and pulled from it a bottle of water. I hadn’t even realized how thirsty and dehydrated I was until that glistening plastic bottle was in front of me.

“Drink this. If you were in the back of that truck all the way from the Dust Bowl, then you probably haven’t had anything to drink in nearly a day and, fuck, you’re probably starving, too.”

I took the bottle, draining it almost completely in one go.

“Easy. You’ll make yourself sick like that.” He gently pulled the bottle from my lips. I swallowed hard, wiping away the stream of water dribbling down my chin with the back of my hand.

Crowe, using his teeth like some kind of caveman, tore open a protein bar. Not giving me time to process what was in his hand, he shoved it into my mouth.

“Thank you,” I said around a mouth of peanut butter and oats. The dense bar stuck to the roof of my mouth, making me start coughing when I tried to swallow the way too-big bite.

Crowe’s eyes went wide alarm. “Fuck, you’re not allergic to peanuts, are you? Shit. I should have asked first. Can you breathe?” He frantically clambered over the seat, slamming his fist into another panel. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I have adrenaline in here somewhere.”

I tugged on the pant leg of the spectacularly defined calf dangling in the air in front of me.

“Hold on. I know it’s in here. If I just manage to—”

Crowe’s ass was nearly hitting the roof as he tried to get into the seat-back compartment. Seriously, the man must never skip leg day because, damn, those jeans were fitting in all the right places.

I tugged again. “Crowe, I’m fine. You just shoved half a protein bar in my mouth. I’m starving, but that doesn’t mean I want to choke on over-processed oats.”

He slid back down, a mix of genuine relief and embarrassment pinking his face. “So you’re not dying?”

“Not presently, but give me til morning.”

“Fearless and a comedian. You really scared me there for a second, funny girl.”

“My name is Dorothy…Thea. Call me Thea.”

“Thea,” Crowe said my name slowly, like he was trying it on for size and deciding if he liked the fit. He held up the discarded hoodie. “This should be soft enough to avoid hurting any of the wounds on your legs.” He draped the jacket over my lap, carefully checking that none of the metal parts were touching bare skin. It smelled masculine, like wood and leather. Crowe was right. It was soft and warm, making me feel instantly more secure. I clutched the edges like the bit of cotton and polyester could protect me from what came next. But the adrenaline I was running on had long since faded from my system, and I was exhausted.

I curled as tightly as my poor, lacerated back would allow, feeling where the thin fabric of my shirt had dried to my wounds, sticking and pulling as I shifted.

“Try to get some rest. It’s at least another hour before we’ll arrive.”

“Where?”

“My home. I’ll keep you safe.” Pushing the hair from my face, he added, “Sleep, beautiful.”

Crowe turned on the radio, soft jazz music filling the small space of the cab. He turned the knob, making it only just loud enough to be lulling. There was no use in trying to fight it. The last time I slept was while my arms were suspended above me, and my head kept banging into the metal wall of the container. Hardly what one could call a good night’s rest.

I should be terrified about what comes next, fighting sleep and trying to stay alert. I didn’t know Crowe and I already learned the hard way that even nice-looking guys liked inflicting pain. My instincts were telling me that I was safe with him. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever actually felt safe before. Certainly not while living on The Farm.

With the last of my strength, not even bothering to open my eyes, I murmured, “Thank you for saving me.”

“You saved yourself.” Crowe’s large hand rested against my knee. Its heavy weight calmed my trembling nerves, bringing me a sense of temporary peace. I knew in that moment my instincts were right; Crowe would protect me.

“Shhh. Sleep, Darling Thea.”

Chapter 7

Theshudderoftheengine turning off registered dully in the back of my mind. Through the fog of sleep, the metal sounds of a garage door closing filtered in.

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