Page 81 of Taming Liberty

We’re on an air mattress in Julia’s den instead of the hotel. We planned to leave when it got dark out, but Julia and her husband, Michael, insisted we stay, claiming family doesn’t stay in hotels. I’m glad. Watching Angel slowly open up in front of his family has been the best part of this trip, and it helps that Adán is freaking hilarious. He and I bonded immediately.

I lay on my side and stare at Angel’s slightly parted lips feeling an emotion that seems less scary every day.

I think I might love him.

My stomach clenches when the thought drifts into my mind, and I let the jolt of anxiety pass. Our situation is far too complicated to be feeling this strongly toward him, I know that. But still, a life with him looks better with every small detail I learn, and he transforms from a man on the island to a man I’ve been waiting all my life for. It’s too damn ironic that the guy who made me a sex slave is the same guy who makes me feel the least used. He doesn’t treat me like a trophy like my husband did. He treats me the way I never realized I deserved.

A sigh rushes over my lips, and I roll away from Angel. I woke up a while ago and couldn’t go back to sleep. There’s been too much on my mind.

I sit up and stand from the air mattress, intent on going to the bathroom. My bladder isn’t full, but laying in bed isn’t working, so I may as well get up anyway.

My eyes had acclimated to the den, but when I make it into the hallway, I squint in the inky darkness. Thick curtains are pulled over the windows, so not even moonlight acts as a guide as I walk with my hands out in front of me.

A silhouette of a lamp appears on my left, and I search for the switch to turn it on. Once I do, light floods the room, and I turn my head away from it, my eyes narrowing until they adjust.

I glance at the end table the lamp sits on, scattered with mail, then I turn and walk toward the bathroom.

My steps halt and I tense when a jarring memory comes into my mind. My heel swivels on the carpet as I turn around to look down at the scattered mail with the same hesitancy you have when watching a scary movie with your hands partially hiding your view.

An envelope stands out to me, and I don’t take my eyes off of it as I walk to the end table, my heart beating fast. I pick it up, my hand trembling as I study the embroidery. I brush my fingertips over the raised letters and have a sense of déjà vu.

I’ve seen this before, on the day I was taken. An identical envelope came in the mail, and Robert chided me for sorting through his things. He’d asked me if I’d opened the envelope, and I thought him ridiculous at the time, pegging him as neurotic with trust issues. Now I understand. I know what was inside that envelope, and I now know what the ‘RE’ stands for.

Ramos Enterprise.

My hand shakes as I tear open the envelope and pull out a thin slip of paper. I roam my eyes over the check, my throat closing when I find Angel’s signature.

“Can’t sleep?”

I slowly turn my head to look at Angel, standing a few feet away and staring at me through half-hooded lids. His hair is disheveled, and the collar of his shirt is crooked.

He must sense the absolute horror I’m experiencing because his eyes open fully, the sleep leaving his expression. His posture straightens. “Lib?”

“It was you,” I whisper, the accusation sounding more like a revelation.

His head tilts, and his mouth opens and closes. “What?”

I turn to face him fully and hold up the letter which flaps in my shaking hand. “An envelope exactly like this one showed up at my house the day I was taken. Sawyer didn’t buy me from Robert. You did.”

Iwantto be wrong. I’m searching his reaction for any indication that this is some misunderstanding, but my heart shudders when his eyes widen and his lips part. He turns his head toward the kids’ bedrooms, then he looks back at me and gestures to the front door. “Let’s talk outside.”

I drop the envelope and check, and my hand flies to cover my mouth. “Oh my God.”

He holds up his hands. “I promise, I have an explanation.”

“Fuck you!” My voice is loud enough to alert anyone in the home who isn’t a heavy sleeper, but I barely regret it.

Angel, on the other hand, cringes.

I swallow down the tears trying to free themselves and stomp toward the door, my breaths stuttering with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

“Lib,” Angel says once we are outside, grabbing my arm so I’ll stop. I jerk from his hold and continue down the driveway with no intention of slowing down.

“Lib, stop, please.”

“If you want me to stop, you’re going to have to man up and make me,” I growl. “Give up playing the nice guy role because I’m fuckingdonebeing a toy you think you can play with. You’re gonna have to tie me up and put a gag in my mouth, motherfucker. I’m done making this easy for you.”

I spin and backpedal down the street. Angel follows me with panicky, regretful eyes and his hands up in a desperate plea. “Pleasecalm down. Just give me a chance to—”

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