Page 12 of Possession

I jerk when his knife snaps shut and he slips it back into his pocket. “Mexico.”

I swallow over my dry throat. “Mexico is a big place.”

His dark eyes never shift from me. His only answer is a lazy shrug.

“Who took me?”

He still doesn’t answer. “We’ve got a drive, and it’s late. Alamandos is anxious to get you back.”

My face falls. “I don’t want to go back.”

As Boz gives me a chin lift, I wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m proud of myself that I’m able to freak out while contemplating how he’s hotter now than when he was standing at the front of the church.

Him wearing Damian’s blood is a constant reminder that I could be in a worse position at this very moment.

I need to focus on that.

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t make me go back. Damian is dead. What do they want with me now?”

The man leering over me shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue. My orders are to find you and bring you back.”

Panic—real, heart-racing terror—is an instant hit to my system. I shake my head and there’s no controlling my tears any longer. “Please, no—”

“We’ll figure it out. All I know is they’re going to get restless and the last thing we want is for them to come looking for both of us. If you don’t get up and come on your own, I’ll restrain you again if I have to. But we’re going, and it’s happening now.”

I look down at my wrists—my skin is red and angry from the zip tie he just cut. I can’t handle that again. I certainly can’t handle being suffocated by that damn bag.

Gathering the material at my legs, I slowly scoot to the side of the bed. I feel every spring and lump beneath me shift as I force myself up.

Standing on bare feet, Boz is impossibly big. There’s no way I’ll get away from him. “I … have to go to the bathroom.”

He tips his head to the door at the side of the room. “Make it quick.”

The man can threaten me all he wants, he can’t make me move faster. The moment I click on the light and shut the door, I gasp when I get a look at myself in the mirror. The last time I saw my reflection was at the villa. I was fit for the cover of the June issue of a bridal magazine. I would know, my friends and I used to flip through them in high school, planning our dream weddings.

Dream wedding.

That’s a joke.

I look away and use the bathroom before flipping on the water. I grab a folded towel that’s threadbare and unraveling and soak it in water. Willing my hands not to tremble, I wipe dried blood from my face, neck, and chest. I’d do anything to get out of this dress.

I can’t rub hard enough and do everything I can to get the smudged makeup off my face as I go. Then I pull every pin from my hair and massage my scalp, trying to pull in deep breaths.

I jerk when there’s a rap at the door. “Chica, speed it up.”

I flip off the water and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t remember what my life was like just a week ago. I never understood what it was like to be out of choices.

I’ve heard stories of human trafficking. I’ve read about it. We were even warned when I was at San Diego State. But no one thinks it will actually happen.

And for the whole thing to be started by my own father?

I hate him.

There’s another rap at the door. “Landyn.”

I open my eyes and stare at the stranger in the mirror. I wonder what will happen to her.

I put my hand on the knob and open the door. Boz is standing in the open space with a cell to his ear.

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