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I chance a look around the back of the van. Storm Saint James is driving. To escape, I had to climb over an eight-foot stone wall, and he was the one that caught me on the other side. The hands of men usually make my skin crawl, but he was gentle, and only touched me where absolutely necessary. His gray eyes were kind as he placed me down and walked me to stand beside the van.
Rayne Saint James is sitting in the passenger seat, and he’s every bit as imposing as he looked in the newspaper articles I’ve seen. My second owner had a kind housekeeper who would occasionally bring me something to read, and sometimes that was something as simple as the paper. His hair and eyes are the same shade of black, and it’s almost overwhelming to look at him, which is why when he helped me over the wall, I avoided his gaze at all costs.
Elijah Russo is the one I want to avoid like the plague, because on the off chance they’re not already planning to sell me to the highest bidder, I’m not risking being a target of him or his family. His uncle Angelo used to come to The Factory with girls to sell, and they were always beat-up and broken before they even got through the doors. Elijah’s green eyes have been mostly locked on his phone, but occasionally they flicker up to survey the van. His dirty blond hair is messy from running his hands through it so many times, and I wonder how long they’ve been looking for Clara. It must be nice to have people willing to drop everything to find you.
A pang of hurt fills my chest. The other two men in the van were meant to be that for me. They were meant to rescue me. In fact, they promised they would. They swore they wouldn’t let me rot in that house. But they lied. Just like everyone else in my life.
Tommy holds Clara close. His messy, dark-blond hair is a little longer than it was when I knew him, but his blue eyes are shining with something akin to relief. The way his arms are wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck, it makes me long for that kind of connection. She’s holding on just as tight, and if I were capable of feeling happiness, perhaps I would feel it for Clara. I’ve only known her for a short time, but the idea of having someone by my side in that house was enough to make me breathe easier as soon as we met. Her dark brown hair is still piled in a messy ponytail on the top of her head, and her deep-brown eyes are closed as she breathes Tommy in.
I have to admit, I never really thought he would settle down. Never seemed the type. But the way they cling to one another is proof of just how wrong I was.
And then there’s Ace. The boy I loved before I understood what love was. The one who held me the first night I arrived at the foster home at six years old, having just lost both my parents, and even though he was only a year older than me, he seemed to know all I needed was for someone to hold me. He protected me from our foster parents, took the blame for things so I wouldn’t be hurt or starved, helped me with my homework when I was struggling, and camped outside the girls’ bedroom door to make sure none of our foster father’s friends came in at night. He was always my hero. Until he didn’t save me.
His blond hair is shorter than I remember, but still wild like the boy I knew. His green eyes still have butterflies fluttering around my belly like a silly schoolgirl, even if I’m far from that now. I’m nothing more than a broken shell of the girl he once knew.
The van comes to a stop, and my stomach drops. They’re probably dropping me off somewhere, ready to sell me to the next sick fuck who has more money than God and can make my life a living hell. But when I glance out the front window, I notice a large jet. I’ve been on a few flights before, but I’m normally blindfolded and bound when I get on and off the plane. Apart from the trip to Disneyland my parents took me on when I was five, this is the first time I’ll step onto one with my own two feet.
“Come on, sugar, let’s get you on the plane and settled,” Ace says softly. His voice is deeper than it was the last time we spoke, but there’s something heartbreakingly familiar about the way he uses my nickname.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I force a memory down. The first time I asked why he called me that was from the very first day we met.
“Because as soon as I saw you, I knew you were the sweetest girl I’d ever meet.”
But I can’t allow myself to enjoy hearing the term of endearment again, no matter how my heart flutters uncomfortably in my chest.
“Mia?” he presses, and I shake myself from my daze. I’m not used to people being so gentle with me. I’ve spent so many years being told what to do in harsh orders, and perhaps that’s all I can respond to now.
“Sorry,” I whisper and hesitantly link my hand with his. It’s warm and gentle, despite how hard he looks now. The easy-going boy I remember is long gone, and in his place is a tattooed man with too many ghosts behind his eyes.
He gives me a weak smile and pulls me toward the back door before gently lifting me down to the tarmac. His hands on my hips send equal parts panic and comfort through me. The two are such contrasting feelings, but somehow they’re warring inside me.
He guides me to the jet and helps me up the steps without hesitation, his hand pressed to the small of my back in a caring gesture, but all it does is remind me of all the men who have touched me since the last time we saw one another. The skin beneath his hand crawls at the thought, but I breathe through it just the same way I always do. Every time a man has touched me in the last eight years, I have compartmentalized it. I go to another place within my mind and stay there until it’s over. My safe place.
I stop dead at the entrance to the cabin, my breath stuck in my throat. Holy shit, this thing is huge. Dark gray leather lines the seats that look both luxurious and comfortable as hell, and although I likely won’t be able to close my eyes for long enough to sleep, exhaustion tugs at the edge of my consciousness.
Ace leads me to the middle of the cabin and into one of the oversized seats, quickly clipping the seat belt around my waist. His hard body is tense, but the tenderness he’s showing me has butterflies erupting in my belly.
Tommy argues with the flight attendant about something, but I can’t tear my eyes off Ace for long enough to work out what’s going on.
I’ve found myself lost in his eyes a lot in the past, but it’s never felt quite as meaningful as the connection I’m not brave enough to break.
It feels like coming home, and that terrifies me.
CHAPTER TWO
ACE
The ocean blue I’m staring into has always had the power to bring me to my knees. When we were kids, I had no idea what the feeling was, and it wasn’t until I lost her that I realized.
Mia was my everything from the first time I saw her, and having her within my reach again is almost overwhelming. She looks so fucking broken. The spark I remember is gone, and even though her eyes are still the unreal color they always were, the life has been drained from them, and the emptiness left behind makes me want to tear my own heart from my chest and hand it to her as an offering, as penance for letting her go through whatever the fuck she’s had to endure since she was taken from me.
Her blonde locks are long and unkempt, even in the messy ponytail on top of her head, it’s clear it hasn’t been cut in years.
And yet it’s her body that has bile climbing up the back of my throat. Not because she’s too fat or too thin, I don’t give a shit what my woman looks like as long as she’s healthy, but that right there is the problem. Mia is anything but healthy, and her body is the ultimate proof of that.
I noticed it when I had my hand pressed to her lower back, the way her spine protruded unnaturally into my palm. And then again as I wrapped the belt around her waist and my knuckles brushed over her hip bones that are far too prominent. I can’t begin to fathom what she’s been through in the last eight years, but at the very least she hasn’t been fed well, and that’s about to change, even if I have to force-feed her every bite of food for the rest of her fucking life.
“Do you need anything?” I rumble, the words burning my throat as I force them out past the bile. I’ve hated myself for every single second of the last eight years for letting them take her, but never more than I do right now. At least before we found her, I could surmise she was dead and no longer in pain or scared. But this is so much worse than death.
