Page 113 of Direct Action

With any luck, the women would be quarantined to the bottom floor of the main house. It was a pipe dream, but it was something.

Slowly he approached the woman, not knowing how he was going to release her from the cross without causing her more pain.

He came to a stop at her side. Her face came into view, and what was left of Beckett Yate’s world flew apart, taking with it what was left of his sanity.

He was no longer a man conflicted. The lawman and felon. A man who was trying to make his way back to clean.

No, standing there with black dotting his vision, staring at Poppy, he knew by the day’s end he’d be adding one more item to the long list of shit that was sending him straight to hell.

Cold-blooded killer.

Chapter Thirty-Six

I should’ve been dead.

Not hanging by my bound wrists from a hook in a small, windowed room, naked.

I’d prayed for death.

I hadn’t struggled to stay here when the darkness had taken me under.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

Dex stared at me.

But since I was alive, I now understood more. Not the ways something could go wrong, but the depths of depravity one could suffer through. I no longer wanted to die.

I wanted to kill.

“When they find me, I hope I’m still alive. I hope it’s me who stabs you straight through the heart,” I told him.

He continued to stare at me with his dead eyes full of nothingness.

The door opened. Dex stepped to the side and a sixth man entered the room. Like the five before this one, he carefully inspected every inch of me—mercifully, they weren’t allowed to touch, not until they bought me. But now, they could look, examine the product, make sure I was what they wanted before they made their purchase.

“You’ve outdone yourself with this one,” the man said. “I think I’ll stay for the auction.”

Auction.

Like I was livestock and not a person.

“You’re the last to view,” Dex said. “Bidding will open in ten minutes. You’ll have ten minutes after closing to wire the money.”

The man’s gaze came back to me, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Yes, you’ve outdone yourself.” Then to me. “We’ll be on our way shortly, pet.”

Without permission a sob tore out of my throat so painful my body bucked with it.

“Yes, my pretty pet is perfect.”

The door closed behind the man, and I was back to wishing for death.

Sheer terror infused every cell of my body.

Pet.

My heart was pounding so hard, flipping over itself, skipping beats, erratically thumping, making it hard to breathe.