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She’s talking about my semen. Out loud. Praising it. And it makes me pop off harder.
Longer.
I’m panting and boneless by the time I’m finished, collapsing beside her like a man who has just been baptized, razed by the holy spirit. I pull her into my arms and she comes so sweetly, so trustingly, I know I’m finding a church tonight. I’d sell my soul to be her husband. She’s my everything. Today, tomorrow and always. “Tatum—”
The sound of car doors slamming out in the parking lot is followed by the sound of clipped voices, raising my hackles. Men. They sound familiar—and they shouldn’t. Not here, so far from home. From the headquarters of the freight company I work for.
They’re here for Tatum.
My boss knew I was bluffing. That I could never traffic a human being, let alone this one. This fucking angel on earth that belonged to me the second I saw her photograph. Mine.
Mine.
If they touch her, I will slaughter them like dogs.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers, looking up at me, drowsy. Beautiful.
There are at least half a dozen men out there. I can’t take chances with those odds.
Fuck. Being apart from her now is going to be like ripping the heart out of my chest, but I don’t have a choice. Keeping her safe is my priority. “Tatum, listen to me very carefully,” I tilt up her chin. “I need you to take the truck and go. Drive somewhere safe, then switch to a train. Travel at least a hundred miles west, then find a motel and wait for me there. I’m going to give you my phone, so I can call you and find out where you are.”
“But…why? What’s happening?”
The voices are getting louder. Approaching the truck. They recognize it. “I don’t have time to explain, baby. I have to protect you. Please just do as I ask.”
I’m in love with her. I realize that when she nods and jumps into action like a badass, fixing her clothing and climbing into the front seat. Starting the rig, even though she has no experience driving one. We give each other one long, final look.
“I’ll find you, Tatum,” I vow before I jump out, still shirtless.
And take on the six violent men approaching me with everything I’ve got.
Chapter Five
Tatum
Three months later
I walk across the dark campus, holding my nightly ginger ale in my hand…but this time I’m surprised to find I don’t need it. Glory hallelujah, the morning sickness has passed. Honestly, if I wasn’t so exhausted from attending a full day of art school classes, I might even dance a jig, right here in the darkness.
After stopping long enough to stow my ginger ale away in my backpack, I continue across the empty pathway, traveling beneath streetlights, darkness, then back into the light. A pattern I’ve grown familiar with since I finagled my way into art school in Minnesota. Dark, light. Night, day. Work, sleep, repeat. But at least I’m safe. At least I found a way to follow my dream, despite having my life knocked over like a house of cards that night three months ago.
Up ahead, on one of the benches, there is a couple making out. The girl is all but straddling the boy and I’m pretty sure they’re up to no good inside his overcoat. Not wanting to disturb them, I consider my alternate routes. There is a narrow alleyway between two campus buildings that leads to the street, but it’s pitch black, so I usually only take the shortcut during the day. Still, when the girl whines and fully seats herself on the boy’s lap, I veer toward the alley, trying not to think of the one and only time I truly lost myself like that.
On reflex, I curve a hand over my belly, which is only beginning to swell with signs of life.
Hoss never came for me. Never called his phone.
I did exactly as he told me. I drove the rig several miles down the interstate and left it at a truck stop near a train station. Using the money he gave me, I booked a train ticket to Wisconsin, found a motel room and waited, leaving only for food and to buy clothes, toiletries. I waited for weeks, sketching comics on the surfaces of motel notepads. Somewhere around the beginning of the third week is when I started to throw up. And I realized my period was late.
What would Comeback Girl do?
I asked myself that so many times.
But until I saw the two red lines staring up at me on the pregnancy test, I never really, truly answered the question. If Comeback Girl was pregnant and on the run from possible human traffickers—would she sit around and wait for a man to show up and make everything okay? No. She would pull up her big girl panties and start over. She’d make her own comeback.
And the terrible truth is that…
Is that…
