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“You’re a fucking cunt, and it’s better this way,” he grunts. “I need Tempt to get me information, and you’ve been nothing but in my goddamn way this whole time. Plus, it appears as if you’re his favorite toy, so you need to get gone.”
My brother starts to ramble and doesn’t stop. He continues, his voice rising with each word he speaks as he continues to drive even more erratically with each minute that passes. I keep my eyes open, even though I want to close them every time he jerks the wheel, but I need to see what happens next.
Sucking in a breath, I hold it as I brace for impact. I’m sure he’s going to slam into the back of this red pickup truck in front of us, but he doesn’t. He swerves at the last second and then exits the road we’re on.
I open my mouth to ask him where he’s going but decide against it. He would probably reach back and slap the shit out of me if I did anyway. When he jerks the wheel again, he turns down a dark road.
There is nothing, not even a single bit of light, save for the headlights of this car. Fear slides down my spine. Not that I wasn’t scared before, but right now, this is bigger. This is more. This is a dark isolated place, and he’s taking me farther and farther away.
Turning my head, I stare out of the side of window, trying to find anything recognizable, but there is nothing. It’s just a vast empty darkness.
A void.
It’s then that I realize where I am.
I’m in the middle of the desert.
This is a trade.
I’m going to be given to someone in exchange for something, likely money, possibly a debt to be determined at a later date. What I am not going to be is freed, or even able to get away. I’m barefoot in a skimpy dress.
I am dressed exactly how someone who would buy a woman would want me. Barefoot and sexy. Unable to run with easy access to my body. Tears fill my eyes. I was so grateful to be taken away from that life when I married Itch, and I never imagined I would feel this way again.
The car turns right, traveling down a singular road in the middle of nowhere, then it comes to a complete stop. I stare out the windshield, holding my breath as I wait for him to climb out of the car, but he doesn’t. He leaves the vehicle running as we stay parked.
Then I see it.
A helicopter.
It lands, the noise so loud that it makes my head ache, my brain pounding against my skull over and over. Until it ends.
“Get out,” Dutch growls.
“This won’t fix anything,” I finally speak.
He doesn’t look back at me. He stares straight ahead, his focus on that helicopter as he watches two people exit. Reaching out, I almost touch his shoulder but pull my hand back, deciding against it.
“It won’t. But destroying Itch will make me feel a hell of a lot better.”
“You don’t care what happens to me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He doesn’t care what happens to me. He never did, and he never will. I am nothing more than a bargaining chip for him. He probably didn’t even agree to the contract and marriage to Itch. It was probably all Raul’s doing, and that likely pissed Dutch off even more, which odds are is the reason all of this was set into motion in the first place.
“I don’t,” he announces, answering me. “You are nothing except a means to gain power or money. This time, it’s power.”
“I’m married,” I whisper. “It’s legal and binding. He will look for me.”
Dutch lets out a bark of laughter as he reaches for the door handle. He turns his head, finally looking back at me, and the glare in his eye causes my breath to hitch. He has zero feeling. There is nothing behind his eyes. Only emptiness.
“He won’t even remember you in a couple of months. That bitch will pop out a kid, and they’ll live happily ever after. You are replaceable, Piper. Every woman is.”
My heart sinks, mainly because I know his words are true.I am replaceable. Although I don’t believe him when he says that every woman is. I know that Legacy and Roadkill would not be able to replace Henli and Kiplyn so easily. They love their wives and their families.
“I’m not just any woman, Dutch. I’m his property. I don’t think that he would forget so easily,” I say, my voice nowhere near confident enough for the words I’m saying to him.
Dutch shrugs a shoulder as he pushes the door open. “Doesn’t fucking matter,” he grinds out before he turns and yanks my car door open.
Talking time is over. Dutch reaches in, wraps his fingers around my bicep, and roughly tugs me out of the car. I don’t bother whimpering when I step on sharp rocks. When a cactus brushes my leg, it doesn’t matter. Pain no longer matters to me, because I know that is all I will know soon.
