Chapter Three

Sky

He smells of cigarettes and leather.

I never imagined I would cling to a scent like a lifeline, bury myself against steel-hard muscles, and want to forget . . .

Forget about the last twenty-four hours of hell.

I tighten my hands around the man"s shoulders to stifle my cry, and I know it should mortify me just how tightly I am clinging to this stranger, but . . . I can't help myself. This is the first time in what feels like days I have felt any semblance of peace.

After what I've been through, I don't have it in me to be mortified.

"Hey Prez, our contact said they'll be here in fifteen," someone calls from behind me, and I know . . . I realize I should snap out of whatever's gotten into me and withdraw from the embrace, but I can't get my body to move away from this giant of a man.

A shiver shakes my body when he lifts a massive palm to my head to cup it, and I let his awkward pats soothe and ground me.

"Thank you for rescuing us," I whisper again, losing myself in the stranger's scent.

When the police officer I'd given my report to stopped me a couple blocks down the street to offer me a ride to the women's shelter, I'd eagerly accepted. I'd always believed that the police could be trusted implicitly. I've now learned how very wrong I was. Despite my best efforts, I'd quickly fallen asleep in the patrol car, lulled by a sense of safety after a stressful day.

I'd woken to the sound of gravel crunching under tires as we pulled into a field. Before I could ask where we were or what was happening, I was abruptly pulled from the car and thrown into the back of a box truck by men whose faces I couldn't see. I thought it was the end of my life. I figured I was being kidnapped, so I tried to pled with them to let me go, telling them that I had no money or family to pay my ransom, but they simply shoved a gun to my temple and threatened to shoot me if I made a sound.

It wasn't until I saw the other girls in the truck that I realized I wasn't being kidnapped for ransom.

What were the chances that I would get trafficked within only a few hours of being robbed of all my possessions? How could I be so unlucky?

"You're okay," the beast rumbles in my ear, sending a tremor down my neck and calming me further.

He saved me. I remind myself that this beast of a man and his friends saved us. I am not delusional enough to think they're the good guys. Not with their cold, hard eyes and tattooed arms and necks. But in this moment, they're our heroes.

The thought drives home the knowledge that a person's trustworthiness can never be judged on appearances alone.

A bunch of baby-faced teens robbed me, and a tired, middle-aged cop facilitated my being trafficked, along with a bunch of other girls. After my panic-riddled brain calmed down a bit and I realized that, at nineteen, I was the oldest among the kidnapped girls, I tried to be strong. I promised the sobbing girls that someone would come for us even though I hadn't believe it myself.

I tried not to show how badly this city had beaten me in only a few hours.

Christ, I'm so tired!

I burrow deeper into the giant's arms when I realize I don't need to be strong anymore and don't pull away until I hear one of the girls sniffle back a sob. Only then do I force myself away from the solid embrace and turn back to the truck, ignoring the tears that drip down my cheeks.

"You can come out, girls," I call out. "The police are on their way. We're safe now."

They hesitate, but only for a second before they all start filing out, one after the other. Most of the girls are underage and were kidnapped right off the streets after running away from home or in a similar fashion as me.

I push back my feelings and comfort the girls, hugging the youngest one until someone announces that the cops are only a few minutes out. The giant of a man turns toward me.

"That's my cue. The police will be here any minute. They'll take care of you. We were never here, do you understand?"

"What?" I cry. "No! You can't leave." I don't know how to put into words how terrified I am at the thought of this man leaving.

My tone must frighten the small girl in my arms because she whimpers and clings to me tighter. I give her a squeeze before passing her off to the girl next to me, who appears to be only a couple of years older than her. Fortunately, she goes willingly, and I am able to turn back to the man. Only to find he's walking away.

"Hey! Wait!" I shout, chasing after him. I rush to his side and put a hand on his arm, causing him to whirl around quickly. His eyes have a dangerous glint to them, and I gasp, backing up so fast, I nearly fall over my feet. He reaches out quickly and grabs my arms to steady me.

"Are you okay?" His eyes soften as they meet mine, and I realize he isn't as scary as I'd first believed. I think his friend called him Priest. Not sure if that's his real name or his profession, but either way, those dark eyes threaten to undo what little control I am clinging to.

I hold back from jumping into his arms this time, despite how badly I want to.

"I'm . . ." I start to assure him that I am fine, but I would be lying. I'm the furthest thing from okay, but that doesn't matter now. "The police . . . It was a cop that kidnapped me. How do we know these police are safe? That we'll be okay? Can't you stay with us?" I'm babbling, I know, but the thought of this man leaving me behind has icy dread coursing through my veins.

Priest's eyes go dangerously dark again, and he clenches his jaw. Somehow, though, I know his anger isn't directed at me. "They're safe, I promise you. They will make sure everyone gets the care they need and is reunited with their families."

"How can you be so sure?" I whisper, staring into the giant's coal black eyes, so dark they threaten to suck me into their bottomless depths, but I refuse to look away. I need this—to know that the girls are safe is the only thing keeping me standing at this point.

Priest studies me for a moment, his gaze sending a rush of heat down my spine. "I have connections on the force. I will follow up to make sure the girls are united with their families."

I believe him. I don't have the best track record for trusting people, but I trust this man for some reason.

I breathe out a relieved sigh. "Thank you. But, um, what about the girls who don't have family?"

Dark eyes narrow on me once more, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see flashing lights across the barren distance.

"C'mon, Prez, we have to go!" a man on a large, dark motorcycle shouts. Priest waves him off.

"Go on. I'll be right behind you." To me, he asks, "Which of the girls doesn't have family to go home to?"

From our time locked in the truck together, I know that I am actually the only one of us who doesn't have a home or family waiting for me. I gulp, trying to force back the trembling that's overtaken my body, then answer, "M-me. I, um, don't have anyone . . ."

Priest looks at me for a beat then over his shoulder at the quickly approaching lights. He curses under his breath, then takes my hand and leads me over to his bike. "I can't be here when the police arrive, but I can't leave you on your own either. You can come with me, and we'll figure out what to do."

A cry erupts from behind us, and I turn to see the young girl who'd hugged me rip herself away from the other girl and run toward me. "Where are you going? He can't take you!" she says on a sob when she reaches me, throwing her small arms around my waist.

I grip her shoulders tightly and look back at Priest, who nods, then I turn back to the girl. "It's okay, sweetheart," I soothe. "The police are coming—the real police, men and women who will protect you and make sure you get home. You're safe now, I promise." It's not a vow I should be making, but something tells me it's the truth. "I don't have a family waiting for me. Pr—" I cut myself off, realizing abruptly that he probably doesn't want any of us to know his name. "This man is going to help me. I'll be okay."

The young girl sniffles, but she lets me go and returns to the others, who are huddled close together next to the box truck.

With one last look at them as the lights of the police cars draw closer, I turn and join Priest next to his bike. He helps me put on a helmet, then before he gets on the bike, he slings his leather jacket over my shoulders. It smells strongly of him, the mix of leather and cigarettes oddly comforting. I didn't realize how cold I am until now.

"Thank you," I whisper, burrowing deeper into its warmth.

"Where do you want to go?" Priest asks as he helps me settle on the bike behind him. His touch on my arm is warm and reassuring even through the thick material of his jacket.

"Can you take me back twenty-four hours before I came to Austin?" I joke, but really, there is nothing funny about this situation.

"I can take you to a gated compound with more than twenty bikers living there—most of whom are fully armed—and offer you a room where you can sleep without having to worry about your safety."

Sleep. Comfort. Peace.

They all sound like such foreign concepts, and yet, I crave them more than I do my next breath.

I tug the leather jacket closer, letting his scent calm me before looking up to his face. "Will you be there?" I ask him, my voice breaking as I try to search his eyes in the dark. "Will you stay with me?"

It's crazy. After everything that's happened today, perhaps what I need is a room with at least three locks and the dresser pressed against the door . . .

No! What I need is a strong presence to fight off all the demons that threaten to pull me under. I don't want to be alone. Not tonight.

"I'll stay with you."