Page 77 of Freeing Denver

“Not too much,” he says gently.

Not Colt.

That isn’t?—

My eyes snap open and I rear back, but my wrists are handcuffed to a bed. The room is sterile, cold—a hospital room. I’m in a pale blue gown, and a cotton bud is taped to my inner arm, like someone has taken my blood.

“It’s okay,” says the man beside me, giving me a wide, toothy smile, but it isn’t kind. Nothing about this situation feels kind or normal or safe. “You’re okay.”

“Where the fuck am I?” I demand, my eyes darting to the door as it opens and a second man enters. They’re both suited. Both men in my world. And then I know who they are. “If Ranger hired you?—”

The man by the door chuckles. “What, Denver? You’ll pay us twice what he is?”

“No, I’ll kill you to save my husband from doing it,” I hiss, pulling at my restraints. “Let me fucking go.”

The man by the door tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles. It’s a similar smile to the man next to me. The man who keeps trying to touch my hair.

“We can’t let you go, Deluxe,” he croons softly.

I swallow hard. “Ranger can’t seriously expect?—”

“Not Ranger.”

My toes curl, and I try to batten down the urge to vomit. “Whoever is paying you?—”

“You’ll never be able to pay more, Deluxe,” the man beside me says. “Besides, you’re pregnant. You know what that means.”

The words slam into me, and I can’t speak. I stare at him, blinking fast, trying to stop the rising panic.

I barely register the man beside me rising and leaning close, his breath rife with tobacco.

It’s then that I notice the tattoo of a spider on his neck.

“It means your price just went way up.”

Part Two

YOU’RE WHAT MY HAPPINESS LOOKS LIKE.

Chapter 23

Denver

ONE MONTH LATER

Atear slips out of my eye and into my hair as I stare out the bedroom window. Clear blue skies beyond tell me it’ll be another beautiful day—not that I’ll be able to enjoy it. The sun won’t touch my skin. The wind won’t move my hair. Fresh air won’t fill my lungs.

Not if I don’t behave.

The bedroom door opens, and I close my eyes again. I steady my breathing and try to picture I’m somewhere else.

“Breakfast in ten, Robin.”

I swallow and nod. “Okay.”

He lingers, longer than I want any man but Colt to linger, but he leaves. Once the bedroom door is closed, I scream into the pillow.

I scream because it’s the only thing I can do.