Page 5 of He Is Ours (Lovers in Crossfire #2)

Chapter five

Olivia

I

woke

up

the

next morning in my bed with my stomach turning, a raging headache, and my eyes puffy from crying so much yesterday.

I groan as I stretch and then try to rub the puffiness out of my eyes.

Fuck I hate crying. When I sit up, my head starts to spin, causing my nausea to get worse.

"Ughh," I grab my head, hoping my head will stop spinning long enough to get up and go pee.

I sling my legs over the side of the bed and try to stand, my knees giving out as soon as I put all my weight on them.

I feel like a fucking hungover twenty-one-year-old who just got plastered for the first time.

I sit back down on the bed and wait for a few minutes to let my head calm down.

This is going to be a long day if I can’t get my head to stop spinning.

I finally push off the bed to see if I can actually get on my feet and not fall over this time. My head starts to spin again, but I keep my balance. Finally, getting one foot in front of the other and slowly making my way to the bathroom, using the wall to hold me up.

I reach the bathroom, do my business, and then start washing my hands.

When I look up from the flowing warm water and suds going down the drain, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes have bags under them, and I have bruises up and down my arms from being manhandled by Tony.

I lift the hem of my shirt with trembling fingers, showing the canvas of red and purple bruises all over my body.

Cuts crisscross my skin like some fucking sadistic game of connect-the-dots.

The game wasn’t over until there wasn’t anything left on my body untouched.

I then look down at my legs and see the bruises that match the rest of my body.

How the fuck was anyone willing to bid on someone who was such a mess, someone with so many marks on them they looked like they were used for target practice?

Are people really that desperate for a fuck toy?

I can buy them a fucking sex robot if that’s what they want.

I look back up at my face in the reflection, and I still see a hint of a handprint around my neck, from where Tony choked me until I passed out.

That is when the first tear falls, and I have no energy to stop it.

I let the floodgates open, and I cry. I cry for the person I was, I cry for the woman I am now, and most of all, I cry for the people I wasn’t able to save.

But from this point forward, I will put my blood, sweat, and tears into saving every single person who is in human trafficking. I am going to take down Lopez García and everyone involved with him. This shit is going to end now!

When I finally make it to the living room, I see Oliver lying there on the couch, awake, playing on his phone. I look at the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but decide against that. I need answers first.

"So, why the fuck are you here, Oliver? And don’t lie to me. I’m tired of all the lies." I say with a no-bullshit tone as I collapse onto the couch next to him, throwing my arm over my face as if that could shield me from everything swirling inside my head.

Oliver takes a deep breath, as if this story is going to take everything out of him. Fucking dramatic as fuck. “Well, I guess we are cutting straight to the chase, are we?” He takes a deep breath like he is preparing for a whole speech.

“Dad told me about the call that Lopez García made when you were there. Dad was losing his shit, so I started digging, trying to figure out where you might be, where he would be holding you. After a while, I got a message from Alex on Facebook; he was also losing his mind over you being in the grasp of Lopez García. He went off the deep end, coming up with this insane plan about going to the auction and bidding on you, saying he’d win you, and I would be hiding, picking off the goons one by one, while he got you out of the way and back to safety. "

“Oh really? He was there to save me? But he bid on me? That makes perfect fucking sense. He is just like his fucking grandfather. I swear to God I don’t believe a damn word that comes out of his mouth.

” I am now sitting up, hands flaring through the air as I damn near scream at my brother because I am so furious.

Oliver’s voice cracks with a mix of disbelief and frustration as he continues. "You have it wrong, Liv…”

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“He was seriously worried about you, and you know I wouldn’t just say that shit.

When I say Alex was ready to burn the whole fucking world down to get to you, I mean it.

He was out of his mind. I don’t think you actually realize how far he was willing to go just to get you back. "

My brain is trying to process all that he is saying, but I don’t want to believe it. I can barely grasp the weight of it all. My thoughts are a tangled mess, and the flood of information is starting to drown me.

"But López García told me that Alex wanted me…" I choke on the words, my throat tight with doubt and confusion. "He said Alex knew I was there, and he…"

Before I can finish, Oliver pulls me into a tight hug, his warmth grounding me during the storm raging in my head.

My thoughts are swirling like a tornado that I can’t escape.

I can’t help it, and I sob again, this time against his chest, this time the tears falling for the guilt of suspecting Alex and the heartbreaking truth that I don’t know who to trust.

"Liv, I see you," Oliver whispers, his voice low and steady. "I can’t even imagine what you went through, but you can’t blame anyone besides the people who physically did this to you. Lopez García is to blame. Alex had nothing to do with it. I swear on my life. I can see it in the way he looks at you; he loves you more than anything, Liv. He loves you like crazy, or maybe he’s just a little crazy, but please give him a chance to explain.

If you still don’t believe him, I will follow you out the door and make sure he never comes near you again.

" I just hug him tighter and sniffle into his chest.

Oliver knows me better than anyone. He can read my mind and knows how torn I am between what is true and what is a lie. I know he sees the battle raging inside me, the one I can’t fight for myself.

“Fine. I will listen to what he has to say, but make no promises about anything.”

“Deal.” He whispers as he kisses my head and holds out his pinky to me. He knows that pinky promises are the most sacred form of promises. I wrap my pinky around his and kiss my thumb, sealing my fate.