The job, the job, the job. Focus on the job. Be the job. Or else. It was all she was, a mechanical, hollow nothing that did anything needed to prevent the else.

A violent shudder snapped through her bones. As long as she lived, Mom and Mattie would be in danger. Her death would set them free. So many times, she came close but couldn’t do it. She was a weak, selfish cunt.

She pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”

His arm tightened against her waist. “The child will be fine.”

The child.

“She’s your child.” Spit flew from her lips, her voice rising. “Our child.”

He dropped the device and spun her off his lap. Her back hit the couch, the weight of him holding her down. Her pathetic struggle ended with her arms above her head, shackled by one of his hands, his other pointing at the phablet on the floor. “She’s not our child!” His volume hiked, matching hers. “She belongs to that woman.”

“A woman who probably works for Mr. E!” In six years and twenty-one videos, the blonde’s face had never been revealed. Mattie’s life depended on Liv. A failure during the job or a fracture in the rules promised another accident. Mom had been meant to die in that car. Mattie wouldn’t be so lucky. Only Liv could protect her, and the safest way would be to hide her from Mr. E. She could be anywhere in the world. Liv desperately needed her name.

“Wipe that look off your face.” He pressed his hips against hers, the steel of his irises resistant and unfeeling. “Even if you could find her, you can’t take her from the only mother she’s ever known.”

“The way you snatched me from my mother?”

His lips thinned into hard lines with clenched teeth in the middle. “Back to this again?”

“You started this when you accepted his proposal. You chose to ruin people’s lives.”

He released her arms, standing tall and imposing, and glared down at her. “Mr. E started it when he freed me from that goddamned slum.” He stabbed a finger at the front door as if indicating the direction of his crackhaggot mother. She slung drugs in El Paso, assuming she still lived. Liv knew he didn’t care either way.

Mr. E had freed him from his victimized life, trained him to be a deliverer, and paid him to kidnap a girl of his choice. Lucky for him, his choice ignorantly roller-bladed up to his car.

Her chest ached, her body felt cold. “You broke his rules.”

He’d taken her virginity not long after capture. Eight weeks later, he delivered her to the client, claiming she met the requirements of obedience and chastity. The former was accurate. Van had well and truly whipped the insolence out of her and replaced it with the trap of fear. The chastity, however, was disproved when the buyer brought in a doctor while Van waited for the exam results and the money transfer. The positive pregnancy test was a shock to everyone. Except Van.

She sat up, unable to glance away from the scar that perforated his prominent cheekbone, his face otherwise model-perfect from his clear, round eyes and full lips to the high, smooth bridge of his strong nose. His complexion glowed so vibrantly with health, one could almost overlook the four-inch red cut. The laceration Mr. E had given him when the buyer returned her without payment. The mate to the one she’d received minutes after his.

He watched her with a toothpick in his mouth and the harsh lines of intention etched around his eyes. “I saved you.”

Did he save her by impregnating her before she was sold? Or when he pleaded for her life as Mr. E held the gun to her head upon her return? What did a human trafficker want with a pregnant slave? In the end, Mr. E gave Van what he’d wanted: Her.

“Yeah, you saved me.” She clenched and unclenched her hands. “Instead of a life as a sex slave or a bullet in the brain, I got a disfigured face, my tubes tied, an illegal job, and a promise that I will never hug the only two people who matter to me.”

His darkening expression blasted her anger to her stomach. That look had trained her to avert her eyes and drop to her knees. But sometimes, in the dark, the intensity of his stare and the openness of his lust almost felt like love.

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Someday, I hope to matter to you, because you are the only one who matters to me. You will always be mine, Liv.”

The promise propelled her to the night he’d preyed on her fear of him, comforting her while piercing past her virginal barrier. In that moment of frailty, wrapped in his strong arms, that scared, lonely girl had wanted nothing more than his devotion. She should’ve fought, should’ve retained some inkling of dignity.

That girl had realized, too late, something wasn’t quite right with his adoring smile. After that night, the matching scars, and the loss of Mattie, that girl fell so far the hand of God couldn’t pull her back. If manufacturing sex slaves in the house of evil was the only way to protect Mom and Mattie, to hell with God and everyone else.

Van rolled the toothpick between his lips and knelt in the V of her legs. “Shall we head to bed?”

The desire in his eyes knocked her backward. She pulled her knees up and pivoted, scrambling off the couch. “I have a job to do.”

He caught her before she reached the stairs, slamming her back against the wall, his lips a toothpick away from hers. His hand moved over her waist, fingers slipping beneath her waistband.

The way his breath hitched and the heat melting his steely eyes swept an uninvited warmth through her womb. When he spit the pick on the floor and slanted his mouth toward hers, she jerked her face away. Damn, his fucking lips. His kisses were potent, and she was too emotionally exhausted to pretend like they weren’t.

A strong finger on her chin turned her face back to his. “Don’t you dare look away from me.” He captured her bottom lip between his, nuzzling, and pulled back. Her heart raced and her weak fucking knees wobbled. His gaze roamed over her eyes, hair, and mouth, gorging on every detail. “Christ, Liv, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

She shivered at the compliment. Or was it the nausea tumbling her stomach? Why wasn’t she fighting him? Spitting and punching and running away? Was it his strength holding her against the door? The conditioning instilled in her as a slave? The connection they shared through Mattie? Or was it as shallow as lust in the proximity of those stark gray eyes and talented lips?

He shoved a hand through her hair and licked the corner of her mouth. “I won’t touch your defenses. Just give me everything else.”

Yet he’d already taken everything, and her walls against him were splintering. Even if she could bring herself to kill him, she was restrained by the contract on Mom and Mattie’s lives. A contract that would mobilize a hit man if he or Mr. E died suspiciously.

Her chest hurt, and her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Sure, she could run. She could disappear somewhere they couldn’t find her. But Mr. E had promised that if she vanished, he’d make Mom and Mattie’s death so vile, it would reach national attention. Just to ensure it reached her attention.

Trapped in paranoia, she was terrified to make a mistake, her every action watched, judged, and used to threaten her family. Her nerves were so raw, she trusted nothing, connected to no one, and her loneliness was exasperated by her complicated fucking relationship with the man peppering kisses over her lips. She wanted to love him even as her fingers twitched to run a blade across his throat.

She spoke against his persistent mouth. “If the boy is suffocating on his own vomit, I won’t be around long enough to give you anything.”

His face tightened. “Very well. Go check on him.” He stepped back to give her just enough room to slip around him. As she did, a recognizable pang assaulted her scalp. She didn’t have to look back to know he held a chunk of her hair in his fist.