As she drove, he sat sideways in his seat, arms locked to his chest, watching her with a maelstrom of thoughts turning behind his eyes.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “What are you thinking about?”

“Why does Mr. E require ten weeks of training?”

This would be difficult to explain to a guy who didn’t fit the hostage mold. “He allows the stages of captivity to run its course. Panic and denial consume the initial seconds to hours. Hostility and escape attempts happen in the first few weeks.” She swallowed. Never had she considered allowing captives to ride up front on their way to an intro meeting. Two weeks into their confinement, and their eyes burned with a desperate need to escape.

The pale green eyes studying her were patient, thoughtful, and nothing she was accustomed to dealing with. He rolled his lips. “And after the first few weeks?”

She stretched her neck, eyes on the cars zipping along beside them. “True acceptance is gradual and doesn’t fully materialize until the first couple months. Acceptance is necessary for the kind of slave Mr. E is selling. One who can follow his Master around without noticeable restraints.” Complete and total submission. Broken and hopeless.

“Eight slaves in seven years, if you count me.” His steady gaze warmed her face. “Nine, if you include yourself. That’s little over a captive a year. What do you do the rest of the time?”

“We hunt. Our selection process is based on the buyer’s requirements, family and social situations, but most importantly, the captive’s ability to conform. The latter takes months of surveillance to determine the ideal candidate.”

He shook his head. “You watched me for weeks and—”

“I knew.” Her stomach clenched, conflicted and lost. “I knew you weren’t the right choice for this.” She met his eyes and found her way. “You were the right choice for me. When I saw you, I couldn’t walk away.”

A smile tipped the side of his mouth. “There’s my girl, honest and open. Was that so hard?”

Her chest lightened, her pulse pumping in an untroubled rhythm. “You’re easy to talk to.” And easy to love.

As she drove, she explained what she knew of Mr. E’s network, how he never had contact with the clients, and how he’d created a referral system for new buyers. “Each buyer must pass along a reference at the intro meeting. It’s Mr. E’s requirement in the contract. Since I’m the only one who meets face-to-face, Mr. E preserves his and the clients’ anonymity. Once the delivery is made and the transaction is sent, we never hear from them again.” There was so much more to that last part.

His silence pulled at her skin, scratching with unasked questions. No doubt he was thinking about how impossible it would be to find her previous captives. If he asked where they were, she would lie to him the way she lied to herself. They had to be dead to her, because the truth was too risky, for him and everyone involved.

When he finally spoke, his question surprised her. “Are there female buyers?”

She imagined him growing hard beneath another woman’s whip, and a double knot of jealousy tightened her tone. “What? A female buyer would’ve made this easier for you?” It was unfair to accuse, and she immediately wanted to take it back.

He sucked his teeth at her, his voice low and aggravated. “I’m struggling to understand how I’m supposed to be a straight guy who hates women.”

She flicked the blinker and changed lanes. “There was one female buyer. She wanted a male slave.” A corporate, power-charged bitch with a chip on her shoulder. “I don’t know what prompted the unusual demand of misogyny with this one, but it’s imperative you give the impression that you despise me and any other woman who might be present.”

A miserable silence followed as they watched the open pastures blur by. How would someone make a person hate women? It was an impossible requirement, but she’d known that going in.

She grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the console, cracked the window, and lit one. “Recite the requirements. The better you know them, the easier it will be for you to embody them.”

He narrowed his eyes on her cigarette. Oh, he wanted to scold her, and if they were on their way to somewhere…normal, he probably would have pulled out his preachology. Instead, he smirked and dictated the rules. Listening to him practice the loathsome words, knowing he was doing it for her, made her want him with a ferocity that burned the backs of her eyes and swallowed her destination.

He repeated the twelve requirements with fewer and fewer errors, until he relayed them perfectly. His body molded to the words, his chin dropping, thighs opening, no hint of resistance in his voice. She knew he wasn’t losing himself. He was acclimating. For her.

Her body heated and tightened. He was the strength and heart of the most dangerous jump. He was the soul of bravery wrapped in chains. He would never fall, no matter how much metal weighted him down. He was a man who loved selflessly and honestly, and she was taking him to a monster who would slice him open and fuck the incision.

She gripped the wheel with two fists, unable to steer off course, unable to save him from herself.

An hour into the drive, flat fields tumbled into the scattered tower blocks of Austin.

“I grew up here.” Her voice sounded distant to her ears. Memories could tear her apart, but they were there, gathering in the clouds that hovered over the metropolis. “Just a few miles that way.”

He turned to face her. “What was your childhood like?”

“Spent a lot of time up there.” She pointed at the blue sky that spanned beyond the reinforced concrete and steel. “When I wasn’t at school, I was jumping with Mom.” She smiled past the burn in her throat. “I used to sing to the first-time jumpers. Mom said it calmed them, but it’s so noisy on the plane—”

“Sing to me.” His gentle tone competed with the hard set of his jaw.

She wanted to, desperately needing the distraction. She began with “Pretty Face” by Sóley, letting the misty notes rise to her lips and carry them out of her hometown.

When she hummed the song to a close, he regarded her as a lover might, affection softening his eyes and lips, his shoulders curling forward as if reaching toward her. “Gives me chills, Liv. Every damned time. Your beauty isn’t just an experience for the eyes. It breathes through the ears and evokes a reaction so consummating, it claims the soul.”

Her boot slipped off the gas pedal. She regained her footing but not her voice. It was flattened somewhere beneath her galloping heart.

“I can feel you.” He leaned back, inhaled deeply. “Inside me. Everywhere. You own me. You will always own me, and I will walk through hell to keep it that way.”

Eyes on the road, her breath shivered from her lungs, cracking her voice. “You own me, too.”

“I know.” He pinned her with those mesmerizing pale eyes. “Sing another one.”

She shuffled through her favorite atmospheric tunes, serenading him, drawing out every minute they were side by side, beyond the prison walls, speeding in the same direction.

An hour south of San Antonio, her phone buzzed in her lap. They both jumped and stared at one another until it buzzed again. She lifted it to her ear.

“Take 85 west toward Asherton.” The buyer’s voice was suave, smooth, and thick with a Latino accent. “There’s an abandoned railway station.” He gave the address and disconnected.

She entered it into the GPS. “One hour away.” And minutes from the Mexican border.

How easy it would be to disappear. She could toss the phone Mr. E tracked her on. Maybe he wouldn’t try to find her. But she couldn’t escape the news coverage. His promise to punish her with national headlines of Mattie’s death made her hands shake. Her fingers turned to ice on the steering wheel.

Josh’s gaze was tangible, pressing into her skin. “You okay?”