Inevitable Detour (16 page)

“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing when he’s practically on top of me.

“Checking out what you’re folding there,” he says nonchalantly, nodding to a set of silky red Victoria’s Secret bra and panties. “I don’t think I’ve seen those on you yet,” he remarks.

“I wore them on one of our first days,” I say. “Before we were, uh, messing around.”

“Messing around,” he mumbles to himself, chuckling. And then he leans in even closer, his breath warm and sweet at my ear. “Hmm, maybe you can wear those tonight for me. You know,” he quips, “before we get to the ‘messing around’ part of things.”

“Farren,” I admonish, blushing.

Images of him peeling the lingerie off of me and then covering each inch of newly exposed skin with hungry kisses have me feeling hot and horny right in the middle of the Laundromat.

“Maybe I can wear them sooner,” I suggest. “Like as soon as we get back to the motel.”

Farren leans down and kisses my lips lightly. “I’d like that, Essa,” he tells me.

But before we can race back to the motel, Farren has to drop off his nicer clothes—dress pants and button-down shirts—at the dry cleaner next door.

“Have them ready by tomorrow morning,” he tells the withered old woman at the counter after she takes his clothes.

She has a hooknose and no-nonsense eyes that flash in irritation when she barks, “Two business days is the best we can do.”

Farren hands her a fifty. Quirking an eyebrow, he says, “Now can you have the clothes ready by tomorrow?”

She snatches up the bill. “Yes, sir,” she says, her tone suddenly breezy. “Your clothes will be pressed and ready by nine.”

“Make it eight.”

The counter woman can’t meet Farren’s hard stare. She acquiesces and says, “Eight it is.”

“Do you always get your way, Farren?” I ask on the way to where we parked the SUV.

“Mostly,” he replies with a cocky grin. “Throwing some money around always helps.”

I just shake my head and smile in return.

Damn, I am falling for Farren. Spending all this time together, continuously, with no breaks, has allowed us to grow close, very close. Just the other evening after eating something that didn’t agree with me, I was feeling sick and Farren stayed by my side all night. As he held me in his arms I asked him to tell me something to distract me from my aching belly. He told me dirty jokes the soldiers in his basic-training unit had once shared. I was soon laughing and forgetting all about my upset stomach.

I’m finding Farren is everything guys my own age aren’t. He’s attentive and exceptionally sweet to me, and he makes me feel good about myself. Not to mention he sure is incredibly nice to look at.

And that’s what I’m doing once we’re back at the motel. I’m watching a very hot, very handsome Farren lower his head to my breast. I’m not wearing a thing as I lie on the bed. Remember that sexy lingerie? Well, it was put on…and promptly removed—very slowly—by Farren. Farren, with his dark hair currently mussed from my fingers raking through the silky strands again and again.

He latches on to a nipple, and I gasp in response. I watch as thick, corded muscles in his shoulders and arms bunch and contract as he moves his body over mine. So far, Farren has been above me, beside me, behind me, and under me as we’ve engaged in many sexual acts. The only place he’s not yet been is inside of me.

And I. Am. Dying.

“Please, Farren,” I plead, the weight of his erection pressing enticingly at my thigh. “Just put it in for a second.”

He releases my nipple and looks up at me. “Patience, Essa,” he replies.

“How can you be so strong?” I ask.

“How can I not?”

Farren won’t articulate it, but I know what he’s doing. It’s not just a wait-until-Essa-is-ready thing, though there is that. Farren is also molding me—sexually—to be exactly how he wants me to be. He’s making me his, teaching me what he likes. He shows me how he wants me to touch him, and he asks me to tell him which of the many things he does to me I like best. Turns out, I like pretty much everything he does. I respond favorably to Farren’s every touch, his every grasp. I learn to let myself go. I’ve become comfortable with Farren. My body craves what he gives me, and I know he enjoys watching me revel in pleasure. And I certainly enjoy pleasing him in whichever way he desires.

The man is infinitely creative, too. Like the next morning in the shower…

We’re not actually showering. No, not yet. Farren isn’t even in the shower. He’s seated, naked, on the edge of the tub. I’m in the shower, but I’m not washing. I am getting myself off for Farren’s pleasure…and for my own, of course.

Hot water pours down my back, adding to all the heady sensations. One foot is up on Farren’s bare thigh. He wants to see everything I do to myself, and he wants to see it all up close. We’ve left the shower curtain half-open and water is shooting everywhere.

But neither of us cares. Farren is too busy watching me. And he’s jerking off.

He finds a rhythm that matches the one I have going as I slide my fingers over my clit and into my pussy again and again.

I gasp, he groans. My toes curl and his quad beneath my foot tightens. “I’m close,” I rasp.

In response, he aims his cock at my folds, and when I start to pulse, so does he. Hot spurts of his essence hit my pussy, as well as my moving fingers. My orgasm is prolonged when I think of how erotic and dirty this act is…and how much I love it.

“Did you like that?” Farren asks a minute later as he’s getting into the shower behind me.

I lean back against his hard chest. “Yes,” I reply, “very much.”

Farren picks up the soap and gently lathers my shoulders. His strong hands ply at muscles that are sore from him working me in so many sexual ways. His hands skim down my back, and he murmurs, “My Essa.”

“I am your Essa,” I whisper.

And it’s true. I am becoming his in every way. Farren molds me. He shapes me. He’s making me ready to become his in the only way he hasn’t had me yet.

And, boy, am I ever ready.

W
hen we get word from Rick that the rescue attempt has been a success—Haven is safe and at the house near Las Cruces—Farren and I head back out on the road. The weather is perfect, and I’m in a fine mood, so I take loads of pictures with the disposable camera Farren bought me on day one.

When I reach the last shot and utter a curse, he looks over. “Ready for another?” he asks.

“I think so,” I reply.

At our next stop, Farren buys me an entire bagful of cameras.

Two hundred miles into our travels, though, I’m kind of done with snapping photos of passing scenery. I do, however, sneak in a few great profile shots of Farren. Strong jaw, light stubble, sunglasses…Yeah, those pics promise to be keepers.

When my photographer-moment passes, I’m awash in guilt. I haven’t asked much about Haven and the rescue mission.

Glancing down at my lap, I do so now. “So, Haven is definitely safe?”

Farren keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Not that I can see his greens anyway, due to the sunglasses. “She’s safe,” he replies levelly.

But something feels amiss.

“How’d it go so smoothly?” I inquire. “Did Rick just waltz in to wherever she was and take her.”

Farren snorts. “It wasn’t quite that simple, Essa.”

“Were Eric and Vincent there?”

“No,” he states.

That leaves me chilled—the thought that Eric and Vincent are still out there.

“Then who was watching Haven?” I ask.

“Guards.”

“How many?”

“A few.”

“What happened to them?” I press.

Farren looks over at me. I wish I had the nerve to reach over and snatch off his sunglasses so I could see what’s really in his eyes. But I wouldn’t dare.

When his gaze returns to the road, he says, “What do you think happened to them?”

“They were incapacitated?” I venture.

He laughs. “You could say that.”

“I don’t want to talk about the guards anymore,” I suddenly snap.

“Good,” Farren says dryly.

“So,” I begin anew, “what’s the plan for when we reach New Mexico?”

Farren exhales audibly, and I know he’s glad the subject has veered away from the rescue-mission recap.

“We’ll meet up with Rick and Haven,” he says. “He’s driving her up to Albuquerque after she’s seen by a doctor.”

“A doctor?” My brow creases. “I thought she was okay?”

“She is,” Farren says carefully, “more or less. Still, I want one of our people to check her over.”

“You have doctors that work with you?”

“You’d be surprised at the people I work with,” Farren replies.

This is the most open Farren has ever been. I sense he wants to talk, and that he may even be finally ready to share some things with me. It’s not entirely surprising. After all the time we’ve been spending together, there’s no way he’s not feeling as close to me as I am to him. He is only human, after all.

Confirming my suspicion that he wants to talk, he continues. “We’re just lucky we have Haven back with us. A few more days and she would have been somewhere in Mexico…where it’d take us God knows how long to find her.” He sighs disgustedly. “The things that would’ve happened to her down there…”

When he trails off, I carefully ask, “What would’ve happened?”

There is still so much I don’t know. But Farren knows. He’s obviously deeply involved, as is his friend Rick. How else would they have all this inside information? Besides the time they spent working together on special-ops missions, Farren and Rick obviously still work as a team for someone now. But who employs them? And why? What’s the real endgame here?

Farren glances over at me. He’s painfully beautiful as the sun shines on him through the windshield.
God, you’re stunning
, I think. But I can’t afford distraction right now. I want an answer.

I again ask, “What would’ve happened to your sister in Mexico, Farren?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Let’s just say bad things, Essa. Very bad things.”

I’m exasperated. “Please, Farren, you have to give me something more. Like, how do you know all this stuff? Don’t I deserve some answers? I mean, even after…” My voice cracks.

I feel close to him. How could he not feel close to me as well? But if that were true, he’d give me more, right?

“I just don’t know,” I mumble.

“Don’t know what?” he asks, his patience growing thin.

“I thought we were getting close.” I stare out the side window. “That’s all.”

His hand goes to my knee. “We are getting close, sweetheart.”

I misunderstand him and snap defensively, “I meant beyond the physical stuff.”

He swiftly withdraws his hand from my knee and says sharply, “I was referring to things beyond the physical stuff, Essalin.”

“Oh.” Now, I feel like an ass.

A long moment passes. Farren sighs and takes off his sunglasses. He says, “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry with you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I reply, my tone truly apologetic. “I made an assumption.”

“That’s okay,” he says.

“Yeah, but you know what they say when you go and ‘assume’ something.”

Farren makes a chuffing sound. He knows I’m trying to lighten things up. Smiling, he says, “Yeah, best not to assume. It makes an
ass
out of
u
and
me
.”

We both start laughing, and when things settle, he sighs and says, “You’ve been very patient, Essa. And I know I should be more forthcoming with y—”

“Farren,” I interrupt, my eyes lowering to my lap. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m good.”

His hand returns to my knee, and he says, “But I want to tell you, Essa. I really do.”

And that is how, somewhere near Amarillo, Texas, I find out what it is that Farren really does.

“After I was discharged from the military,” he begins, “I was approached by a man named Barnes, Mr. Quinton Barnes.”

Farren quiets after he reveals his employer’s name. I’m also silent, contemplating. I know I’ve heard that name before. In a business context, I’m sure of it. But I can’t think of where.

It comes to me, though, when Farren says, “Mr. Barnes is a very wealthy man, very powerful, with connections all over the world.”

“I’ve heard of him,” I tell Farren excitedly. “I read about Quinton Barnes in Business Studies, freshman year.”

“I’m not surprised you’ve heard of him,” Farren replies. “He’s a very successful businessman.”

“He’s private, though, right?” I say. “I think I remember reading that he made his fortune later in life and that he’s always been somewhat of a recluse.”

Farren appears surprised that I recall such detail. Suddenly, and inexplicably devoid of emotion, he states, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Weird.

“So,” I say brightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Mr. Barnes is super powerful and wealthy. What did he want from you?”

“It’s something he still wants, Essa,” Farren says flatly.

“And that is…” I prompt.

“He wants something all the power and wealth in the world can never give him.”

“What does that mean?” I softly inquire.

Farren hesitates, and for a moment I think he’s going to say something pertaining to himself. But then he simply says, “It means he wants justice for his daughter.”

“And
you
can give it to him?”

“Yes”—he levels me with an intense stare—“I can.”

His eyes return to the road, and I ask, “Why does he want justice for his daughter?”
Justice only you can give
,
I add in my head
.
“What happened to her?”

Farren shoots me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you want to know?”

I take a breath then exhale. “Yeah, I want to know.”

“His daughter was kidnapped, abused, tortured, sold into sexual slavery, and, eventually, murdered.”

Holy hell
. “Good God.”

“The men who kidnapped her are part of the same organization that took Haven. It’s all part of something big, Essa, something very big. Eric and Vincent work for that organization. Their job is to kidnap women, girls even. They generally prey on runaways, people with no ties to anyone. But that’s not always the case.”