Even though I wanted to believe, I was constantly reminded I had no choice.
My life had been predetermined.
I was owned. My life was not mine and it never would be.
Those were my thoughts as I sat on the floor in the corner of Owen’s bedroom staring at an envelope with my uncle’s address embossed on the left corner, my name neatly printed a little off-center mid-height, and a postage stamp on the right.
He’d found me.
My hands shook as I held the envelope, trembled so badly it took me two tries to engage the cell phone Owen had given me, and even longer before I was able to tap on his name.
It rang once before his deep voice came over the line.
“Hey.”
“He found me,” I told him.
“Who found you?” Owen asked.
Gone was the smooth baritone that never failed to soothe me and in its place was a rumble of concern.
“My uncle,” I whispered as if saying his name would magically make him appear. The man was like the Boogeyman, Bloody Mary, and Freddy Krueger all wrapped up into one demonic nightmare. Only I lived my nightmare.
Wilco Pollaski was a living, breathing, walking demon.
“Is he there?”
Through the phone I heard something scrape, then footsteps.
He was coming. Owen would come.
“No. I checked the mail. There was an envelope with my name on it. Posted from Chicago.”
I was so stupid. Owen normally checked the mail; it was his house after all. But Eva told me she ordered me a bottle of nail polish and it was being shipped to the house. Months ago, Eva Brown sort of saved my life—actually there was no ‘sort of’ about it. Eva was a pilot who’d been kidnapped by a man who wanted to use her skills to run drugs into Canada. I was supposed to be on the flight, too. But Eva was strong and brave and fought. I had not. I begged her to let me die. It was my last chance—death was my only chance to be free. That was the first time Owen had shown up to save me. He and his team swooped in to rescue Eva.
My rescue had been accidental. Then he didn’t know what to do with me. I refused to tell him my name or where I’d come from. So Owen brought me home—to his home and promised me a safe place to heal.
Anyway, back to the mailbox. I’d checked the mail instead of waiting for Owen for a stupid bottle of nail polish. Something so trivial but I that wanted desperately. That was what my life had come to, a bottle of polish so I could have something pretty.
“The house locked up? Alarm on?” His words came out in fast pants.
He was running. I closed my eyes and answered, “Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
The only place in the world that makes me feel safe when you’re not home.
I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I said, “In your room.”
“Stay there. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
I screwed my eyelids tighter in an effort not to cry. I hardly ever cried, and only twice over something I loved. The first time, I was maybe eight or nine when my cat died. I’d been devastated; Peaches was the only thing I loved, the only thing that kept me company. I cried and cried until my father backhanded me and told me Pollaskis didn’t show weakness and they never cried. I’d never wanted to be a Pollaski but right then, holding my dead cat with my father’s mark on my face, I’d wished I was never born.
I didn’t want to think about the second time I’d cried. It was worse, and not that long ago.
“Thank you, Owen.”
“Ten minutes, honey. Sit tight.”
Then the line went dead.
I sat tight. I didn’t move a muscle.
Owen wasn’t home in ten.
He was there in five.
Which made the only decision I’d ever made for myself harder than I ever thought.
Chapter 1
He found me.
Christ, I couldn’t get the sound of Natasha’s terrified voice out of my head.
I checked my rearview mirror. My team leader Myles was in his beat-up Bronco and behind him my teammate Gabe was in his flashy, yellow Lexus with Kevin in the passenger seat. That was all the reminder I needed I wasn’t alone.
My team had my back. They always did. Not that there was much they could do. Nat wasn’t talking. Hadn’t talked since I’d found her in Alaska, and after the last attempt on her life she’d shut down. Not that I blamed her. There weren’t