Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Yeah, not so much.” LJ started the truck, forcing a chuckle because it was that or break something, and breaking perfectly good things was a rich man’s habit. Even if people snuck an extra look at her from time to time, they didn’t follow her around, waiting for her to slide merchandise into her pockets.
“I think today was worse because I was with a man. That’s top-shelf gossip around here.”
His foot stomped too heavy on the accelerator, but all he said was “Small towns are the same everywhere, huh? It’s just like that where I come from.”
“New Orleans is hardly a small town.”
“New Orleans is a whole heap of small towns piled up together,” he said, happy to change the subject. “Hell, when I was little and stepped out of line, ladies three blocks away would whup my butt and then send me home to tell my mama what I’d done. It wasn’t until I went to school that I realized not everybody in the world knew my name by looking at my face.”
“Yeah, well, they know my face around here, too.” Andra laughed, and it was every bit as sour as his had been. “It happened five years ago, but the trial was big news, so my picture was all over the papers for a long time after I was kidnapped. Nobody looked at me the same afterward. And they never stop fucking staring.” The last word hissed out viciously, and if LJ could have thought straight in that moment, he might have been surprised at her swearing.
But he couldn’t think. Couldn’t drive.
“Kidnapped” meant a hell of a lot more things than “assaulted.”
LJ pulled over. There was a gas station at the side of the road, so he parked next to a pump. He should say something to her, something comforting between two people who had been gawked at by strangers because of things they couldn’t change.
But he failed her. All he could do was mumble “Got to get gas” and hope she didn’t notice he was at three-quarters of a tank when he bailed out of the truck. He crammed the pump nozzle in and gripped the trigger until every finger joint ached. Otherwise he’d punch the truck, and he didn’t want her to see another man letting anger flame into violence.
He couldn’t tell if it was the gas pumping or his own blood thundering through his head, but he couldn’t hear a thing.
Kidnapped. How long had she been trapped in that nightmare before someone came after her?
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