Enslaved By the Others (An H&W Investigations Novel) by Jess Haines

Author:Jess Haines [Jess Haines]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Zebra
Published: 2014-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Royce didn’t keep me on the phone long after that. He asked to speak to Kumiho, who took the phone with an exaggerated eye roll and flapped her other hand in the universal gesture for talking too much. Her antics did dredge a smile out of me, even if I wasn’t feeling too great just then. Her expression soon shifted to one that looked too serious for her candy-coated exterior and she moved away from me, disappearing into the hallway, an unseen door soon shutting with a quiet click behind her.

Whether Royce was asking more favors of her or giving her some instruction to sit on me to keep me from pulling a Lone Ranger, it didn’t matter. I had talked about this with Sara while we were in Los Angeles. I was going to do what I could to be smarter about how I dealt with my problems. Rushing in, as Royce had said, would be suicide. Even if he was plotting with Kumiho to keep me out of the action, for once I would consider those plans without disregarding them on their face.

I could admit to myself that I wasn’t strong enough to face Max alone and maybe not even with an army at my back. The thought of being in the same room with him again filled me with a terror so deep that the constant, minor trembles in my hands became full-body spastic shudders. Though I wanted to be brave and strong, to think that I was capable of better, I knew the limits of my courage.

Taking a deep breath to quell the growing fear and frustration, I finally did what I had been avoiding since it happened.

I peeled the loose shirt and pants off my left side to see how badly I had been burned. The brand didn’t hurt the way it had yesterday. It had subsided to a dull heat that grew into a sharp burn when I moved in a way that rubbed or pulled the damaged skin, but it was still an ugly, irritated red around the edges. The mark itself was a mottled indentation of black and red, with a touch of yellow.

The scar it would leave would be a permanent reminder that my time with Max was not some impossible, horrible nightmare. That bird and that circle of olive leaves, once the symbol of the currency of Max’s homeland, was now a symbol of how I was some form of currency to him. Property. The sight of it fixed me with a confusing mix of fear and fury and a hollow emptiness, but there wasn’t anything I could do to erase it.

He hadn’t been lying. No matter how long I lived, I could never, ever forget.

A box of tissues landed in my lap. I jumped, stifling a scream and scrambling to adjust the clothes to cover up the mark.

“You looked like you could use them.”

Kumiho padded on silent feet to the kitchen, leaving me to wipe my shame away in relative privacy.

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