His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(92)
Author: Shayla Black

After Little Rock, hints of civilization became fewer and farther between. The northeast corner of Arkansas still had snow. Missouri still looked miserably wintery, considering it was April. She still hadn’t asked where exactly Joaquin was taking her.

In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

With every mile that passed, her stomach knotted tighter. Every cell in her body clenched with dread. What if seeing her childhood home sparked memories? What if it didn’t? Or what if she remembered the bloodbath McKeevy had unleashed on her family? Bailey could only believe that she had escaped because her father had sent her outside to hide and LOSS hadn’t paid that much attention to the number of children Aslanov had sired.

“You’re too quiet,” Joaquin said finally.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t feed me that line of shit. You’re worried.”

“I am,” she admitted. “What does that change?”

He sighed as they crossed into Illinois. “Are you hungry at least?”

“Are you going to feed me more fast food?” The idea made her stomach revolt.

“Probably. I’m trying to reach our destination before nightfall. No sense searching the property in the dark.”

“We won’t have much time before sunlight runs out anyway. You must be tired. You’ve been driving all day. And you can’t have gotten much sleep last night.”

“I don’t regret that for a second. What about you?”

Heat rose up her cheeks. “I enjoyed it. I certainly understand the fuss about sex now.”

Bailey would have thought that most men would preen when a girl praised their prowess. He frowned. “So I was good in bed but it didn’t mean anything?”

“No, I . . .” Why did this man fluster her so easily? “I’m running for my life. And you won’t stay around. Your sister made that really clear last night. So why does it matter?”

He just grunted. “We’ll table this discussion until we figure everything else out, but I’m not done.”

Great.

They stopped and had a sort of healthier lunch. Sub sandwiches with processed meat wasn’t her definition of power food, but she loaded hers up with veggies and did the best she could. If she miraculously got to audition next week, she didn’t want to be hugely out of shape. After that, they continued in relative silence, and she fiddled with the radio as each station played tunes then became static as the miles rolled on.

Late afternoon had almost spilled into evening when Joaquin turned the SUV down a dirt road. Her stomach clenched tight, and she wondered if she’d lose her lunch. Somehow, she knew the trek down this road wouldn’t be more than a mile or so. It seemed to take forever, yet it wasn’t long enough.

It didn’t take long before he slowed. The GPS indicated their destination was on the left. Bailey pressed her hands to her stomach, looking at the seemingly innocuous, if neglected, farmhouse that had become a house of horrors in her nightmares.

The structure was still painted a white, though time and weather had peeled it in spots. The swing set she saw on one side of the house in her dreams had rusted out and looked like something ready for a Dumpster. The remnants of her brother’s fort between the two trees tilted and gaped. If she hadn’t known it had once stood there, she would have never guessed from its appearance now. A curtain sagged from the front window, which Bailey knew was in the kitchen. In fact, the drape was a print of little teacups and saucers. The roof had seen better days.

The whole place looked haunted.

“You’re pale. Does anything look familiar?”

Sadness assailed her. Rage followed. LOSS had taken everything from her. Now that she sat here looking at the home, she remembered laughter. Her father had liked to tickle her in the mornings. Her mother had been teaching her and her sister to dance in the living room.

One organization’s need to wedge the world into the order they sought had wiped out all she held dear in the blink of an eye.

“Everything.” Her voice shook.

Joaquin bolted out of the car and ran around to open her door. “If you’re too tired to do this today, we can come back tomorrow.”

She shook her head. If she had to leave and live with a night of dread, knowing she’d return to this tragic spot . . . “We’re here. Let’s get this over with.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something but refrained. Instead, he held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “You ready?”

No. “Why not?”

“Three days ago, you had no idea you’d been born Tatiana Aslanov. If memories are coming back, too, everything must be overwhelming.”