Radclyffe - Sheltering Dunes

Flynn made her think of those rich girls with her clear, flawless skin and handsome face, but she was nothing like them, not really. Flynn looked at her with calm, certain eyes—eyes that asked for nothing. Those other girls had taunted and teased and flirted, all the while flaunting their privilege and fleeing back to their safe neighborhoods in their expensive cars as the night grew dark and perilous. She’d never slept with the redhead. She’d never slept with any of them. But she’d secretly wanted to.

“I never said I’d take the straps off, but I can loosen them,” Flynn said, reaching for the buckle on the nylon belt across Mica’s chest. She released that one, then the one across her hips. “Dave is a good driver, but I don’t want you getting dumped on the floor. Is that better?”

Mica’s tank had pulled up, and her bare stomach tingled where Flynn’s fingers had brushed over her skin. No one had touched her in months, and those hands had been rough and hurried. Not careful and caring, like these.

Mica tried to turn her face away, afraid Flynn, with her piercing blue eyes, would see too much. “This thing on my neck is worse than the straps. Can you take it off?”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I think your neck is okay, but I don’t want to take any chances until Dr. King clears you.”

With every passing second, Mica’s mind cleared and the churning in her midsection grew. She knew what these clinics were like—cold, impersonal, harried places where the sick and the injured were an inconvenience at best, targets for the frustrations and disappointments of others at worst. She would be sucked back in when she was so close to being free. What could she say to make Flynn let her go? “I can’t pay.”

“Do you have any insurance?”

Mica laughed mirthlessly. “Do I look like I have insurance? I can’t pay for this. You’re not helping me by forcing me to do this.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll talk to Dr. King. There are ways to—”

“No. I don’t want you to talk to anybody. I’ll take care of things,” Mica snapped. The last thing she needed was someone else asking questions about her. “You’ve already made enough trouble.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m overstepping,” Flynn said softly, and the concern in her voice softened the edges of Mica’s anger.

“Never mind,” Mica said. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’ll handle it.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.” Flynn squeezed her forearm lightly. “We’ll get you checked out, you can call your boss, and Dr. King’s office manager—Randy—can sort out the financial stuff.”

Mica grimaced. As if anything could be that simple. “Sure. Whatever.”

The ambulance slowed, made another turn, and crunched over gravel, finally stopping. The siren died with a lingering wail that echoed the ache in Mica’s chest.

“We’re here,” Flynn said. “I’ll stay as long as I can. If we get another call, I’ll have to leave.”

“I don’t need you to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” Flynn said.

The doors swung open, and bright sunlight streamed into the back of the ambulance. Mica blinked, tears blurred her vision, and a large dark shape loomed in the doorway. Hector! She jerked, her heart pounding erratically, and yanked at the straps imprisoning her. She must have made a sound, because Flynn gripped her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s all right. Does something hurt?”

Mica wet her lips as the man climbed into the van. He might not hurt her right away, but if Flynn— His features became clearer. The other paramedic. Not Hector. Mica took a shuddering breath.

“Mica?” Flynn asked.

“Everything’s fine.”

Maybe if she said it enough times, it would one day be true.

Chapter Three

The sky whirled dizzyingly over Mica’s head as Flynn and the big man slid the stretcher out of the van. The collapsible legs clanked down with a jolt, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her body shook as the paramedics maneuvered her across the uneven surface, stones crunching beneath the wheels with the snap of bones breaking. With her neck held immobilized by the wide stiff collar, her vision was limited, but if she tightened her belly and lifted her shoulders she could see a little bit in front of her. The first time she tried, the pounding in her head got worse but she felt less imprisoned, and that made the pain worth it. The second time, her stomach somersaulted. A police cruiser was parked next to the stone steps leading up to the door of a low-slung gray building that must be the clinic.

“Why are the cops here?” Mica wiggled her arm out from underneath the restraining straps and yanked on the buckle. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not going in there.”

“Hold up a second, Dave.” Flynn hurriedly moved up the side of the stretcher until she was peering down at Mica. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Let me up.”

“I’m going to release the straps,” Flynn said, “but you have to promise—”

“Flynn,” Dave said, his gravelly voice holding a warning.

“It’s okay,” Flynn said in his direction, her eyes asking for a promise Mica didn’t want to make. “The straps are bothering her. She won’t try to jump off.”

Flynn said it as if she believed Mica wouldn’t bolt. And Mica wasn’t certain of that at all. Being questioned and probed by strange doctors was bad enough, but if the police were here, she’d have to run. Somehow.

“Don’t make me do this,” Mica whispered. She never asked anyone for anything, not even when silence only brought her more pain, but she asked Flynn. Maybe because Flynn let her search her eyes for a lie, a lie she couldn’t find. The word was unfamiliar to her, but she said it anyhow. “Please. You don’t know…”

Flynn leaned closer, so close a cool draft of mint and cedar drifted over Mica’s face. “Whatever you’re afraid is going to happen to you in there is not going to happen. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

“You can’t make that promise.”

“Yes, I can. I know these people.” Flynn lightly squeezed Mica’s hand. “These doctors are great. You can trust them.”

Mica tightened her lips, refusing to argue when the woman was obviously clueless. Flynn had no idea who she was or what she might have done. Why did Flynn just assume she was good, or innocent? What kind of person thought that way? “You’re crazy.”

Flynn smiled. “I’ve been told that before. But I’m harmless.”

“Yeah, right.” Mica tried to settle her breathing, tried to tamp down the panic. The more she protested, the more questions she was going to raise in people’s minds. Maybe the best way not to draw attention to herself was just to go along with what had to be done. She could do this. She’d done harder things. She could lie her way through if she had to. She’d gotten away from tougher situations than this. One thing was for certain. She wasn’t counting on Flynn or anyone else for help. And she didn’t plan on trusting anyone. “Okay.”

“No matter what happens,” Flynn said, “it’s going to be all right.”

Mica didn’t answer. She recognized a lie even if Flynn didn’t.

*

Philadelphia, PA

Hector Guzman stretched out his arm along the back of the sofa and punched in a number on his burn phone with his thumb while watching the girl kneeling between his legs suck on his cock. She was one of the new girls, paying her respects. She was fifteen, maybe sixteen, and as good with a knife as she was with her mouth, which was pretty damn good. She had all the moves—she knew what to do with her lips and her tongue and her hands—but his balls felt numb as ice. He ought to be feeling the tension about now, she’d been working him over for a good five minutes, but his hard dick might have been wood for real. He listened to the ringtone, frustration fueling his temper. He didn’t need his cock to turn on him too. “Suck it, bitch.”