“What?” she whispered.
Bodhi picked up the washcloth and began rubbing small circles on her spine. “It happens, probably more commonly than one would think.”
“She wouldn’t leave? You talked to her?”
“Yes, we talked to her, and she claims she’s happy.”
“Sh-she can’t be happy! Who could be happy living a life you never wanted?” Her voice pitched higher, and he soothed her by trickling warm water over her shoulders.
“We’ll get her back. Madeline and I are forming a plan. She thinks she can convince her if she gets her alone.”
“And if she can’t?”
“Then we’ll carry her out against her will and force her into a mental health center where someone can help her see the truth.” He pinned her with his stare. “Sloane, I promise you, someday you will have your sister back. It might take some time, and you need to be patient for Scarlett’s sake—but you will have her back.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and stared at her legs, distorted by the water, though still the bruises were glaringly evident.
“How many more people are after me?”
He shook his head. “We aren’t certain, but events surrounding the movie are calming. We’re seeing less protests as companies enact new regulations and make critical changes to their practices. The people will calm down in time, and all you’ll need to worry about then is accepting your Oscar.”
She dropped her head. “My God. Who cares about an Oscar when I just spent God knows how long in the trunk of a car?”
Bodhi wrapped his arm around her, leaning far into the tub in order to hold her.
She gripped him. “Thank you for saving me.”
“My God, Sloane. You never need to thank me for that. I thought I’d lose my mind when I found out you were taken.”
“I’m okay.” She realized that the bruises would fade, and so would the memory, as time passed. If those girls Flint sold could get through their ordeals, so could she.
His phone buzzed, and he drew back, swiped his hand to dry off on his jeans and answered it. He listened in silence and then ended the call.
Searching his face for signs of trouble, she asked, “What was that?”
“Sloane, listen. This house is one that belongs to my boss and his wife. They’re going to take care of you while I go out.”
“Where?” She shot out of the water and grabbed for a towel.
“Word came in that another girl’s set to go out tonight, and we have reason to believe Flint’s going to be there at the exchange.”
“Take me with you!” She dropped the damp towel and reached for her clothes, even though she didn’t want to put them back on.
He caught her wrists and looked up into her eyes where she stood in front of him. “I can’t. It’s too much after what you’ve been through. Hell, it’s too much no matter what.”
She shook her head. “I’m stronger than you think.”
He issued a short huff of breath. “Sweetheart, you’re far from weak—I know that. You’re still better off here with Oz and Rose.”
She jerked the top over her head. “This is my cause. I’m going.”
* * * * *
North stared across the table at his boss. Oz brought his whiskey to his lips and sipped, while North’s drink sat untouched.
“She says she’s going with us.”
“It’s dangerous. You won’t be able to control everything about the situation. Are you certain you want to put her into harm’s way?” Oz arched a black eyebrow.
He shook his head. “That’s the last fucking thing I want. I barely survived the last time I thought I’d never get her back.” His ragged words ripped from his chest. Too late to take them back. They hung in the air between them.
In one look, Oz seemed to size him up, and North let him see through him.
Extending his arm, Bodhi said, “You might as well cut the chip out of me, because I can’t stop feeling what I feel for her.”
“North—”
“Hell, I’ll cut it out myself.” He jumped up and strode to the knife block by the stove. He yanked one free and poised the sharp tip at the place where the microchip lay beneath the skin.
“Oh my God! Bodhi, what are you doing?” Sloane’s shriek cut through him sharper than any blade. She rushed at him, and he dropped the knife to the countertop.
“He’s not doing anything,” Oz drawled out, sipping his drink again. “He’s just being a drama queen.”
Sloane turned to Oz. “What are you talking about?”
“I have a chip buried