The Token (#10): Shepard Read Online Free PDF Page B

lifts a loose gold curl out of her face. “None of your fucking business.”
    The heat of my temper fires off, and I find myself momentarily defaulting to my former role, making my hands into ready fists. “Your mouth is atrocious.”
    She lifts a shoulder in cool dismissal, her eyes flicking to my hands.
    I know a virgin when I see one. “You are untouched. La famille knew that fact through their own means. I know it by instinct.” I give a small hike of my chin.
    “Right.” She rolls her pewter-colored eyes. “You're an arrogant man. Now, I won't lie, I am curious. But I want to leave more than I care.”
    My patience is tenuous. “They will try for you again.”
    Marissa stands, hooking a finger through her small black pack. “I want to go. Give me my things, and you don't have to deal with me anymore.”
    Absolution, my mind whispers. “You stay with me and you might be safe.”
    Indignation sweeps her features. “I can take care of myself.”
    Am I that repugnant?
    I think briefly of all the harm I've accomplished against others and clasp my hands from the tight fists—switching tactics. “Like you took care before Hugo nearly laid his hands on you?”
    Silence.
    “You are an impressive specimen.”
    A disgusted exhale shoots out of her, and her molten mercury gaze slices my face with her emotions.
    “But you are female, and la famille maintains no scruples with regard to the fairer sex.” I sweep my palm toward the kitchen countertop to indicate the things she arrived with.
    Marissa moves cautiously past me and gives the pack a yank of the zipper and sweeps inside of it a large book, glass bottle, and keys with a fob.
    Her cell phone, which I've thoroughly hacked, she picks up last.
    I have all her information. I downloaded her birth and driving records. I know where Marissa Augustine lives—works.
    I've not studied the information yet to find the pattern of what makes her a mark. A cherry on American soil.
    I will find out.
    It is too much a coincidence that la famille has marked someone in America, of all places, and that mark happens to live in the same city as myself. Oui.
    “Where am I?”
    “Kent.”
    Marissa folds her arms beneath her ample breasts. “Duh. Where inside of Kent am I?”
    I evade the question. “I will blindfold you and take you to your home.”
    “No.”
    My brows sweep together. I remember hitting cherries for speaking unless permission was given. Instead, my voice comes out like a low purr. “Do you wish to leave?”
    She frowns. “Of course.”
    Marissa speaks as though I am a coarse fool.
    “You're most ungrateful. I have saved your life.”
    “And murdered someone—”
    “—who deserved not to live.”
    Marissa's frown becomes a scowl.
    A difficult point to refute.
    “Fine. I can't argue that.”
    Précisément. “I will explain as I take you to your home.”
    She retreats a step.
    My lips curl at her unconscious withdrawal. Somewhere, in the depths of Marissa, the primal part of self-preservation is finally taking notice of me. Good, that is good.
    “How do you know where I live?” Her voice is soft.
    I lift my shoulder while maintaining my intense eye contact. I've found direct staring to be more effective than any spoken words. “I know everything about you.”
    “I don't trust you.”
    Smart girl. “That is wise. However, I have no reason to bring you to harm.”
    “Okay,” she says with obvious suspicion.
    We leave the way we came.
     
    *
     
    “Hugo takes girls to make them mules for la famille, ” I explain needlessly. Though for reasons unknown, I feel an almost irresistible compulsion to connect with this woman.
    I turn to look at Marissa, and she seems to sense my movement and her head swivels to face me, though the blindfold hides her expressive eyes.
    “What's a mule?”
    She cannot see the tension that sings through my body. Perhaps she feels the pause before my words. “It is a woman who runs drugs by inserting the product inside her