Slowly, as I stared at the curtains, I witnessed a sight I'd been missing for a long time. Daylight made its big debut, turning the curtains a slightly lighter shade. My heart quickened and anxiety coursed through me. It felt like Christmas morning.

I went slowly for Caleb's hand, gently urging it away from my breast. He grunted, and for a moment I was perfectly still, terrified. He sighed gruffly, and then, to my overwhelming relief, he rolled over. I was free of him. More surprisingly, I was free of the gold cord he'd secured around my wrist. Refusing to give it much thought and perhaps too quickly, I slid out of bed and crawled toward the light.

I pulled back the curtains, just a crack, but when the sunlight hit my eyes it made my head hurt. I shut my eyes tightly. It had been so damn long! I opened my eyes slowly. This time I saw what my soul had been aching to see for so long. I saw light; beautiful, warm, safe, light. I could barely keep from tearing up. For a moment I felt as though everything that had happened thus far had been a dream, and now that the sun was up, I could wake from it. I would never fall asleep again. The monsters would never come back. I opened the curtain a bit more, and I could make out a big deck. There was a table with a big umbrella, pots and plants and sun chairs; it was unreal. I pressed the palm of my hand against the glass, feeling the warmth of the sun and the chill of the morning against my skin, but it was all unreal.

I looked back at Caleb's sleeping form, his breathing was heavy. He wouldn't be waking any time soon. My heart thundered in my chest. This was it, my chance to escape. My mind screamed, if you do this, and he catches you, you're dead! Are you stupid! But it also said: If you don't do this now, you may never get another chance. I made up my mind. I was going to make a break for it.

I closed the curtain behind me and quietly looked around for a way to open the door. I surveyed my surroundings and didn't see much, no buildings, or roads, or people. I didn't let that dissuade me. My fingers touched along the glass, looking for some way to open the window, but I didn't see or feel anything. I did the same along the wall and found nothing. Nervous and agitated, I glanced back into the room. Caleb still slept peacefully. I pushed on the glass, but that didn't much help, DAMN IT! I could see that the glass was on tracks, so I knew it had to slide open. Think! Just think! I couldn't see where the door opened, but it had to open somehow, so maybe...the lock was somewhere I couldn't see. I stared at the top of the door, crushed by the realization I definitely couldn't reach it.

My only chance of opening the door sat in one of the corners, a big leather chair. It looked heavy. I almost screamed. I looked back at Caleb. How the hell am I going to move that without him waking up!

I walked silently toward my inanimate nemesis and gave it a hard shove. The chair made a soft scraping noise against the carpet, and I instantly looked at the bed. He continued to sleep. But there was no fucking way I was going to be able to move the chair without waking him.

I glanced around the room and tried not to pass out from the rush of blood draining from my face. Hanging on the door of an armoire was Caleb's suit jacket and peeking out from beneath it, a shoulder holster. Could it be? Oh God, could it please fucking be? I reached for the soft fabric and lifted it. It was the biggest damn gun I had ever seen, the only one actually-but still. I felt like vomiting. Part of me wanted to forget the whole damn thing and get back in bed. What was the saying: Cowardice is the better part of valor? Fuck it! I reached for the gun. The damn thing weighed a ton.

The armoire opened and for a moment I was actually surprised by the amount of pain inflicting instruments hidden inside. Riding crops, whips, chains, and other things I didn't recognize from watching Real Sex on HBO while at Nicole's house. Was that a spiky dildo? I almost swooned. Had he planned to use this stuff on me? Sick fuck. And yet....

I spotted a pair of handcuffs, several actually, without fur on them. That meant they were real right? Cause it could be embarrassing otherwise. I was willing to take a chance. I put Caleb's jacket on, instantly overwhelmed by the size of it. I set the gun on the seat of the chair and began rolling up the sleeves.

"What the hell are you doing," Caleb's angry voice momentarily had me frozen in place. Our eyes met, mine wide and terrified, his cold and venomous. I reached for the gun as he burst out of bed. I was faster. For once.

"Don't fucking move! Not one step," my voice was shrill, almost panicked. I might have shot him out of fear alone, and I think he understood because he instantly halted his approach. My heart was beating too fast, my vision was hazy. Keep it together, Livvie. Keep it fucking together.

"Put the gun down, Kitten," he whispered, as if I were more frightened than him. Shit, maybe I was. This probably wasn't the first time he'd had a gun in his face, but it was definitely the first time I'd threatened someone's life. I wanted to cry. I didn't want to have to do this. I didn't want to hurt him. No choice now, Livvie. It's you or him. I hated this. I felt like one of those dumb girls in the movies, the one holding the gun on her would-be killer. Her hands are shaking and the killer just keeps stepping closer. She can't fucking kill him. Then she's dead. Then I'm dead.

I took a deep breath and held the gun steady, ignoring how heavy it was, ignoring the twitch in my forearms as I tried to keep it level. I especially ignored the sweat in my palms, making the handle slippery. "Please, Caleb," I almost begged, "don't move. Let me go and don't make me kill you, cause I will. I swear to God, I will."

He was calm, too calm. "No one is going to kill anyone, Kitten. But I can't let you go. Just put it down and I promise I won't do anything to hurt you." I couldn't help but laugh. I was holding the gun, but he was the one holding me hostage. Still, my laugh was hysterical.

My mind went to that special place of mine. And perhaps, inspired by the big damn gun in my hands, conjured Dirty Harry. "'I know what you're thinking,'" I half choked out. "'Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?'" Caleb's expression was priceless, somewhere between deep concern (for my sanity) and anger (at my idiocy).

"Kitten," he began. I cocked the gun, with two hands because I couldn't manage it with one. In the process my finger pressed against the trigger slightly and for the first time I saw real fear skid across my captor's features. He swallowed. I eased my finger off the trigger, relieved I hadn't just done something stupid, or in my case, stupid-er. I reached for the handcuffs and threw them in his direction. He caught them without breaking eye contact. "The gun isn't loaded, Kitten."

My heart fluttered. "Bullshit, Caleb. Don't make me find out which one of us is bluffing." He smiled, just a little. If you didn't know him as well as I did, you'd have missed it for what it was. I don't know why, but I looked down at his shorts. The bastard was hard. "Cuff yourself to the bed and don't make me ask again."

This time his smile was broad, even smug. "Kitten, if that's what you wanted, you need only have asked?" Really? Would he have let me cuff him to the bed? Livvie! Focus.

"Just shut up and do what I said." I was caustic. He furrowed his brow and, for a moment, I had forgotten who had the upper hand. Heavy metal sliding in my sweaty palm reminded me. "Now!" He walked to the post nearest me, still a few feet away and cuffed his wrists together. "Tighter," I was impatient, nervous. He complied and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I lowered the gun, taking a moment to let the anxiety settle, to allow my vision to clear and the adrenaline to dissipate. "Feel better, Pet?" he whispered, still playful. Possessed, I took two steps closer to him and slapped him so hard my hand stung. Instantly he leapt forward, his hands clutching for my hip and his feet sweeping my ankles. I fell flat on my back, the gun flung behind me. He could no longer reach me with his bound hands, but he was trying to grasp me between his legs. I scrambled backward with all my strength, refusing to be caught. I got free and collided with the chair behind me. "You're going to pay for that," he panted. The right side of his face sported an angry red handprint.

I shook out my hand, "I already have. That was my change."

A few minutes later, I finally had the chair close enough to the window. I stepped up and felt around the edge. Please let me be right about this. My heart made a roaring sound in my ears, and I shut my eyes against doubt. Finally, I felt a little switch and my heart stopped all together. I glanced back to see Caleb. The angry expression had left his face though my handprint remained. I said a silent prayer, stepped down, and slid the door open. Caleb's voice came from behind, "Kitten," he sounded worried or sad, "Don't let me find you." Was that a threat? I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

I didn't look back. I ran with all the force my legs could muster. My lungs burned as my bare feet thudded heavily against the dust of the ground. It was still early, the ground not warm yet. I wanted to scream for help, but wasn't sure if I was far enough away to keep Caleb from hearing me, so I just ran. Up ahead I saw a man in an apron, pushing a dolly of crates into a building.

"Help me!" The man looked in my direction, his expression one of confusion and distress. As I reached him, I all but flew into his arms trying to push the both of us inside.

"Que pasa? Que te paso?" he asked in Spanish.

I shoved him harder until we both nearly fell over the dolly on our way inside the building. My breath came in gasps while I tried to slow down and explain in Spanish that I was an American citizen who had been kidnapped and held against my will. I told him I escaped but that my captor was not far and I needed the police right away.

"Who is this man?" he asked "Who is the man who took you?" he seemed just as frantic as I was and he opened the door to look in the direction I had come from.

"Get away from the door!" I yelled. "Caleb! His name is Caleb. Please, just call the police. Where the fuck am I?" Finally, the man quickly shut the door and bolted the lock.

"Mexico."

"Mexico!"

"S, Mexico," the man was exasperated. Fucking Mexico. I knew it!

"Shit yeah, you are," came a man's gravelly voice from the corner. The man, who I assumed was the bartender, and I looked in his direction. He appeared dirty; not the kind of dirty that came from poverty or sloth, but the kind of dirty that came from an obnoxious lifestyle. It was early in the morning, and here he was already in a bar, an American biker. He stared at me intently, took a drink of his beer and licked the foam from his mustache. Suddenly, I became aware of my clothing. I was nearly naked under Caleb's coat. I crossed my arms and took a step behind the edge of the bar.

"Can you help me, please? I need to get to the police." He took another drink as he shook his head.

"You don't want to go to the police darlin', trust me on that. Those dirty Mexicans are crooked as hell. They'd just sell you back to whoever you're running from. Best thing you can do is try to get back over the border and let our guys help you out." I looked at the bartender.

"Es la verdad," he said. It's the truth.

Exasperated, I yelled, "Well can you help me get to the fucking border then!" The bartender jumped and anxiously hustled to the back room. The biker stood, grabbed his beer and drank it down before slamming the glass on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well, damn, honey, you ain't got to be nasty about it." He walked over to me, tracing his hand along the bar, purposely eyeing me inappropriately. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Fuck you," I said and looked at him with disgust.

He chuckled. "I was thinking of some other arrangement baby doll, a ransom maybe. A finder's fee?" He looked me up and down again. "Of course, I'm always willin' to compromise."

Just then a loud bang came from the door and whoever stood on the other side wasn't happy. The biker looked at me, saw my instant panic, and pushed me down behind the bar. "Get the fuck down there and don't breathe a single breath if you want to live through this!" Acting on instinct alone, I curled up in the fetal position under the cash register. The biker ran into the back room and returned quickly with a few crates of alcohol. Before I knew what he was up to, he stacked them on the ground and pushed them under the bar next to me. Meanwhile, the thunderous banging continued at the door of the bar.

"Don't move," he said one last time. He grabbed a glass from the counter and began filling it with beer when a loud bang splintered the wood of the door. I nearly urinated.

"Whoa!" said the biker, laughing loudly. My heart pounded hard in my chest, my eyes shut tightly as I worked to imagine myself somewhere else.

"Where the fuck is she?" Caleb demanded, calm and inhuman.

"Where's who, man?"

"Don't play dumb right now, fuckface, or I'll blow your goddamn head off!"

"Well that don't sound too good. Look man, I'm just here watching Javier's bar."

"And where's Javier?"

"He had some problem at home with his old lady, fuck if I know or care. I'm just enjoying the free beer while he's gone."

"What's with the dropped crates outside?"

"You ain't ever left someplace in a hurry?" A deafening silence filled the room. "Besides, if you're in here looking for him with a damn shotgun, he probably had a real good reason to leave in a hurry." He said with an obnoxious chuckle. More silence. Caleb's footsteps made a slow steady sound as they came near the bar. I did urinate a little at that point. Not my finest moment, I assure you.

"What did you say your name is?" asked Caleb.

"I didn't; but you can call me Tiny."

Caleb let out a short, stern laugh.

"Tiny, huh? Well, Tiny," I heard the distinct sound of Caleb cocking the shotgun. "I'm going to ask you this, one, fucking, time, and then I'm going to blow a hole in your chest. Where's the girl?"

Tiny cleared his throat loudly, "Alright man look... seems to me you lost somebody important to you, and I swear that if I had any fucking idea where that person might be I would tell you, but I don't. I was just here having a beer, and Javier had to leave in a hurry. I figured what the fuck, I'll stick around. I don't know nothing about your bitch. So kindly," I heard him pull out a gun and cock it. "Get that fucking gun outta my face before I redecorate Javier's bar with yours!"

The silence that followed crushed the air around me. Sweat dripped down my face, burning my tightly shut eyes. My fingernails sunk into the skin of my arms. I was positive that someone would die while I hid behind crates of piss-warm beer. Suddenly, Caleb erupted into laughter. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from screaming. Tiny soon joined in on the joke and I worried he had given me away.

"Alright, Mr. Tiny, tell you what. I'll take you at your word that you don't know what I'm talking about, and trust that if you happen to run into a half naked girl telling wild stories, that I'll be the first person you get in touch with. It's the big house up the road. Ask for Caleb. No one else."

"You got it man. Can we put these down now?" It was quiet. For a few moments I heard nothing. Then I heard Caleb's feet moving farther and farther away from the bar. Before I could feel relieved, Caleb's voice called out from a distance a few feet away, "But if I find out you lied to me, I will find you. And if I find out you've done something to my property-I'll kill you." And then he was gone.

Chapter Eleven.

"Where is she, Caleb?" Rafiq's tone was anger tempered with restraint. Caleb knew it well. It was the tone Rafiq had adopted whenever he spoke to Caleb in the beginning, when he had been a difficult boy. He didn't like it, not one bit.

It was early evening and the girl was still missing. She could be hundreds of miles away by now. Why the fuck had he let her go? It wasn't like him to be so impulsive, or stupid. Though lately, he wasn't so sure. First he had failed to secure his weapon. Then he'd let her loose in the middle of the night. And now, he'd set unknown factors into play.

"I don't know where she is Rafiq. If I knew, I would be collecting her now."

"Would you?" The question held very strong implications. When had Rafiq started to doubt him? When had Caleb ever given him cause? The answer to both questions was of course now. So Caleb replied with the same tempered anger and restraint, "I understand how important she is, Rafiq. I know why I'm here."

To destroy Vladek. He felt mildly detached. Where and when had he lost that objective? When had his focus wavered? Strangely, he didn't feel guilty. Already, he was thinking, they could find another way to Vladek. Necessity was the master of invention. Still, he didn't know why he'd let her go. He'd known she was nearby, perhaps hiding with the bartender, the biker's body language had told him as much. So, why? Why was he suddenly risking so much when he stood to gain nothing and lose everything?

"I would usually agree Caleb," Rafiq said softly. "But you're also not in the habit of making mistakes, let alone of this magnitude. Have you forgotten so easily what I've done for you? I found you. I took you in. I helped you become the man your enemies fear. Do you need to be reminded of where you would be without my interference?" Caleb's jaw clenched hard.

"No, of course not." It was also impossible for Caleb to forget that Rafiq was so fond of reminding him. "May I also remind you that it is me who kills for you?" He had meant it to sound like a threat, but it came off as a strange plea. As if from a child to a parent. There was a long silence on the other end of the line and the longer it stretched on, the more uneasy Caleb became. "I've failed you Rafiq. I'll make it right." Somehow he'd find a way.

"I'm sorry I doubted you khoya," Rafiq replied, voice softening, "I know how much you have sacrificed. It is only..."

"I understand Rafiq." He paused, briefly. "I'll let you know the moment I find her." Caleb hung up before anything else could be said. He needed to think, and the longer he spoke to Rafiq, the more he thought about the wrong things, though he had no clue what the right things would be. He'd never been one to grapple with slight differences.

Caleb pressed his fingers to his forehead and tried to alleviate some of the pressure there. Was he betraying the one person he trusted? The heavy reality was finally settling in. Who was he all of a sudden? Certainly not a man of his word.

Anger rose like bile within his chest. It was her. Ever since he had laid eyes on her she had caused him nothing but confusion and conflict. He had allowed himself to feel...something. And she had repaid him by pointing his own gun at his face. His fingers touched upon the left side of his face. It still stung, in more ways than one. He pushed at his cheek, wanting to feel the tight, itchy burn just beneath the surface. He should find her. Bring her back. Take control of her and, in the process, himself. Is that the only reason you want her back? He thought of her soft supple body pressed against his, her arm wrapped around his midsection.

He'd let her go, he'd done it through his own stupidity, but he'd let her go. And all he could think about was that she hadn't even looked back. She'd just run away...from him.

He almost didn't want to find her, but he couldn't stop until he did. He wasn't going to fail again.

Focus and objectivity replaced the unease and confusion. It was time to pay a visit to the bartender.

After Caleb had left the bar, I had refused to move from my hiding space beneath the counter for over an hour. At least I thought it had been that long, my sense of time was probably way off. What had to amount to weeks of being held hostage in a dark room would do that. Finally, the behemoth of a man who called himself Tiny had hoisted me up by my arm and shook me until I stopped my hysterics.

When I'd calmed down, I'd asked, "Why are you helping me?"

He just frowned at me. "Because you look like you could use a lot of help. And you're American."

He'd led me outside where the bartender, Javier, was waiting in an old, rusted, baby blue pickup of indeterminate origin. I was scared to get in the truck. I didn't know where they planned on taking me, or what they planned to do with me once they had me where they wanted me. I only knew Tiny had told me I'd be safe and he'd help me. If there'd been more options I would've gotten as far away from the dirty biker as possible. The fact was this: I didn't have better options, and he knew that. So I got in the truck.

We only drove for about fifteen minutes before we pulled up to a small concrete shack. Shit. My fear never subsided, it even went up a few notches but as I looked around, I forced myself to keep looking, watching. Ready to run. Chicken wire surrounded the structure and indeed a few chickens were walking about, pecking at random feed strewn across the dirt. The air was thick with the smell of heat and animal excrement. Still, there was a 'homey' feeling to old run-down building. There was a child's tricycle lying on its side next to the house, one of the chickens was pecking at the torn seat.

"What are we doing here?" I asked. I felt stupid, but hopeful. Hopeful we'd be leaving for the border soon. For a miracle or an intervention by God. I'd settle for a phone. I was hoping on a lot, and on a stranger. I was tired of meeting new people.

"We need to get you a change of clothes. Plus Javier has a phone we can use to make our arrangements."

I felt triumphant over the existence of a phone, but then the rest of his words had set in, "What arrangements?" The sense of unease I felt-doubled. Dread quickly sunk in.

Tiny snorted, "Like they say darlin': ass, grass, or cash, no one rides for free. And since you ain't got no grass and I prefer cash to ass...I think you know where I'm going with this."

My heart jumped into overdrive, thumping loud staccato beats in my ear, boom-boom-boom. "How much cash are we talking about?" I didn't want to confess how fucking broke my family was. I certainly didn't want to have to pay in ass.

"Pretty little thing like you? I'd say you're worth at least a hundred grand to somebody." I almost threw up from the sharp twist in my stomach at his words. My family didn't have anywhere near that kind of money. The only person I knew who could possibly have that kind of cash was Nicole, but it wasn't hers to give was it? It belonged to her parents, and I hardly knew them. Nicole was always alone in that big house. Despair, cut through me. To escape, only for this. I stared at Tiny. I felt things snapping loose, snapping in. Fight or flight. I was going to do both.

"And if I'm not?" I whispered under my breath, not really wanting to know the answer but having to ask the question because it was a likely outcome. "Worth that much to anybody?"

He looked down at me and smiled, "Oh, I'm sure you're worth at least that much to your boy Caleb." He looked me up and down, slow, leering, then smiled widely at me. "Aren't you darlin'?" I swallowed the bile that time. Where was the bartender? Where had he gone? Did it matter?

He grabbed me, my arm engulfed by one meaty, sweaty hand and he dragged me behind him as I struggled out of his grasp. I was going to make this difficult. He laughed at me the whole way and I knew I'd done more harm to myself, than him.

The house was better kept on the inside than it was on the outside. There were even pictures secured to the concrete walls, mostly religious paintings. Right in front of me, over the small, plastic covered sofa was a picture of Christ on the cross, his expression pained, blood tears running down his face as he stared toward heaven asking why God had forsaken him. I could ask the same question. I'd left the Devil I knew for one I didn't and it was going to cost me-hopefully a hundred grand, but potentially so much more.

"Where's the phone?" My voice was hoarse, on the verge of tears. I sucked in desperation and hot air. I prayed Nicole's family would help me. I wasn't sure how huge of a long shot it was, if they'd believe me, let alone help me. Would they call the police? Hang up on me?

Tiny pointed to the end of the sofa where an old rotary phone, my lifeline, waited for me to make the most important call of my life.

It hadn't been too difficult to find out where the bartender lived, a simple matter of waiting for the regulars to arrive at the bar and then waiving large American bills. All citizens of dusty countries understood the value of the dollar. American money represented an American life, a chance to pursue a future deserved rather than destined. It was a future worthy of stealing, killing, and selling one's soul. Caleb couldn't help but scoff at how easy it had been to find her. He had told her not to be found and he had meant it. Once again, she had not listened.

Instead, Caleb had successfully honed in on his target. There was, within him, a sense of victory. But there was something else, too. Conflict. Always conflict when it came to her. What would he do when he saw her? Beat her? Scream at her? Spank her until she wept and begged for mercy or cover her in kisses that would cause the same? He never knew with her, not until the moment took over him, controlled him.