Page 64 of Sanctuary

Aidan isn’t making a quick message run as a favor to people who helped us out. He’s doing a job of his own. He’s trading. He’s doing what he’s always done. And from the sound of it, he’s doing it effectively. He’s always been a skillful negotiator.

But he’s doing it with the worst people in the world.

The people who kidnapped me. Forced me to fuck. Would have eventually killed me.

I’m so upset I have trouble focusing on the words, but the conversation continues. Weasel keeps trying to try for a lower price, and Aidan refuses in a lazy, conversational drawl.

They finally land on a price—just slightly lower than the one they initially agreed on. I’m not even sure what kind of goods they’re trading for the drugs because they’re only talking in amounts.

They must make the trade because things sound like they’re wrapping up. Then Aidan says, “This might have to be our last trade. My supply has run out, and I’ll have to do some searching for another source.”

The other guys aren’t happy, but there’s not much they can do if Aidan’s source has disappeared. So after some more discussion, they agree that Aidan will contact them as soon as he finds more, and the group leaves. Their rough, unpleasant voices fade as they walk away.

I don’t know what Aidan is doing. I haven’t yet heard his cart rolling. The wheels always make a distinct sound as they turn.

I want to know what he’s doing—I’m dying to know—but don’t dare to move. I can’t. I’m paralyzed by fear and something worse. Something that’s churning in my gut, making me nauseous.

The most appalling recognition.

I stay hiding motionless behind the tree for a couple more minutes.

Then Aidan’s voice sounds, soft and strangely hoarse, “You might as well come out, love.”

I gasp. I can’t help it.

“Breanna, love, they’re gone now. You can come out.”

I have absolutely no idea how he knows I’m here. How long he’s known. Or what gave me away.

With effort, I manage a few steps around the tree. Then a few more to clear the woods and stumble out onto the roadway.

He’s standing next to his cart, his face stoic but his eyes searching me frantically.

He looks guilty. The knowledge slams into me. I sway, suddenly dizzy. I’m honestly afraid I might vomit.

“Are you going to be sick, sweetheart?” He comes over like he’s going to help, hold me, touch me.

I can’t let him. I jerk back, almost falling from the abrupt move. “Don’t!”

He drops his hands immediately. Stops moving. “Can I please explain?”

I manage to give him a jerky nod. I’m not sure any explanation will change things, but I can’t do anything else right now, so I might as well listen to him.

“You already know I’ve traded with them. I never liked them, but I used to trade with everyone. You know why. I was trying not to care.”

I did know this. And I thought I understood. “I didn’t know you still were. I thought you stopped like a year ago.”

“I was slowing down, but it’s hard to stop when you’ve gotten sucked into business with people like that. I was trying to extricate myself, but it was a slow process. I wastrying. If I pulled out too quickly, they would have simply killed me.”

Rationally, this makes sense, but nothing rational is sinking into my brain right now. “But they said last month—just last month—you made a deal for drugs.”

“Tylenol. Benadryl. Cough syrup.”

“Last month.”

“We weren’t together last month, love.”

“I know we weren’t. But I thought… I thought…” I strangle on the sentence before I can finish it.

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