Badlands

Owen lifted his head to speak to Penny. His vision was blurry, his mouth slack. When he tried to speak, a string of saliva dribbled from his lips. “M’okay,” he mumbled, forming the words for Cruz’s sake. “I’m okay.”

Penny looked horrified. Maybe he should have saved his breath.

The man put away the taser and cuffed Owen’s hands behind his back. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His muscles felt like jelly. He wiped his chin against the fabric of his jacket. Lethargy drowned out most of his embarrassment.

“He’s okay,” Penny murmured to Cruz, rocking him in her lap. “He’s hurt, but he’s going to be okay.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the hospital,” she said immediately. “Owen needs a doctor.”

She knew what was happening. Of course she knew. She wasn’t dumb. Even he knew, and his brain was fried.

“What happened to him?” Cruz asked.

“He had a seizure.”

“A seizer?”

“Seizure,” she corrected. “Shaking you can’t control. This man is helping Owen so he doesn’t hurt himself again. Isn’t that right, Mr....?”

“Dirk.”

“Mr. Dirk.”

It was a bullshit name, but it was a bullshit story. Owen should have been more careful approaching the vehicle. In his haste to get Penny and Cruz away from the paparazzi, he’d delivered them directly to...

The kidnappers.

He couldn’t believe Shane was involved in this. He couldn’t believe Shane was here. His brother had been living at a halfway house in Northern California. It went without saying that this violated the terms of his parole.

“The kid wasn’t supposed to be with her,” Shane said.

“What do you want to do with him?”

Penny tightened her arms around Cruz protectively.

“I can’t drop him off on the street corner,” Shane replied.

“Maybe he’ll double our take,” Dirk said.

Owen rested his forehead on the edge of the seat and tried to recover his wits. His stomach churned with nausea as he sorted through the fuzzy details. Penny was the target of this crime, not Cruz. The disappearance of two Sandoval family members would be noticed and investigated at once.

Despite the mix-up with Cruz, this kidnapping appeared to be an organized effort. The fire alarm must have been rigged. They’d known Penny had been about to take the stage. They’d known she had a single bodyguard—him—and not an entourage. They’d been following her. Waiting for an opportunity to strike.

The ease with which they’d executed the plan appalled him. With lucidity came regret. He’d failed to protect Penny and Cruz. Failed on every level. He’d been tricked, overpowered and stunned into submission.

Cruz had a booster seat, but Penny didn’t put him in it. Her arms were wrapped tight around him, her jaw clenched with determination. If anyone tried to take him from her, she’d claw their eyes out.

As the car went around a sharp corner, Owen slid towards Dirk. He wasn’t trying to challenge him in any way, but he couldn’t prevent his body from listing that direction. He had no control, no anchor.

Dirk gripped the back of Owen’s shirt and slammed him facedown on the seat. Straddling his thighs, he ripped off Owen’s communication device, which was hanging from his collar, and tossed it out the window. Then he checked him for weapons.

Owen gritted his teeth against the feel of another man’s hands on him, diving into his pockets and thrusting between his legs. He didn’t like incidental contact. Getting groped while he was restrained and vulnerable sent him over the edge.

He’d been held down before. Cheek smashed against the cold tile, wrists trapped in a cruel grip. He didn’t want to travel to that dark place again. It was locked inside his memory, never to be revisited.

Dirk dispensed with Owen’s jacket and relieved him of his cell phone, pepper spray and tactical baton. He also found Owen’s money clip and confiscated it. “This rent-a-cop doesn’t even have a gun.”

“I told you he wouldn’t,” Shane said.

“What kind of bodyguard doesn’t pack heat?”

Plenty of them. Some security experts used weapons, others didn’t. Owen was trained in self-defense and close combat. His top priority was escorting members of the Sandoval family to safety, not getting into shoot-outs with assailants. He was also a convicted felon, so he couldn’t own a gun. Being armed wouldn’t have made a difference in this situation, anyway. He’d been incapacitated before he’d had a chance to react.

With a derisive grunt, Dirk continued the search, running his hands along Owen’s thighs and circling his calves. He finished the pat-down, but the violation wasn’t over. Dirk pinned Owen to the seat with his body weight, taking an aggressive rear-mount position. He slanted his forearm across the back of Owen’s neck, putting his mouth close to his ear. “I heard you were a little bitch in prison.”

Owen clenched his jaw, not responding to the dig. It was a common insult for ex-cons; Dirk had no idea what he’d done inside. He was just trying to make Owen mad. Owen refused to give him the satisfaction. Dirk’s opinion meant nothing to him.

Penny was another story. Owen didn’t want her to see him like this. When he glanced at her, she was watching them. She’d cradled Cruz’s head to her chest to prevent him from witnessing the disturbing scene. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

He closed his, feeling like a loser.

Fifteen minutes ago, she’d begged him to kiss her. For luck, she’d said, gazing up at him. He’d been floored by the request, but he’d also understood what prompted it. She’d needed an escape, a brief distraction. He’d fantasized about kissing her—really kissing her—a thousand times. The temptation to plunder her mouth was hard to resist. But he’d acted the gentleman, not mussing her pretty, painted lips.

In that fleeting moment, he’d fooled himself into believing he was good enough for her. In this one, he felt absolutely worthless.

“Quit fucking around,” Shane said to Dirk. “I don’t want to get pulled over.”

Dirk climbed off Owen and returned to his seat, adjusting a black handkerchief around his neck to cover his face. His baseball cap and casual clothes made him resemble a member of the paparazzi, but his powerful build suggested otherwise. Owen pegged him as a recent parolee.

When Owen was capable of moving, he dragged himself upright and settled into the space beside Penny and Cruz. He couldn’t help them escape, but he could put his body between them and danger.

They were on the freeway. Shane sat behind the wheel, wearing a motorcycle face mask. Keshawn Jones was handcuffed in the passenger seat. He appeared to be suffering from the effects of electroshock, too.

Cruz twisted around in his mother’s lap, studying him with solemn brown eyes. “Are you better now, Owen?”

“Much better.”

“Why do you need those han’cuffs?”

“I don’t have control of my arms yet. I might hit someone.” He glanced at Dirk, his fists clenched behind his back.

“Can I hug you?”

Owen was touched by the request. “Sure,” he said, clearing his throat.

Cruz let go of Penny and put his small arms around Owen’s neck. He was a chatty kid, always full of questions and bouncing with energy. Penny encouraged him to be nice and mind his manners, but she also let him run wild when he needed to. She didn’t try to smother his natural rambunctiousness or dole out harsh punishments. Owen respected Penny for raising Cruz with a gentle hand. It was clear the boy had never been mistreated in any way.