Free Denied by Marissa Farrar

he’d hired.
    His surprise was evident. “Coming over? What, as in, to America?”
    “Yes.” His tone was curt. “Of course that’s what I mean.”
    “Right. What would you like me to do until you get here?”
    “Exactly the same as you have been doing. Keep your distance, just watch her. If it looks like someone is going to hurt her, step in, but otherwise don’t even let her know you’re there.”
    “What about this other guy? What if he tries to take things further with her?”
    “Just make sure he doesn’t,” he snapped. “If I catch him in bed with her, I’ll cut off his cock and make him eat it.”
    Monster slammed down the phone. His hands shook with his fury. His anger and jealousy was all-encompassing, blocking out all other thought. He tortured himself with the idea of another man touching her, of him pulling off her clothes and suckling on her beautiful nipples. Would she throw her head back in the way she did with him? Would she gasp and moan if this strange man buried his face between her creamy white thighs and licked her? Would she lace her fingers in his hair and push his face deeper, arching her back and crying out as she came, just as she had with him?
    With a roar, Monster stood, his fingertips hooked beneath his heavy mahogany desk, and he lifted and flipped it, sending everything sitting on top—his computer and phone, and stacks of paperwork—crashing to the floor. The desk sat on its side like an upended beast too large to right itself.
    What had he been thinking by sending her away? He’d die before he allowed her to have a life without him in it. He owned her, and she owned him. He wouldn’t allow another man to take what he owned.
    Monster’s mind turned to the practicalities of flying to America. It was times like this he missed his right hand man, Tudor, the most. Previously, he would have simply told Tudor what he needed, and the older man would have arranged everything for him. Monster still hadn’t found anyone to take his place. How could he? He’d known and trusted Tudor his entire life; finding someone like that again was near impossible.
    With Tudor and his cook, Marianna, both dead, and with Lily now sent back to America, Monster found himself utterly alone.
    He had a fake passport—the best money could buy. He’d had one for years, just in case he’d needed to flee the country, but of course he’d never needed to use it. He also had access to a private plane, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the monotony of domestic travel.
    Monster pondered what he would do when he reached America.
    He could bring Lily back here. Just whisk her away again as he had before. But that would do no good. If he did that, they’d be right back to where they started, with Lily back in Cuba and still in danger. Anger and frustration rose within him. Why couldn’t she have behaved herself, just this once? Why had she gone running off to the police, and was now involving herself in God only knew what? He’d made sure there was enough money in her bank account to keep her content for a long time to come. She could have booked a vacation somewhere relaxing to recover, but instead she was traipsing all over the city like some kind of vigilante out to get revenge.
    Perhaps that was exactly what she was doing.
    A sudden certainty filled him. She wanted to get revenge on him for what had happened to her, and if she couldn’t take it out on him, she would go after the men he had initially hired.
    Fuck.
    He wished he could turn back the clock and do that part of her journey differently. He hadn’t known back then what he did now. He’d thought the traffickers were simply a way of moving women who needed to be moved. Never once had he given any thought to how the woman might feel—why would he? Women had been a commodity to him his whole life, creatures to be used and enjoyed, and then thrown away. It would be like caring how the cow felt about its journey to becoming a steak. Did he give