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

sprays above me like warm rain.
    After stepping inside, I wash my body, my breasts, and between my thighs, which throb with only the memory of Shepard's hands holding me from Hugo.
    Dangerous hands. Merciless.
    Lust seizes me from those dark eyes that roamed my body as if I was special. As if I was worth saving—noticing. Marissa Augustine is not needy. Need is a luxury emotion, one I can't afford to have. I've never been able to.
    I will go to the police. Even if Shepard saved me. Even if Hugo deserved to die.
    Even though I have no proof.
    I give a vicious twist of the faucet, and the hot water pours out of the tub spout. I shut it off.
    Water drips, sounding like tears on porcelain.
    I step out of the shower, brace myself against the wall, and rip off first a towel for my hair and then one for my body.
    I wrap myself in terry cloth and pad softly through my dinky apartment.
    I pass by my tired but functional kitchen, moving back through the long narrow hallway to my bedroom in the very back of my space, and go directly to my high and narrow chest of drawers.
    Selecting new panties, bra, yoga pants, and a tie-dyed T-shirt later, I toss everything on. My eyes move to the Converse tennis shoes lining the floor of my open closet, and I choose the scalding red ones.
    I glance at my cell and see it's nearly three a.m. I rub my eyes and look at the time again. The witching hour.
    No time like the present.
    I sigh, sliding my backpack on. As I move through the quiet apartment to my front door, the water drips.
    The vintage clock ticks, its Felix the Cat tail swinging endlessly back and forth. It's the only thing I was able to save from the orphanage. Seeing that black-and-white cat clock every day in my place is sad. It's also wonderful.
    A thought occurs to me.
    Shepard said to call him if I saw someone again. Someone from the family. The French mob.
    Like what? They have a sign on them: “French Mob coming to get you”? Right.
    I take my cell out of the front pocket of my pack, move my thumb, and press Contacts. Hit S.
    Shepard is not the first contact under S , but neither is he the last. The letters of his name softly glow at me. Mock me.
    I shiver. He commandeered my phone—and who knows how many other details of my life? Though I keep my personal life to a minimum of distractions and relationships. It's safer that way. There is not much to know.
    Shepard can't be his real name. What is? Why is he so cruel— why did he save me ?
    What kind of man hurts young women like that? What kind would rescue one from the people he used to be a part of?
    Walking over to the door, I sling my loaded pack over my shoulder and grasp the handle. My hand warms the doorknob.
    I remove my fingers. Indecision shakes me to my core. I should go to the police and let them figure out all this crap. There's probably someone there that would listen.
    But I don't want to get in trouble, be suspected, get waylaid, and lose time from my job—my studies.
    Lives are at stake. I bite my lip. My life is at stake.
    The hell with it. A second later, I put my hand back on the knob and twist it open. The chain I forgot to unlatch jerks taut.
    An eyeball stares back at me from the inches of space I created. Shepard.
    I gasp, instinctively trying to shut the door.
    An Italian shoe inserts itself in the space.
    My eyes rise to meet his.
    “Would you have phoned me?”
    His question robs me of breath, but I manage to answer truthfully because I'm so flustered by him reappearing. “I don't know.”
    The chain bisects his throat, dividing us.
    He smiles at my answer, and it's a real smile, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners. It's sexy and scary, making my female bits tingle.
    “They have found me.”
    Oh God. “Who?” I whisper, but I know.
    A flutter appears at his jaw. “ La famille. ”
    “How?”
    The natural smile that was there a moment ago narrows, becoming something else.
    Something less beautiful. Feral.
    I realize the man he was, steals