Instead of smiling like he hoped, she withdrew into herself. “Whatever,” she muttered and studiously didn’t look at him.
She didn’t take compliments well, apparently. Fine, he could take a hint.
“What happened?” He traced his finger over the seam between flesh and metal. Born and made. The amazing work still awed him.
She stiffened.
His touch or the subject? He withdrew his hand as surely as she’d withdrawn into herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She sighed. A whisper of sound. “You didn’t,” she said, though it sounded more like she was talking to herself than to him.
He couldn’t do anything right when it came to this woman. Two nights in a row, he’d hit raw nerves. “I should go.”
“Wait.” She laid her hand gently on his forearm.
He stilled, not wanting to scare her off and cause a repeat of last night.
She was touching him, asking him to stay. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“I grew up on the streets.” She stared straight ahead, not looking at him. Probably caught up in her memories.
He knew that stare. He’d seen it in the mirror so many times, usually when he tried to figure out how he could have made the night of his capture end differently.
“I came home from school one day and my parents were gone. All our stuff was gone. It was the end of life as I knew it, and I still don’t even know why or what happened.” Her voice was heartbreakingly matter-of-fact.
Gently, not wanting to scare her, he curled his fingers around hers.
“I stayed with friends for a few weeks, bouncing from house to house. But I wasn’t their kid, their family. I was just another mouth to feed.”
His heart broke for young Taryn. He knew that feeling, of losing your parents and having to fend for yourself. At least he’d had Hope.
Her fingers clenched around his, squeezing the bones together. Whatever was coming, he wasn’t going to like it.
“I was thirteen. A friend’s dad said I was pretty. Said he’d let me stay a month if I let him—” She swallowed hard. “If I let him fuck me.” She spit the last words out.
His stomach roiled. She didn’t give him a chance to react. Which was good—what do you say to that?
“It wasn’t quite a month until his wife found out. She kicked me out of the house. Told all my friends’ moms so I didn’t have anywhere else to stay. I ended up on the streets.”
Rage filled him. Who did that to a kid? He imagined Hope in that situation and his blood thundered in his ears. His free hand clenched and unclenched. It took everything he had to stay still, to let her squeeze his hand and not react.
“I tried not to turn tricks. But it was cold and wet. I got so, so hungry.” Her voice was a tiny mewl.
He tensed, knowing what came next. His heart broke for thirteen-year-old Taryn. He’d seen those girls on the streets and he’d fought to keep that from happening to Hope.
“One night, I wandered into someone else’s territory. She beat me up pretty good. Then her pimp showed up.” Her free hand ran over her cheekbone.
His gut clenched. He knew that move, understood the lingering memories of old injuries.
“He took me in, paid to treat my wounds. When I was back on my feet, he told me how much I owed him. Since I didn’t have any money, I’d have to earn it.”
His stomach churned. Red-hot rage flowed through his veins. It was a common story, but that didn’t make it right.
The silence that fell between them wasn’t easy. Should he say something? “How did you end up here? As the Jack?”
Taryn’s bitter laugh did nothing to dispel his anger. “God, I never thought I’d end up here. Or anywhere that was like a home again.”
She tugged him closer and rested her head on his shoulder. He froze in surprise but didn’t pull away. He carefully wrapped his arms around her.
