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ISHOULD HAVE left her ass there.
She wasn’t my mission, not my concern, and we were at war. Casualties were often unavoidable, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. I knew this shit like it was ingrained in my DNA or hardwired into my brain, but none of it seemed to matter when I saw her. I’d already broken my personal protocol for survival by entering this house. I had people to get home to, obligations to protect, and sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong would endanger them.
But I couldn’t force myself to walk away.
She was crumpled on the hardwood floor, lying in the fetal position. The front of her little red dress was ripped with one breast spilling out. Blood dripped from her leg and was smeared across her arm. Dark bruises dotted her skin. A curtain of chin-length blonde hair hid her face. I watched her chest, waiting to see it rise and fall, before finishing what I came to do. She was still breathing as I crept around the room, trying to ignore her presence and focus on my job.
Once the bugs were planted, I took two steps toward the door, determined to make my escape, but couldn’t get any further. It was like an invisible rope tied me to her, making it impossible to leave. Frustrated with myself and the situation, I gave in and knelt to check her pulse. Her heartbeat was steady and strong.
The blonde curtain parted as she looked up at me. Her lip was split, one eye was swollen shut, and the right side of her jaw was battered. But it was the strength and determination written all over her face that stole my breath away and glued my feet to the floor. All the blood, all the bruises—she’d taken one hell of a beating—but she wasn’t broken. Not by a long shot.
She was fucking gorgeous. Alive. Fiery. One bright green eye swept over my mostly naked body, taking in my costume before meeting my gaze.
“Leave me,” she pleaded.
It was the last thing I expected her to say, and the only command I couldn’t follow.
I should have left her ass there, but I didn’t.
Sasha
Four Years Ago
MY MOTHER WAS uncharacteristically late. As I sat in the busy Las Vegas diner, watching the lunch crowd thin out, I checked my phone for missed calls. There was nothing, so I shot off a quick text asking where she was. As I sat the phone down, Mom finally made an appearance. She hurried through the door wearing a tight gray dress and heels. Like always, her makeup was on point and her long brown hair was blown out in soft waves. At forty-two, she still turned heads as she clicked her way past the hostess stand, scanning the diner. I waved and caught her gaze.
Her shoulders rose and fell with a relieved breath as she joined me at my table. “Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of.” Mom hugged me and sat across the booth, scooting in as she picked up her menu.
While a meeting was a fitting excuse for a normal mother, my mom didn’t have the kind of job that required meetings or the kind of boss who met with his employees in the middle of the day. Hell, Mom’s boss was probably still asleep. “What kind of meeting?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Just a meeting.” Avoiding my gaze, she opened her menu. “I wonder how this beet salad is? Have you tried it?”
Mom lived a dangerous life. For years, she thought she was shielding me and my sister, Nadia, from her lifestyle, but I’d always been too curious and observant for my own good. I’d spied on her, fascinated by the scandalous way she dressed each night and intrigued by the men who picked her up.
I was also the first one to notice the track marks on her arms.
Mom’s protective instincts had flown out the window the first time I dragged her ass into rehab and told her to stop lying to me and to herself. Something shifted that day, and she started recognizing me as an ally and an adult, rather than a child she had to shelter from the truth. If she was trying to protect me now, something was seriously wrong. I looked her over, noticing the tightness of her mouth, the dark circles around her eyes, and the slight tremble of her hands. Leaning across the table, I lowered my voice and said, “Mom, look at me.”
She hesitated. Then her sage green eyes lifted. The slight bounce to them made my breath hitch.
“Shit. You’re using again.”
Her gaze dropped back down to her menu. “It’s not like that, Sasha. It’s nothing, really. There’s been a small shake up at work, and I needed a little something to… you know… help with my anxiety.”
Eight years ago, Mom sat me and Nadia down to tell us that she was going to work, and Dad would be spending more time at home. It was her way of protecting us from the truth that our Dad had prostate cancer. Nadia and I weren’t stupid, and we knew something was up. We heard the way Mom sobbed at night and saw the way Dad withered away.
Mom cleaned hotel rooms by day and waited tables at night, but she couldn’t come close to matching Dad’s income. The next time she sat me and Nadia down, it was to tell us that we were selling our house and beginning a new adventure, which meant moving into a small two-bedroom apartment in a shady part of Vegas.
Despite all the expensive treatments and procedures, Dad died, leaving Mom with an impossible stack of medical bills, two confused daughters to raise, and a giant hole in her heart. Somewhere between working two jobs, fending off collection calls, and dealing with her crushing sadness, she turned to meth to keep herself going. Before long, her drug of choice was “yes please” and she was in an on-again off-again relationship with her dealer, Tony, who offered to pimp her out so she could make enough money to support her habit and her family. Over the past seven years, I’d dragged her into rehab four times trying to get her clean. The last time she fell off the wagon, it almost killed her. It almost killed me to see her so strung out and hopeless. She promised me she was done with dope and hooking, and last I’d heard, she’d moved in with Tony and he was taking care of her.
“I thought you and Tony were back together and you were done with that shit?” I asked.
Pain sliced through Mom’s features and she looked away. “We were and I was, but things changed.”
She was being so damn vague I buckled down for a fight, knowing I’d have to drag every detail out of her. “Where’s Tony?” I silently swore that if he was the one who’d given her the dope, I was going to kick in his crooked teeth.
“He’s gone.”
