With every word, he looks more horrified, and I lower my gaze to my hands. How much can I tell him before he runs away? Or can’t stand to look at me?
“I…” Shame heats my cheeks, so hot, they feel like they’re about to combust, and I can’t force the words past the lump in my throat. So I do the only thing I can. I show him.
Clutching the towel to my chest, I shove the blankets down, exposing my legs. He’s still staring at my face, so I guide his fingers over my thigh. Over the dozens of scars that mark me as…damaged. As too weak to deal with my own emotions. And too scared to trust anyone else with them.
“Did he do this to you? The piece of garbage who took you?”
If only that were true. “No. I did it to myself.”
Ford
I didn’t see it. The cuts on her palm. The scratches on her arms. Hell, I had her half-naked in my lap just a few minutes ago. I have so many questions, but the only one that escapes is, “Why?”
“Everything hurt,” she whispers. “Every noise terrified me. We’d fall asleep…and they liked to wake us up by—” With a shake of her head, she says more than she could with any words. “When the FBI came, Jefe—that’s what he made us call him—put a gun to my head. He was going to kill me. So I punched him in the balls.”
She’s so matter-of-fact. Almost like she’s watching someone else’s memories. How the FBI shot the asswipe. How he landed on top of her. The hospital. The humiliation of being examined, of being forced to tell her story over and over again. “The mind can only take so much pain,” she says, her voice hoarse. “When I felt like I was disappearing, when I couldn’t feel anything, doing…this…let me breathe again.”
“This is what you couldn’t tell me?”
She doesn’t speak. Just nods.
My frustration edges towards anger. But not with Joey. With myself. Forcing out a breath, I gently turn her arm so I can see the scars running from her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Most are old, but there are two fresh ones. Tracing one, I steal glances at her face, watching for any reaction. There’s nothing in the pale, blue depths of her eyes. Shell-shock. Or something close to it. So many of the guys I served with…they wore that same look.
So I do the only thing I can. Gather her close, bring her wrist to my lips, and kiss each mark on her skin. By the time I reach the last one, she’s back with me—her free hand clutching my shirt.
“You’re beautiful, Joey. Beautiful and brilliant and perfect and the best thing to ever happen to me. There is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop loving you. I only have one question.”
Her breath hitches, and she bites her lower lip so hard, it turns white. “What?”
“Do you…will you trust me now?”
I see her struggle. Her shame. But more than that…I see hope. A hint of that light in her eyes I feared she’d never find again.
Her fingers brush my cheek, and her answer rights my entire world.
“Yes.”
14
Ford
I didn’t want to leave her. Not even for a minute, but these clothes have seen better days, and the scent of blood—mine and hers—doesn’t take either of us happy places. So now, under the shower spray, I clench my fists at my sides, letting the hot water ease some of the knots in my shoulders and back.
Holding her felt so right, so familiar, despite how much we’ve both changed. And when she relaxed against me, burying her face against my neck, it was like coming home.
Not wanting to be away from her for long, I rush through the shower, ignoring the stubble covering my cheeks. My shoulder still throbs, but having Joey with me, truly with me, eases the rest of the discomfort from Faruk’s interrogation.
With a towel around my waist, I pause with my hand on the door knob. She trusts me. She’s seen me naked a hundred times. But this is all new. We’re two strangers in love, and I don’t know where the lines are.
Time to find out.
When I throw open the door, Joey’s back is to me, but she whirls around, her panicked gaze scanning the room. Words of reassurance die in my throat as I register the bruises covering her back around her bra straps and peeking out of the waistband of her black pants.
You’re a fucking idiot. You saw that asshole kicking the shit out of her and you never even asked.
“God, Joey. You’re hurt.” I take two steps closer to her, and she tenses, but then gives me a little shake of her head.
“I’m okay. Nothing’s broken.”
