I roll over and stare at the light seeping in around the door. “You are being ridiculous. He is here. Not ten meters away.Makehim talk to you.”
It is quiet when I tiptoe down the stairs. A single lamp bathes the living room in a gentle glow. Nomar is stretched out on the sofa, the blanket bunched around his waist. He removed his t-shirt, and my God. A long, thick scar stretches across his chest. Others—smaller, almost round, and shiny—dot his torso. A deep bruise yellows on his left arm.
My gasp startles him awake, and he is on his feet in an instant, gun in hand, a feral look in his eyes.
“Fuck. What’s wrong?”
If only I could remember why I came down here. But upright, his torso is like sculpted granite. Both of his nipples are pierced with heavy silver barbs. Tattoos wind over his chest. A broken heart. Flowers and feathers and leaves. Mountains and clouds.
His jeans leave little to the imagination, and my mouth goes dry.
“Lisette?” He sets the gun down and, in two steps, stands in front of me, close enough, I run my fingers over the thick scar.
“What happened? This…is less than a year old.”
Nomar lowers his gaze to my hand. “You don’t want to know.”
“In your world, do people often ask questions they do not want answered? Because that is not how we do things in France.”
His laugh causes my anger to flare, bright and hot. Until he smiles. It brings a lightness to him I have never seen.
With a shake of his head, he covers my hand with his. “You really do want to know, don’t you?”
“Yes. I am not fragile, Nomar. I spent ten years the captive wife of the most feared man in all of Afghanistan. He did not get that reputation by being…kind. Or gentle.”
I link our fingers and guide his hand under my tank top to the scars criss-crossing my back.
“He gave me these only hours after I signed the marriage certificate.”
A low sound rumbles in Nomar’s chest. Almost a growl. His eyes darken, and the veins at his temples throb with every beat of his heart.
“They were nothing compared what he had already done to me,” I say, my voice threatening to fail at any moment. “You know how few rights women have in Afghanistan. But Faruk still needed me to agree to the marriage in front of the Imam. For two months, I refused. He locked me in a small room first. Starved me. Made me beg for anything more than tea or water. When that failed, he sent me down into the well.”
Tears gather in my eyes and I step back to hold out my arms. “The scorpions come out at night. Even in winter. Their venom causes high fevers. He kept the well covered. It was dark. All the time. He would send down water and bread and medicine, but only at night. Every time, he would say, ‘If you agree to marry me, I will let you out.’”
“Lisette—”
“Please.” I swipe at my cheeks. “Let me finish.”
His palm is warm against my back, and the touch helps center me enough to draw in a trembling breath. “I spent many years wishing I had been brave enough to pour out all the water and die of dehydration. But I was still so naive I believed someone would come for me.”
“Someone should have…” he mutters.
My stomach twists into a knot. I taste bile, bitter on my tongue, and swallow it down. “Time had no meaning there. But later, I found out it took him five weeks to break me.”
He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me and holding on tight. I rest my cheek against his shoulder.
“I know what true evil is, Nomar. I have seen it. Shared a bed with it. Stood by its side while it ordered the deaths of hundreds of people. So whatever was done to you—whatever you have done since I saw you last—I promise you, it will not change how I look at you. Because you are a good man.”
His chest heaves, and he brushes his lips over my hair. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
Drawing back, I find oceans of pain in his eyes. “Talk to me? It is not hard.” My hand molds to his cheek, and I draw my thumb over his lips. “You open your mouth, and words come out.”
“It’s so much more than that.” After a sigh, he drops his forehead to mine. “I told myself I could walk away. That I’d come here, follow you around for a few days—maybe even a week—and once I knew you were safe, I’d go back to being…alone. But I saw you tonight, scared, and all I could think about was holding you.”
“Is having your arms around me really so horrible?” I ask with a smile. “Do you hate my shampoo? Do I smell?”
“God, no. You’re perfect, sweetheart.” Nomar nudges my chin up and slants his mouth over mine. His hand tangles in my hair. He deepens the kiss, his tongue darting over my lips until I part them on a breathy moan.
