She paused, realizing his meaning. Was he worried about her, or about the men …? Regardless … “I am not in the mood to entertain anyone, especially men.”
His gaze hit the table with a grim expression.
Understanding how her words likely sounded, she covered her mouth. Then leaned forward. “I did not—I only meant—”
“Relax.” He went back to eating. “I know what you meant, Kas.”
Scooting the food around on the metal tray, she remembered her friend. Her now-dead friend. “Zaki called me that,” she said softly, then hurriedly took a bite so she did not have to think about him sacrificing himself. A terrible trade. Salt clogged her throat. She uncapped a bottled water and drank. “It is so salty!”
“Hides the lack of taste.” His voice was dull. After several moments of silent brooding, he tossed down his fork. Rested both forearms on the table. “I think …” He swiped a hand over his thickening beard. “I need to hear your story.”
Now her heart trounced for an entirely different reason. “My story …” Why did he need to hear it? To justify negating the marriage he had been forced into? To solidify his rejection of her?
He again studied the table, then sighed. “Zaki believed in you … a lot.”
“He was a fool of a boy in love with a girl who could not return his love.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“What? You can read people?”
He squinted. “Seems that’s your gift.” He considered her for a long second. “Please.”
Panic clawed at her hastily erected defenses.
“I want to understand.” For a man with a temper and ability to wield violence, he was inordinately calm.
Which made her feel defensive. “Why?”
His frown wavered and he folded his arms. Seemed mad. “Because we’re married?”
Those words stole her breath. “You know I will not hold you to that.” Kasra eased forward to put emphasis behind her words. “I begged you not to do it!”
His blue eyes held her hostage. “So it’s my fault.”
“No!”
“What was I to do? Watch them execute you?” Shaking his head, he adjusted on the chair. “I may be a lot of things, but that wasn’t something I could do.”
“Why?” she gaped. “I am nothing to you. A whore who trafficked kids for sex. I heard you say that to Zaki!”
“I never called you that,” he growled. “But trafficking women and children—that’s why I need to hear your story. Because if what happened in that mosque is legal … no matter how I feel, I will be held accountable by God.”
Surprise tilted her head. “You believe in God?”
Range winced. “Grew up going to church.” He scratched his jaw. “Youth group, summer camp, winter camp … I was the rule follower, and that was one thing my mom raised us to adhere to.”
Something had changed. She could not tell what it was … except nice and strange at the same time. And ‘nice’ was never good. “What happened?”
He groaned. “Not going easy on me, are you?”
“My brother. My theory is we were born too close together. He beat me out of everything all through life. He was bigger than life, just like our dad—heroic, handsome, and smooth. I was awkward, shy, uncertain. Always a day late and a dollar short compared to Canyon, who could convince an ice hauler he needed a refrigerator. When he’d enlisted, I thought life gave me a gift. But he came home on leave and stole my girl right out from under me before prom. Slept with her.” He shook his head again, flicking the fork around his fingers. “Then he stole Dani. I rescued her from the sea and looked after her, fell head over heels. Things were fine, I thought. She went to the Coast Guard ball with me, then … she ends up on a mission with Canyon, and he sweeps her off her feet and gets her pregnant. It was the last straw. I left them.”
“This woman and your brother?”
His gaze struck her. “Everyone. My family—mom, sisters. Couldn’t take it anymore. They always made excuses for him, and I always ended up with the short end of the stick.”
“What do sticks have to do with it?”
