Page 45 of Trigger Happy Ending

She’s a different kind of beautiful when she’s frightened. Softer, more feminine, like she needs saving. Any normal man would crawl into bed with her, hold her tight, and tell her she’s safe, she’s okay.

But I’m not a normal man.

Raine’s perfect mouth twitches. Her eyes roll under her lids. Light sweat beads form along her hairline as her breathing gets faster, her beautiful body withering in emotional pain.

She whimpers, before a soft “Mom” floats from her pink, rosebud lips.

Mom?

She gasps for air like she’s being choked. There’s grief in her movements; I’ve seen it before. It reminds me of families finding the bodies of their loved ones in the aftermath of a strike. Fucking horrible, gut-wrenching screams and scenes as those who didn’t deserve to die are carried away, lifeless.

And suddenly, my own ghosts stir from my time spent in active duty. The feeling of sand in my teeth, the grittiness of it, never really goes away. Neither does the blistering sun, light so bright, your eyes burn. And the sounds. Those fucking sounds of machine gun fire and grenade blasts … And the bodies of my brothers.

I have to wake Raine up. If only to stop my own head from going there.

I push off the doorframe and sit on the edge of her bed. I lean forward and touch her shoulder lightly.

“Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Raine doesn’t respond, but her thrashing slows.

“Wake up,” I repeat, more sternly this time. “You’re having a dream.”

She goes still. Too still. Her chest isn’t rising. Sleep paralysis perhaps?

“Shit.”

I grip her shoulder tighter and shake her. “Raine, wake—”

Her eyes fly open, and before I can react, she reaches underneath her pillow and straddles me, knife in hand, the blade pressing under my jaw.

It would be semi-hot if my fucking life wasn’t on the line. Again.

Her thighs clench around mine, the blade pressed dangerously close to my throat.

“What the fuck?!” I yell.

“Soren?!” Raine pants, hands shaking. “What are you doing?”

The alcohol has confused her; she’s obviously still feeling the effects. Still drunk, possibly.

“You’re fucking crazy!”

My pulse throbs against the cold, sharp blade which is still firmly pressed to my jugular.

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Soren?!”

“Trying to wake you up!”

“Why?”

“You were yelling! I came in to check on you.”

She stares, eyes searching, getting a read on me. Maybe she can smell the lie. Ain’t no way in hell I’m admitting I stood in her doorway watching her sleep like a creep. She actually might slit my throat for doing such a thing.

Her eyes narrow to slits. “Why?”

“WHY?” I yell. Is she fucking serious? “Jesus, sorry for trying to help.”