Page 52 of Her Mercenary

I pretended to examine the knife in my lap while forcing away the tears.

The knife. The fucking knife I’d been given to defend my life. The knife that I’d just been instructed how to use to kill someone.

What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Who was I?

“Sleep,” he said softly, tucking a tangled strand of hair behind my ear. “Try to sleep.”

That night, I pretended to sleep as Roman stood guard at the edge of the cave.

I pretended to sleep when he eventually settled in next to me.

I pretended to sleep as I rested my head on his shoulder.

I pretended to sleep as I focused on the inhale and exhale of his breath.

And for the first time in countless dark days, I slept while I felt safe.

24

SAM

“Get up.”

I startled awake at the low, gravelly voice above me, and shot up into a seated position. Blinking wildly, I tried to discern the unfamiliar surroundings while my head was heavy with sleep.

I saw dark cave walls. Clothing, a million sizes too big. Bandaged feet.

Him.

Him—the mercenary. My savior.

“It’s time to get moving,” Roman said, organizing the pack.

Get moving? Ah yes, from the evil men who wanted me dead.

I nodded, then clumsily pushed off the cave floor, sore in places I didn’t know existed from sprinting through the jungle.

He was a vision, a tall, wide, deliciously muscular body, backlit by the cave entrance.

Sometime in the night, Roman had changed out of his suit and into a thin gray T-shirt and tactical pants, matching the clothing he’d given me the day before. Except he filled out every inch of his clothing. A pair of worn, scuffed combat boots covered his feet. A handgun was secured in a holster resting on one hip, a long sheathed knife on the other. Ink swirled over his bare arms, full sleeves of interlocking tattoos that disappeared under the short sleeves.

I knew his chest was bare from when he’d unbuttoned in front of me while I was chained to the bed. And suddenly, I wanted to see the full picture.

Instead of the slick, rich, smooth-talking businessman he was at the lodge, Roman looked more like the mercenary he claimed to be. He was alert, ready, totally in his element.

While I, on the other hand, looked like a feral cat after being caught in a drain.

Despite being wobbly on my sore, ACE-bandaged feet, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and forced confidence. “I’m ready.”

The corner of his mouth quirked.

I blinked. Is that a smile? Am I amusing him?

Roman lifted a small copper cup that I hadn’t noticed in his massive hand. “Let’s start with this.”

“What is it?”

“Coffee.”