Page 56 of Her Mercenary

“Emotions make a life worth living.”

Roman stared at me for a minute, thinking.

Mercenaries didn’t care about life or death—right?

He pulled another granola bar from the pack and handed it to me. A clever diversion from a conversation getting too deep for his comfort.

“One more,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

He dipped his chin.

I devoured the gooey oats, watching him. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I had something while you slept.”

Oh.

I shifted on the fern leaves, sitting straighter, feeling better. “Have you been able to communicate with whoever was supposed to take us to the airport? The guy who took out the man shooting at me while I escaped?”

“No. His name is Bear, and we lost contact after the chaos at the lodge.”

“Is he someone you work with? At Astor Stone?”

“No. We served together in the military.”

“Ah. Who is Astor Stone?”

“A sadistic, cunning businessman who would have me killed if he knew how sideways this op has gone.”

“Killed?”

“Yes. Astor doesn’t accept failure.”

“Sounds like a horrible boss.”

“He has singlehandedly built one of the most highly respected paramilitary companies in the country, under the guise of a private investigation firm. The DOD considers him invaluable to their international operations. He’s efficient, structured, insanely smart, and puts the mission above all else. I respect him.”

“You respect a man who would kill you?”

“For the greater good? Yes.”

“Wow.” I angled my head toward him. “How old are you?”

“Why? Does it matter?”

I wasn’t sure why, but I detected a bit of insecurity in the question. As if he’d thought about our age difference already.

“No ... I’m twenty-nine,” I said, anxious for his reaction to this.

“I know.”

“You know?”