Page 63 of Her Mercenary

“I want you to get revenge for your mother. And I want to get those goddamn kids out of there, Roman. Do you realize they’re about the same age you were when you killed your first man? Do you want them to turn out as jaded and hard as you?”

Roman stilled, the words hitting him hard.

“Get your revenge and let’s get the kids home. Roman, please.”

“You only feel guilty because you were saved and they weren’t.”

“That’s not all it is. You should have seen their faces ... the fear. I can’t imagine—”

“Stop,” he hissed, holding up his palm, his focus suddenly snapping to the trees in front of us.

“What?” I whispered, every muscle in my body going rigid.

“Stay still—we aren’t alone.”

29

SAM

Chaos erupted before I even knew what was happening.

Roman flattened on the ground, surged onto his feet, and lunged into the trees before I could form a single thought. I scrambled up, slipping on the loose soil as I lurched forward, away from whatever—or whoever—Roman was attacking in the woods.

I lunged into the shadows, jumped behind a tree, and gaped at the man.

Capitán.

Pinned underneath Roman was the one-eyed man who’d kept me captive for months. The monster who’d clipped the brunette’s finger, days after clipping my own. Once I realized this, my instinct then wasn’t to flee, but to help Roman beat the man to death.

Except he wasn’t beating him—and the man wasn’t fighting him, either.

Flummoxed, I watched Roman stand, reach out his hand, and pull Capitán off the ground. He dusted himself off, and they began speaking in Spanish.

There was no thinking, no hesitation on my part.

I pulled the knife Roman had given me and lunged forward with a guttural scream.

If Roman hadn’t tackled me to the ground, I would have killed the man, right there in the middle of the jungle. There is no question in my mind.

“Sam, stop!” Straddling me, Roman jerked the knife from my grasp and pinned my wrists above my head.

“Kill him!” I screamed like a wild animal. “Kill him, Roman!”

“Sam, stop.” His grip around my wrists tightened as I writhed underneath him. “Look at me ... Sam, look at me. Calm down, look at me, look at me.”

I blinked, focusing on the words, on him. On his eyes.

“That’s right,” he said softly. “Take a deep breath. Calm down. I’m here, right here. Inhale, exhale. Breathe, Sam.”

I did, stilling underneath him, our eyes locked with the unspoken trust that had already been formed between us.

“This is Lucas Ruiz,” he told me. “He’s with the Mexican government. He’s the undercover agent I was just telling you about.”

“He’s—what?”

“That’s right. He’s undercover like I am.”

“But, Roman, he’s ... the things he’s done ...”