Page 2 of Unexpected Heroine
But I don’t say that.
Tears pool in my eyes. Only it’s not in response to my physical pain. It’s from the anguish I put on his handsome face with my recklessness.
The sorrow is etched onto his features, from the tight set of his jaw to the creases lining his forehead.
And his eyes.
They’re coated in sadness, dulling their normal vibrancy.
Attempting to comfort him, I offer a sad smile. “You aren’t hurting me.”
He presses his lips into a thin line and hefts me toward the building. I rest my head on his shoulder, my eyelids growing heavy. The rise and fall of his steps lull me.
When we enter the building, the chill of the air conditioning and bright lights jerk me from my moment of respite. My head pops off his shoulder, and my eyes widen like saucers. Every muscle tenses as if my fight-or-flight response has been triggered.
Fucking hell. Get a grip, Lettie. Every time I open my eyes, I’m launched right back into a state of panic.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that I have no clue where he’s taking me.
“Where are we going?”
“Locker room.” He tips his chin over my shoulder, but I don’t take my eyes off his face, fearful he’ll disappear. “I should have something in there for you to wear. After that, we’ll go upstairs for a minute. Then we’ll get you home. Okay?”
My stomach bottoms out. “To your house, right?”
“Of course, sugar bear. I’m gonna take care of you.”
All I can do is nod and fight the wobble of my chin. If I try to speak, I’ll cry.
It’s stupid to think he’d just deposit me on my front stoop with a pat on my head, acting like the worst thing imaginable hasn’t happened.
Vaguely, as if off in the distance, I hear low murmurs. People talking. Waves of light waft past my eyes, but my lids are drooping.
Days of panic, exhaustion, and grueling pain have rendered me unable to focus on anything but the comforting embrace and safety provided by the man I love more than life itself.
Too bone-tired to hold my head up any longer, I return it to his shoulder. Despite longing for sleep, I’m terrified of letting myself drift off.
What if I wake up and I’m still in that house? Or what if the nightmares come, reminding me of the horrors we all endured? What if James leaves me while I’m asleep?
Stop it, Lettie. He’s not leaving you. James would never.
The lighting around us shifts. I blink and attempt to focus, noting we’ve moved from an expansive lobby into a hallway.
Peeking over James’s shoulder, I notice Tasha and her boyfriend being led by two of our rescuers. There’s another man with them, his arms tied behind his back. Despite my hazy thoughts, I recognize him instantly—the creepy Russian from the bar.
The one from the house who . . .
Bile rises in the back of my throat. My grip on James tightens. Blinking the memories away, I nuzzle into his chest and pretend none of it happened.
It wasn’t real.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
James stops in front of a door and scans his thumbprint to unlock it, shuffling me a bit in the process. Then he swiftly carries me through a room that smells faintly of disinfectant and dried sweat.
I haven’t the foggiest idea why that would be. Perhaps I’m losing it.
The squirrel who runs my tragic excuse for a brain has passed out from exhaustion, hunger, and thirst.