Page 7 of Unexpected Heroine

The anguish in his tone would break me if I wasn’t already broken.

My sinuses sting, and my pulse pounds. Tears overflow and spill down my cheeks when I finally utter my acceptance of his request.

It’s only one word.

Because I’ve never needed anyone to take care of me like I need him to now.

“Please.”

Chapter 2

The blame game begins

TOMER

The entire drive home from Redleg, all I can do is recite the same two sentences in my mind on a loop.

She’s safe. She’s gonna be okay.

She’s safe, and she’s fucking gonna be okay.

While she sleeps, her hand rests on top of my thigh. Whether she’s reassuring herself or me is unclear. But I’m grateful for that simple touch.

I’ve never seen my sweet girl look like this.

It’s not only the physical wounds. It’s deeper.

Weary to the bone. Battered in the truest sense of the word.

Her posture and demeanor remind me of my fellow soldiers when we returned to base from our first mission. Shell-shocked, bloodied, and, for some... broken.

Lettie’s torment is more than I can probably fathom, despite my own fucked-up existence in life and the cruel acts I’ve endured.

It’s not only the cuts, welts, and dried blood on her skin showcasing her trauma. And it’s not the remnants of the makeup she wore to the club on Friday night streaked down her cheeks. Not the red around her eyes or the paleness of her face.

The real tragedy hides deeper, way below her bruised and beaten flesh.

Pain. Lots of it.

Not only from the physical injuries. Those will heal.

It’s the buried pain that’ll have lasting effects.

That’s what worries me the most.

The worst part of it all? I know she’s going to have plenty of difficult questions for me. And if I answer her honestly, her agony will only increase.

That’s why I need to hold off her inquisition as long as possible.

In the past, I’ve managed to avoid lying outright, simply deflecting or answering indirectly. I know it’s still wrong, but it helped ease my fucked-up conscience. After all this, I might have to lie flat out.

And it fucking sucks.

Now is the worst time to confess to her why they kept calling me T and why Boss shouted my real name as we left the office. I hate the idea of telling her how Mia was tracking her all along, same as I was. And I damn sure don’t want to tell her I’ve known her father this entire time and kept it a secret.

All I need is more time.

Time to help her heal. To prepare her.