Page 108 of The Brigadier

I shot up like a cannon, racing toward the stairs. Damien had cried out. Oh, God. I shouldn’t have left him alone.

By the time I made it to his room, not only was I pushed high on adrenaline, but he was crying. Not throwing a tantrum but crying.

“Hey, little man. Are you okay?” There were no boogeymen in the room, no appearance of any threat. But the kid was utterly petrified. As soon as I sat down on the bed, he threw his arms around me, crawling onto his knees. Jesus. The little boy was shaking. I allowed him to sob into my neck for a couple of minutes before gently easing him away. “Did you have a nightmare?”

He sniffled, his special light floating across the ceiling able to highlight his tears. It took him a little while, but he nodded.

“The thing about nightmares is that they aren’t real. No one can hurt you. Did you know that?” I tried to keep my tone soft, my voice even.

There were so many things I adored about the little man, but one of them was his ability to analyze a question prior to answering. It was like watching a scientist plotting through a problem with molecules. Maybe that was a little stretched, but it was the truth.

He touched the side of my face and it was obvious to me Damien was remembering something. “It was real, Chantie.”

“How so?”

Now he was playing with my hair. I wanted so badly to push him but knew better.

“Bad man.”

“A bad man?”

His little nod was more pronounced than it had been before. “Yep. Hurt my old mommy.”

I had to swallow hard. Pushing him at all could put him in a tailspin back to where he’d been prior to my arrival. “He’s not here, honey. He won’t hurt you.”

“But he could.” Damien lifted his little eyes, both imploring. “He could hurt you.”

“Didn’t you know I have superpowers?” Everything about what and how he was issuing the words troubled me. The little boy was serious.

His nose wrinkled by this time, he shook his head. “He’s mean and big and hateful. Much bigger than you.”

This time, I let him talk. I’d stop him if he went too far but I had a feeling he needed to get this out. There was no doubt this is what he’d been holding in for months. “Go on, honey.”

“He hit my other mommy.”

I cringed deep inside. “Why?”

“She didn’t want to be with him.”

How in God’s name was I supposed to address that? “You saw this or you just heard something?”

“Mommy told me to hide. But I peeked. I know I shouldn’t have. He had his hand like this.” The little man wrapped his fingers as far around my throat as possible. Dear fucking God. Some son of bitch had attacked his mother and Damien had been forced to watch? I was more than horrified. I was repulsed. What kind of man did that shit?

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Mommy couldn’t breathe. I almost bit his leg.”

The kid was fearless. Now I risked pushing him too far all over again. “Do you know who he was?”

“Nope. But he had an ugly scar on his neck.”

“An ugly scar?”

He nodded profusely and in his artistic fashion, he drew on the side of my neck. It took me a few seconds to realize what he was drawing.

A knife. It was unmistakable. My blood chilled.

“Pwetty rose too. Killing it. Not a scar.” I could tell he was realizing the difference.