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“Just the things I would see and hear. The drinking, the sex, the looks I started getting from some of them.” A shiver ran through her. “I hated it.”
“I don’t blame you.”
The bad memories came rushing back with a vengeance and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to relive them. But when Lucas threaded his fingers through hers, it gave her the strength to continue. Maybe finally talking about that night would help her let go.
“When I was seventeen, I came home and my mom and her boyfriend were making out on the couch. I didn’t like this guy—I didn’t like any of them—but this one was worse than the others. He was always looking at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off. I used to wedge a chair under my door at night and sleep with a knife because I had this awful feeling he was going to try to sneak in. Anyway, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat and they started arguing…something about me…joining them.”
She dropped her head, shame sweeping through her, hot tears pricking her eyes.
“Jesus,” Lucas hissed. “Whatever happened wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid. You can’t keep holding on to this guilt that makes you feel unworthy.”
“I heard my mom cry out, so I grabbed a knife and went back into the living room. I’d had enough and thought maybe I could scare him away. They were yelling and he started hitting and kicking her. All I knew was I had to protect her, so I ran over and lifted the knife…and he grabbed it. Yanked it out of my hand then turned and plunged it into her chest.”
“Christ. I am so sorry.”
“I screamed, and he yanked the knife out and came after me. But, I stood my ground and we grappled for it.”
“Of course, you did.”
“He was stronger, but I was smarter. I kicked him in the crotch and he let go of the knife. I didn’t hesitate. Just slammed the blade right into his chest. I must’ve hit his heart because he fell to the floor…dead. He was my first kill, but definitely not my last.”
Lucas waited patiently as she wrestled with the demons in her head. There was no judgment in his eyes, just the support she’d always wanted and needed.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I ran. Instead of calling an ambulance, I packed a bag, hopped on a bus and moved to the other side of the country. I couldn’t get far enough away. Since I was still too young to enlist, I got a job at a corner stand that sold newspapers and magazines. As soon as I turned eighteen, I joined the Army, determined to make up for failing my mom, hoping maybe I could help others.”
“You didn’t fail your mom, Inda.”
Shame filled her. “If he hadn’t wanted me to join them, my mom would still be alive. I left her lying in a pool of blood and ran like a coward.”
“You were just a scared kid,” Lucas insisted. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The tears she was trying so damn hard to hold in slipped free, streaming down her face. “I’ve had to be strong my whole life, Lucas. I’ve spent my entire life searching for peace and forgiveness, but I couldn’t find it,” she whispered, her voice and the dam finally breaking. “And I’m so damn tired of being strong.”
“Onça, sweetheart.” He dragged her into his arms, kissing away each tear that fell, and she let out a sob. “That’s a good girl. Let it all out. You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders or the guilt in your heart anymore. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Inda held onto him and bawled in his arms like a baby until there were no more tears left to cry. Then she leaned back, swiping a hand under her nose, and stared into his supportive blue eyes. “Why are you so good to me?”
“Because I love you,” he said simply.
She cupped his face and whispered, “I love you, too.”
And, suddenly, it didn’t seem so scary anymore. In fact, it felt absolutely freeing in the best possible way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nik “Saint” Valentine/ Nikolai Vasilevsky
Inhaling deeply on the cigarette pinched between his inked thumb and index finger, Saint looked up at the dark, starless night. He’d once stared up at the same sky from behind the bars of a Russian prison. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago; other times, like just yesterday.
A shiver ran through his big body and he quickly shut down that line of thinking. He needed to focus on bringing down The Agency, not dwelling on his fucked-up past. At this rate, he could spend the rest of his life in therapy and still never find peace.
Because peace wasn’t meant for a man like him. Only death, destruction and, if he was lucky, vengeance.
Exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, he leaned his elbows on the edge of the balcony’s railing and thought over what his team knew so far. He supposed more than they did last week, but it still wasn’t enough. The Agency had turned out to be a more formidable enemy than any of them had anticipated.
And Saint was getting antsy. He liked keeping things swift and simple, whether it was work or relationships. The moment a situation turned into a production, he was the first one to bail. So, he was a little surprised that he was still with Ex Nihilo.
Although he was reluctant to admit it, the team had grown on him. Braxton, Ryland, Gray, Zane and Inda had become his little fucked-up crew who always had his back. Until them, no one had ever had his six.
