Page 20 of Chasing Kit

I showed him a small, white scar on my forearm. “I got this when I was six. Sky convinced me to climb a tree that Dad had forbidden us from. Sky’s a troublemaker, but he could talk me into anything.” I laughed softly. “He lied about treasure at the top. I shoved him, he shoved me back, and I fell onto a wheelbarrow. Broke my arm, needed ten stitches.” I grinned at the memory. “Totally worth it. He had to be my servant for a month.”

Finally, War made a sound. It was just an amused grunt, but it was something, and I took it as a win. I straightened, giving him another bright smile.

“Do you see me as a fragile flower or something?” I teased.

He raised his thick brown eyebrows.

I shrugged with another laugh. “Okay, fine, I was stupid and followed the word of someone in texts telling me about my dad. But were they wrong? Dad’s a criminal, and I didn’t know.” I frowned. How didn’t I know? Now that I thought about it, the whole thing was obvious. Normal businessmen didn’t have military-trained bodyguards like War unless they were threatened, but Dad had had soldiers as guards for as long as I could remember. The knowledge sat in my chest like a stone I’d learned to carry without looking at it—until this afternoon, when the weight finally tipped me over.

War crossed his massive arms. “You could’ve just talked to him.”

“So he could lie to me?” My eyes narrowed, humor gone. “Leland was paid by my father to be my friend.”

He sighed. “Yeah, he was, but your dad didn’t have to pay him. Leland liked you. He genuinely enjoyed being your friend and would’ve continued to be your friend even if your dad stopped paying him.”

I blinked up at him. “How do you know?”

“Because he didn’t need to be your best friend. He was only paid to keep an eye on you from afar. Attend college, take the same classes, and watch you.” He dropped his arms. “Leland’s an idiot if you ask me. A complete tool. I told Derek to get a better-trained man on the job—someone from the military like me—but Leland owed your dad, and the idiot liked your company. He loves being your friend.”

Warmth spread through me, and I smiled to myself. That was good to know because I liked Leland, too. He’d been a good friend over the last few years, and learning about him being paid to do it had broken my heart.

“But you were stupid for following the instructions of a person you didn’t know in damned text messages.” His tone hardened and he glared. “You should’ve gone home, waited for your dad, and asked him for the truth. He would’ve told you when it mattered. He was trying to protect you until you were ready.”

“I’m twenty-two,” I argued, straightening. “I was ready years ago.”

He snorted. “Were you? Look at how you reacted after finding out yesterday.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I glanced away from him because he was right. I hadn’t acted how I should’ve, but if Dad had told me, I might’ve done things differently. Or at least, that’s what I wanted to tell myself.

“You changed the subject.” I nodded at him. “How did you get them?”

He stiffened and inhaled. Something shifted in his face—not quite a blankness, more like he’d stepped back from behind his own eyes—and I worried for a second that he’d been thrown into a flashback again. Finally, he sighed through his nose.

“All I’m going to tell you is that I was captured and tortured overseas when I served,” he said.

“Oh.” I winced and took a step forward. This time, he didn’t retreat but stayed still until I reached him. I laid a gentle hand on his chest.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he grumbled.

“I wasn’t going to,” I whispered. “What I was going to say was that you survived. That’s the important thing.”

He snorted. “What does survive really mean?”

I had no answer. What did I know about survival? My life had been Angel Perch Drive, a safe future, and home-cooked meals. His life was written in scars on his skin, a history of fighting for his country on foreign soil. He’d been brutalized in ways I couldn’t imagine. My idea of survival was passing an exam, his was living through torture.

We weren’t even in the same world.

I remained silent, and he clearly didn’t expect a response. He turned his back to me and headed for the door. “How’s the hangover?”

I chuckled. “Already puked, and I’m still a little lightheaded.”

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “That’s called consequences, kid.”

“It’s also called experiencing new things, something I was never allowed to do at home,” I retorted with a smug grin.

He paused, turning back to me. “Was turning your stomach inside out a good experience?”

I crinkled my nose, and he laughed.