“Your dad?”
Another nod. “Definitely.”
“Why’d you marry him, if you don’t love him?”
“I wasn’t given a choice.” She tucks her feet under her thighs, wincing as she moves. “He’s a friend of my father’s. He married my husband’s daughter.”
“Um. That’s…” I shake my head. “That’s fuckin’ weird.”
“It was a trade. Jerry had farming equipment my father needed, and he also knows someone who can provide arms and ammunition.”
I blink. “Arms and ammunition?”
“My father is the commander of a militia. They live and train on the compound, and hire out as security and private paramilitary contractors.”
“No shit?”
“I’m telling you the truth, I promise.”
I tug open the door. “Hey, I believe you.” Pause. “So when you told me that I didn’t understand, that he’d kill me…”
“He has hundreds of men at his command. They’re rabidly devoted to him. And they’re all just like him. Like Jerry.” She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling too quickly. “They are all heavily armed and well-trained.”
I grin at her. “Babe, I get you have no way of knowing what kind of man I am. But try to believe me when I say that if they come after me, they’re in for a really nasty surprise. Especially if I call in my brothers.”
“Brothers?” She asks, curiosity curling at the edges of her voice. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Well, I have two actual, biological brothers, but I have four brothers in arms, so to speak. And I’ll take my brothers against your pop’s whole fuckin’ army of assholes.” I smack the door frame. “Be right back.”
I hit up the vending machines, grabbing a couple of candy bars and a bag of popcorn, and then grab some Gatorade and beef jerky from the car.
Letting myself back into our room with my key, I dump the haul on my bed. Naomi is still sitting exactly as I left her, bolt up upright against the pillows, legs out in front of her, hands on her lap, chin tucked against her breastbone. Waiting.
Makes my gut burn with rage, seeing how broken this beautiful woman’s spirit is. It’s a fury like I’ve never known. Like I never knew could even exist.
Worse yet is the damage to her face.
I gesture at the snacks. “Help yourself. I’m gonna get something for your face.” She hesitates, and I crouch beside her. “Hey. It’s okay. You can eat everything there if you want.”
“What about you?” Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear it.
“What about me?” I shrug. “I’m good.” I snag the bag of jerky and take a piece. “The rest is all you.”
I go into the bathroom and wet a washcloth under warm water, wring it out, and bring it out to her. She’s nibbling with small, careful, dainty movements on a Snickers bar. There’s a little dab of chocolate at the corner of her mouth; it’s fucking adorable, for some reason.
I grab the chair from the desk and bring it over between the beds. Show her the washcloth. “I’m gonna clean you up. Is that okay?”
She rests the half-eaten candy bar on her lap, her silvery-gray eyes searching me. “Okay.”
She goes still—preternaturally so. Barely breathing. Her fists are clenched so hard her knuckles are white. Her hair has come loose from the braid, strands trailing down to frame her face, catching on crusted patches of blood. Her chin trembles—she’s battling abject terror.
I sink back in the chair. “Hey, Naomi. Breathe. Take a deep breath for me.”
She sucks in a shuddering breath.
“Now. Unclench a little. As much as you can. I’m gonna—I’m just gonna move your hair a little…” I use the tip of my middle finger to scrape the tendril of her auburn hair back and tuck it behind her ear, barely brushing her skin; she’s shaking all over. “See? Not gonna hurt you.”
Her eyes lift to mine. They’re wet with unshed tears. “Okay,” she whispers.
