told me she’d kick my ass if I ever came back here.” Chuckling, he set his glass on the table. “Goddamn that woman had balls. I still miss her. Fucking cancer.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “If she were here, she’d tell you to pull your head out of your ass.”
“She’d tell you to back the fuck off.”
He grinned. “Probably. But when have I ever done that?” His expression turned serious, and he tipped his chin toward the door. “Besides, you and Sanaa? You two were always a force of nature.” He broke eye contact. “Maybe I used to wonder back then what it would be like to have a woman look at me like Sanaa looked at you.” He shook his head and met my eyes with an insincere smile. “Anyway, bygones, brother, bygones. I’m going to do a perimeter check.”
Same as we always did, we didn’t talk about the night before I deployed. But that didn’t mean it was justified. For either of us. “I’m not excusing your behavior, and this isn’t me letting you off the hook.” This was me being fucking practical because one more body looking out for Sanaa’s safety was one body between her and a madman.
“Right.” He chuckled condescendingly. “Whatever you say. Back in an hour.” He walked out.
I fished my cell out of my pocket and dialed.
“She’s safe,” Harm answered without preamble.
“You checked the suite before letting her in there?”
“Didn’t have to. Ty’s been on patrol. No one’s been on the floor except us.” He paused. “But I checked anyway.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t respond.
“Anything else?”
Harm exhaled. Then, “Her neck, left shoulder, right arm, and both shins are bruised.”
My jaw clenched. “I know.”
“I thought we were here for a bomber.”
“We are.”
“This is more than a bomber problem.”
I couldn’t believe I was about to say the next words, let alone defend my brother. “It’s not what you think.” It wasn’t what I’d thought either, but knowing Vance was teaching her martial arts and using physical exertion with her to alleviate stress instead of fucking her into submission didn’t make me any less pissed off.
“There’s no reason to bruise her like that when sparring with her.”
“It wasn’t me.” But what I wanted to do to her wasn’t any better.
“I know.”
I glanced out at the wind that’d been steadily increasing all day and made a mental note to check the latest forecast update. “What’s your point, Harm?”
“Get her out of that situation.”
I didn’t get a chance to tell him I intended to do just that because he’d already hung up.
My world was crumbling.
I was sinking into an abyss that’d opened underneath me the second I’d signed that contract ten years ago. Penning my name on the dotted line had opened the door to my future, but it also eroded the only foundation I’d ever had.
Ronan.
He’d loved me then.
He’d wanted to protect me, take care of me, and yes, control me, but not in the way I’d just accused him of. He didn’t want me to sign that contract because he hadn’t trusted that insufferable Kyle Abernathy. Neither did I, but I’d been naïve and desperate, and I’d needed to prove I was worthy of a man who was voluntarily going off to war.
So I’d signed.
Then I’d built a career on precarious stilts. Wading through broken promises and silver-tongued lies, I fed the shattered pieces of my soul with every note I sang. I didn’t get to pick my songs, my clothes, my venues, or my schedule. I didn’t have a say in what picture graced what album cover or what each song would be titled. They wouldn’t even let me record the songs I grew up singing. Yes, I had a career people would kill for and dozens of top hits. Except nothing was original save for my voice.
I was the puppet.
At first, I’d told myself it was all worth it.
My fans loved me. I became who I was because they loved me. Their money paid for everything and everyone around me, and so many people had jobs because of that. I couldn’t quit. Not when I understood the true pang of hunger. Not when I knew the anxiety of not knowing where your next meal would come from, let alone how you would pay for it. I couldn’t take jobs away from all of those people.
So I kept singing.
I kept doing what they told me.
But I didn’t have anything that felt solid enough to grasp on to. I didn’t have a home to call my own.