Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,81

into pieces? Kill a cat? Set a house on fire?”

He watches me without speaking, without moving. I move my hand that’s on his neck up to his cheek, trying to make him focus on me; just me.

“How did you get into the Army? What made you want to join?”

He blinks, and I can feel him focus more on me. “When my mom—” He shakes his head. “I was 15, but I would drive her. I had missed a lot of school…and they had said they were going to hold me back. I had this plan to join the SEALS. My dad found out. I finished school, but after that…” He blinks into my eyes.

“So you joined when you were…?”

“Eighteen.” He drops his gaze, as if he doesn’t want to look into my face.

“Were you prepared?”

He frowns.

“You knew what you were getting into? Special forces, sniping? Nightmares, losing people, all the people you would…come in contact with.”

“Kill.” His voice is flat—but still, he looks at me like he is waiting to hear more.

“Well?” I raise my brows. “Did you knowingly go into it?”

“I tried to get with the SEALs, but it wasn’t a time when they were starting a new class. Then I heard about the Rangers.”

“And you made it there.”

He cuts his eyes my way, not a trace of pride on his pale face.

“Then what?” I press. “You moved on up?”

“Joined ACE. Got a longer kill list. Got hurt. Came home. What are you getting at?”

“You came back, it all seems like it’s kind of crashing down. You’re by yourself, you’re trying to readjust to being out of the Army. You’re telling me you can’t be with me because you used to be a sniper. Are you trying to punish yourself?”

He takes a step back, out of my grasp. “I want to keep you away from this,” he says roughly.

“Away from what?”

He holds his arms out, as if the room around us is the problem. “Who would want to…to invest their time in someone who can barely keep their fucking head above water?”

“So it’s an investment.”

He swallows, or struggles to. “Fuck,” he rasps. “I don’t know.”

“So…” I draw a big breath in. “Are you still sniping?”

“No, but—”

“Any of the other things I mentioned?”

He looks frustrated; tight-jawed.

“Okay.” I shrug. “So what about your life is so terrible that it might hurt me?”

“You want that answered?”

I nod. “Yes.”

TEN

GWENNA

“I see things sometimes,” he whispers hoarsely. “When I started…” He laughs, just a hoarse rasp. “There used to be this stereotype about the old Nam vets. That they were all so head-fucked. Seeing things and hearing shit and ending up on street corners because they couldn’t keep their shit together.” He shuts his eyes and rubs his head.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? That you’ll end up on a street corner?” I’m surprised to find my eyes burn as I say it. My throat stings. I have to inhale slowly, to be sure no tears spill over.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” I step over to him, wrap an arm around his waist. When he doesn’t tense and doesn’t pull away, I wrap my other arm around his back. I stroke his hair and pull him closer to me. And I hug him—long and hard, the way I think his mother would have hugged him. Because regardless of his sins, right now, I can feel his pain, and I want to ease it.

When I loosen my grip on him, I look up and am relieved to see his eyes.

“You’re secure here, though, yeah? You have a house. You have ideas about another job that you’d be great at. Barrett—you’ve been teaching your disabled neighbor new self-defense techniques. You leave your house, you hunt. I know you’re having trouble sleeping, but from the outside, it looks like you’re doing well. And without family close by, either. You don’t see a therapist?”

He shakes his head.

“And still, you’re getting by. It will get easier. If you can hold on—and I know you can—things will get better as more time goes by. That’s the one thing I can tell you.”

I press myself against his chest again and rest my cheek against his chest as his arm comes around me loosely. “I can help you with the seeing things, and the nightmares. Even for my measly case of PTSD, I pulled out all the stops and saw a really good therapist and did the right things. I can teach you all the things I know.”

“You don’t get it,