fucking bodies. All those voices calling out to me.” He shook his head. “You’re all that takes them away, and only for a short while.” He rubbed his temples. “Some nights l think I’ll go insane.”
She frowned at him, that adorable little frown he always wanted to kiss off her face. “Bodies? What are you talking about, Steele?”
He used the remote to start the fire going. The chimney ran up the side of the house, between two turrets, wide and made of rock. It was nearly as beautiful as the house and fit right into the landscape. He gestured toward one of the chairs positioned close so she could feel the heat if she needed it.
She curled up, pulling her knees in and tucking her feet under her. It was such a Breezy thing to do. She was always curled up in some way. Making herself smaller. Just in case. She had no idea how she looked to him, sitting there in her soft, glowing skin. Her breasts were high and firm and very round. Temptation itself. He could just see the peeking of her sex between her legs, enticing him further.
His woman. Hotter than hell. He sank onto the chair beside her, his hand dropping casually to his hard cock. Circling it with his fist. It was more automatic when he was around her than anything else. He didn’t even think about it. Instead, he pumped slowly, while he thought about how best to explain it all to her. She didn’t break the silence, but watched him, eyes on his face and then dropping lower.
Steele took a deep breath. When he figured out what he needed to tell her, his hand dropped from his cock to his thigh and began kneading his muscle there. Fingers digging in. Fist curling and thumping on the heavy muscle, his cock forgotten. Everything forgotten but the past that continually haunted him.
“I’m no longer Lyov and I haven’t been since I was a little toddler, terrified out of my mind. I’m Steele. I had to become Steele to survive. My parents were murdered, and I was taken to what the outside world thought was a school to shape me into an asset for my country.”
He couldn’t hit his thigh hard enough to keep the pain physical and in the present. The past was rising like a specter. “There were four such schools. I was taken to the one Sorbacov called his own. No one was allowed to inspect it or see us for a reason. Sorbacov was a pedophile, as were his friends. The instructors at the school were vicious, disturbed criminals who enjoyed torturing and raping children. I was one of those children.”
There. He’d said it aloud. To her. He kept his voice expressionless. Disconnected. He let the pain of his fist hitting his thigh push the reality to the back of his mind. He needed the distraction to recount those early days to her, and she had to hear it. She had to know. It was his only shot at keeping her.
He heard her soft gasp and knew he had her. Breezy had more compassion, more empathy in her little finger than anyone he knew. He had to keep talking before he couldn’t make himself continue.
“In the end, there were two hundred and eighty-seven children brought to that school. A prison really. Only eighteen survived.” He stumbled over that. There should have been nineteen. He closed his eyes against that knowledge. His fault. His responsibility. That was on his shoulders. Only eighteen, not nineteen. They’d been so close to freedom.
“Steele.”
Her whisper was like a breath of fresh air. Breezy. Blowing away the memories. The knowledge of his failures—failures that had cost others their lives. When she said his name, every person and place, every horrific situation, every failure was gone leaving only his woman with her green eyes and perfect mouth and beautiful skin.
He forced himself to continue without looking at her. If he looked at her face, she would see his guilt. Those green eyes saw too much. “The children were all ages, and our keepers had carte blanche to do whatever they wanted. The more they hurt us, the more they became depraved, and the tortures got worse. I couldn’t save the others no matter how hard I tried.”
Now there was no distraction. Not her breasts. Not her sex. Not her green eyes or his pounding fist. There were only those faces staring up at him with pleas and cries