Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,107
so hard, she thought it might jump out of her throat in protest of all she’d put it through. All she’d seen. If only she had a drink. That would steady her nerves. It always worked. Just one sip, one swallow, one bottle. What would it hurt?
“I could really use a drink,” she murmured, inadvertently confessing another sin. What would Hotrod think of her if he knew how much she drank? Part of her needed him to know that, too.
His big, warm palms smoothed over her shoulders, warming her. Chasing the gooseflesh away. If only he could banish her demon as easily.
“I’m still here and I’m still listening,” he whispered, his nose in her hair.
He probably thought she’d wanted a bottled water, so Persia left it at that. One sin at a time…
“I… I can’t run fast enough. I never can. Something trips me, and I go down on my knees, and I’m holding a… a baby l-l-lamb.” Her stomach pitched bile up her throat. She was shaking now, coming apart. Just one drink. That’s all she needed! “The b-b-baby’s looking up at me with his big, beautiful eyes, and he’s crying and bleating, only he’s bleeding and bleeding….”
She sucked in a deep breath as the nightmare rolled over her once again with all its Technicolor reds and blacks, crimsons and ebonies, mashed and dripping together. Willing the ugliness and her trembling away, Persia buried her face against Hotrod’s heart, needing every last ounce of his will and his strength. His power. That was all she needed, just enough of him to keep her going.
When his arms wrapped tighter, she murmured, “And then… I’m looking down, but I’m not holding a white, fuzzy lamb anymore. His face… he… he changed into a b-b-baby boy with big, brown eyes, and I’m holding the knife that’s cutting his throat, and… he’s just a tiny, sweet, baby boy and… and… he’s the one bleeding all over me, and it’s his blood on my face and in my hair and… No more!”
Sobbing, Persia ground herself against the man she’d just made love with, her heart too raw to confess one more sin, and her nose running like a faucet. She clung to Hotrod, her fingertips dug into his shoulder muscles. She was that drowning woman in a very black, very bottomless ocean, grabbing onto the only man foolish enough to come close enough to reach her.
There was no sense going on. If nothing else, her nightmare confirmed she should stay far away from children, babies, and lambs. She’d murdered a defenseless creature that had just wanted its mother. She could still hear its frightened cries. She could smell its blood. The same blood she’d smeared over her face to prove to the monster she’d been sent to destroy, that she was just as bad a deviant as he was. And she had proven it! So why couldn’t she defeat Zapata’s ghost? Why wouldn’t he let her alone?!
“Shhhhh,” Hotrod whispered, still holding her as if he cared. As if he knew precisely how she felt and what she’d done. “It’s tough, I know, I know. Honest, I do. War is damned tough, and I know exactly what the Zapata brothers did with and to their victims. That had to be one hell of an ugly mess you dealt with. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I would’ve stood beside you every step of the way. I would’ve held you when the nights got too dark, and I would’ve helped you bring that bastard down.”
I would’ve stood beside you…
Not I would’ve killed him for you…
Somehow, him acknowledging her ability and accomplishment, helped. Whether he knew it or not, Hotrod had just given her part of what she’d needed to get back on her feet. Affirmation. Recognition. He believed in her capacity to get the hard jobs done. She squeezed her eyes tight, wishing she could slow the tears. Wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. “Never mind. Never should’ve—”
“Told me? Oh, yes, Persia Coltrane. You did exactly the right thing telling me. You’ve never told anyone else, have you?”
She shook her head, ashamed that she’d given herself away to a man she barely knew. What would he think of her now? Yet he kept those incredibly gentle, warm hands smoothing over her back and up her neck into her hair, holding her close. Just being there.
“Let me ask one question,” he murmured against her teary cheek. “Did you kill a human baby or an animal baby?”