Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Thanks for that.”
I snort. “Yeah, it was a real sacrifice.”
He smiles, sobering. “Thanks for being patient with me.”
I only nod, afraid if I speak too soon, I’ll scare him off again. I can feel we’re on the cusp of more truth between us. He may be fearless and strong, but when it comes to personal revelations, he scares as easily as a spooked deer sometimes.
When he speaks, his voice has gentled, his tone contemplative. “I wonder if you’d have stayed with me if you’d met me when I was younger.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say with a laugh. “I was headstrong and willful with a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder.”
“Oh, because you’re oh-so-docile and obedient now?”
I smile. “You know what I mean. I wonder what you were like as a younger man. Smaller?”
“A bit. I’ve always been a big guy but didn’t body build until I was older.”
“More cocky?”
He chuckles. “Definitely.”
I absentmindedly run my fingers along the little curly hairs on his chest. “Your eyes would be more boyish, I imagine, and not—”
I pause. I’ve said too much. But he doesn’t let me get away with half sentences.
“Not what?”
I swallow and cringe before I go for broke. “Maybe not so… guarded.”
It’s a poor choice of a word. Guarded isn’t really what I meant. The first time I looked into his eyes, I knew he was a man who’d experienced deep, abiding pain, the type that rocks you to your core and leaves scars that never heal. He’s only hinted at things that have hurt him, but hasn’t told me much of anything. Yet.
“Maybe not,” he admits. “Would you like to know where I got these dog tags?”
My heart soars.
“Of course,” I say with forced patience, because the little girl in me’s jumping for joy and fist pumping all at the same time. I love when he lets me in, when he trusts me a little bit more. I draw in a breath, then release it slowly. “I want to know everything about you, Cain.”
He pauses a beat before he says, “And I’ll tell you everything. In time.”
I close my eyes against the sudden rush of emotion. Other women might swoon at a profession of love, and when the day comes for that between us, it will mean more than anything to me. But this… this right here, his granting of trust that so few have, is the next best thing.
“When I was stationed in France, I was trained by a guy named Court Fallow.”
“That’s quite a unique name.”
“He was a unique guy. Born and bred in the Deep South, his family lived on a rambling farm that harvests corn.”
I nod, giving him space to tell the story.
“Not sure you’ve had much to do with Henri. He keeps to himself.” Henri’s a quiet, unassuming employee of Cain’s. He was the man that opened the door for me the day I first came here. I knew I detected a Southern accent.
“I’ve seen him, but we’ve never really even talked beyond work at all.”
“He keeps to himself. Henri was Court’s youngest brother.”
“Oh wow.”
“Court was the father I never had, Violet.”
I didn’t see that coming.
I gently stroke his shoulder. Keeping him with me. “Oh? How so?”
His voice takes on a huskier edge, reminiscing. “He took me under his wing. Showed me how to shoot, showed me how to protect the people under my care. He was the oldest of seven, raised to be a man of honor, and he taught me everything he knew.”
“Well, that explains a lot.”
He huffs out a laugh as he runs his fingers through my hair in a rhythmic motion, up and down, up and down, as if it soothes him. Maybe it does.
“Court was killed by friendly fire.” My heart aches. Accidental death like that is so tragic, I can’t imagine how it feels for the people who knew him or the people responsible for his death. “I was the one who found him. He bled out while I held him, waiting for emergency crews to respond.”
“Oh, Cain.” I’ve been through brutally painful times, but something like this makes me hurt for him.
“And before the rescue crews could find us, I was taken hostage. I took his dog tags just before they took his body and me, alive.”
I put two and two together.
“And that’s how you got the scars on your back.” I knew it was some kind of torture or punishment he’d endured.
“Yeah.”
“Let me see them.”
He stills for a moment, before he lets me slide off of him. The bed’s huge, a king-sized monstrosity as big as the old apartment I rented, so he rolls over with ease. He places his arms above his head, spreading his muscled, scarred back for me. My eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting in the room, moonlight lighting up the silvery-white scars that crisscross his back.