Page 27 of Unexpected Heroine

“They were pissed because we didn’t follow protocol. We carried out the op in secret. Once we found out where you were taken, I knew we didn’t have time to waste. If we involved him, he’d either want to contact law enforcement or do more recon first. I wasn’t messing around with that while you were there with fuck knows what happening to you.” He folds his lips shut for a moment, shaking his head. “I accepted that he’d be pissed at us and did it anyway. And I would do it a thousand times over.”

“When did you realize I was taken?”

“Not until late yesterday afternoon. I would have known sooner, but I was giving you space.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked for it.”

Searching my recollection of Friday night, I seem to remember it differently. Then again, my memories are patchy from whatever they drugged me with.

“I don’t remember it that way,” I admit.

“What do you recall?”

“After Freya and Vanessa left, I was sitting at the bar.” I narrow my eyes to tiny slits, trying to send myself back in time. “I was messaging you about something. Didn’t I ask you to pick me up?” I’m hit with an onslaught of feelings of betrayal that cause my chest to tighten and tears to well instantly. “Why didn’t you come for me?” I whimper, accusation saturating my tone.

Did he abandon me when I needed him most?

“No, you didn’t ask me to come, Lettie baby. If you had, I would’ve come so fucking fast. I wanted to see you so badly. In fact, I drove there later that night, but you were already gone. I shouldn’t have waited. But I had no idea what was happening to you. I thought you didn’t want me. If I had known you . . .” His voice catches as anguish tugs on his features. “I would’ve come for you if I even suspected you needed me.”

He scoots out from under my legs and kneels on the floor in front of the couch. Lowering his face to mine, he takes my hand and holds it to his cheek. “Lettie, I would have driven anywhere. Done anything to save you. Gone anywhere for you. I would never abandon you. And I damn sure never will.”

“I’m sorry,” I sob, tears spilling onto my neck.

Of course he wouldn’t have left me there.

It’s stupid of me to accuse him of something so horrid. My only excuse is how desperately I wish there were someone to blame other than myself. The sting of knowing I’m the cause of my torment hurts more than what they did to me.

Naive. Failure. Stupid. Reckless. Impulsive.

I cup his cheek, hoping my touch conveys my apology. He rests his chin on the couch, looking up at me. I roll onto my side so my face is right at his level.

He strokes my hair with one hand, and I hold the other.

And he lets me cry because he knows I need it.

My ribs sting from the deep breaths I take to stave off my tears.

After gathering my composure, I return to our conversation. Hopefully, I’m less apt to jump to hurtful conclusions now that I’m all cried out.

For one dang day, I wish I could put my impulsivity in time-out. A ball gag would be nice too.

“So I asked you to leave me alone?”

“I assume it was you. At least the earlier texts were.”

I quirk my head in silent question.

He continues. “When you stopped messaging me a little after eleven, I drove to the club. I needed to see you because you seemed so upset. But you were already gone.” He swallows and licks his lips. “A couple of hours after I got home, I got one final text from you.”

I have absolutely no memory of this. None.

And that terrifies me. What else don’t I recall?

“What did it say?” I ask timidly.

“You said you were taking time to yourself for the entire weekend and asked me not to contact you.”

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