Page 52 of Unexpected Heroine

I’ve had more practice suppressing my reactions than most Olympians spend preparing for their sport of choice.

And yet . . .

I swear to fuck that if I don’t expel some of this shit soon, I’ll explode.

This entire week has been a tsunami of emotions. Not just one massive wave, but row after row of them, pounding into me and stealing the air from my lungs. They’re relentless, only allowing for tiny moments of respite. Calm between the swells. They give me just enough time to find my footing. Then bam. Another one strikes.

And now this.

I need to act. Tonight. Now.

My fragmented thoughts attempt to find reason and logic in the chaos. The first step seems to be getting to Davidov before he’s in police custody, which should happen tomorrow. If I don’t interrogate him tonight, he’s going to be out of my reach. More than likely, I’ll lose my chance with Savin and Tasha too. They’ll be in WITSEC and off the grid soon.

Fuck.

But what about Lettie?

In my heart of hearts, I know she couldn’t handle it if I left her. And the last thing I want to do is abandon or upset her.

I’ve seen her suffer enough.

Her torment is so deeply ingrained into my psyche now I’ll never be able to scrub the memories away. The sickness it evokes is crippling.

There was only one other time in my life I’ve felt such a blinding agony. Only once was I this out of control.

And her father was there to drag me out of it.

If I could remember how he did it, I could pull myself out this time.

Not being able to go tonight is causing such a sharp pain down the middle of my torso that I could swear I was being ripped in two.

I count to ten.

One. Two. Three.

With each breath, I school my expression into an unaffected mask.

Nine. Ten.

Blinking, I glance in her direction, seeking out her sweet face.

For a moment, I envision what she looked like a million other times before this week. Doodling song lyrics on a notepad while humming to the music in her mind. Or listening to an audiobook while scratching her glitter pens across the pages of Southern Swears for Fucking Ladies coloring book. Or dipping her biscuit in gobs of honey and moaning as she savors each bite like it was her last.

I fucking need to see her smile. Need her to be unharmed.

Like she was before this nightmare.

Like she was before she met me.

But that’s not what I see.

Her eyes are shimmering, but with tears instead of happiness.

She rises on shaky legs and takes a few faltering steps in my direction before stopping and locking me in her haunted eyes.

It takes only four words falling from Lettie’s pillow-soft lips to make my promise to Mia explode into a fiery ball, turning to ash inside me.

“Which video was it?”

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