Page 75 of Unexpected Heroine

Lord, it’s me, Lettie. Please don’t let this be another PhD situation.

Chapter 14

Don't fight me. Fuck me

LETTIE

Day five as a free woman. And I made it through the police interview.

As I exit the restroom, familiar turquoise eyes greet me.

Dabbing at my last few tears with a tissue, I nibble at my lower lip before finally answering his unspoken question. “That was brutal. But I think I’m okay.”

Brutal is putting it mildly.

He wraps me in his arms and pulls me to his chest. “Sugar bear, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Detective Patterson and a female detective, whose name escapes me, left a little while ago. They recorded my interview so I wouldn’t have to talk to the FBI right away. Apparently, there’s some big trafficking investigation, considering the large number of women rescued this week. I’ll have to speak with the FBI eventually, but the recorded interview will hold them over for the time being.

Since they left, I’ve been camped out in the bathroom, waiting for my tears to dry. It was a lot like waiting for the pot to boil.

Same as always, James, err Tomer, waited at the bathroom door for me. As much as I adore his support and comforting presence, I needed to cry on my own this time. He understood and told me he was sitting with his back against the door. Occasionally, he’d call out to me, reassuring me that he was near.

I was in there for so long I lost track of time. After recounting those horrors in such graphic detail, it took a while to reset my mental and emotional state. I wasn’t fit for company.

But I also stayed in there alone because I didn’t want my sobbing to upset... Tomer more than it already has.

Ah. A small victory. I’m getting better at remembering his name. Maybe it’s the ADHD meds I finally remembered to take this morning.

Related, isn’t it ironic that the only way to help myself remember shit is to remember to take a pill. And despite having executive dysfunction that makes things like keeping doctor appointments and refilling prescriptions extremely challenging, I must do both of those things to get the freaking pills.

Gah.

But I digress.

Inhaling slowly through my nose, I let his clean scent calm me.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? How’s your pain?”

I squeeze his waist tighter and shake my head, not wanting to end our hug. Almost immediately, I change my mind. “Actually, I’m plumb tuckered out, thirsty, and could use some ibuprofen. A snack too.”

He points his chin at his bed. “Do you want to rest in here while I run to the kitchen to throw something together for you?”

Craning my neck to one side, I quirk a brow at him.

“Sorry.” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “I guess I’m not thinking clearly.”

He insisted on listening to every word I said during my interview. Held my hand through agonizing minute after agonizing minute.

If I didn’t know better, I might think he was intentionally punishing himself.

Just kidding. There’s no if about it. That’s exactly what he was doing. Now we both know what happened in that hell hole.

Well, most of it.

Guilt is going to eat me alive until I can figure out a way to come clean with the last bit of information. I’m not entirely sure why I couldn’t tell the detectives about Viktor. Each time the thought came to mind, I batted it aside, practically choking back the words.

You can bet your buttered butt that I sang like a canary about Vanessa faking being drunk and how she was in cahoots with the guys who drugged me. Gave them full descriptions of hair color, eye color, accents, tattoos, and anything else I could recall about the slimeballs who visited to procure services from me and my fellow captives. I told them everything about the two men at the club and when I saw them again at the house. Spilled the beans on every detail my nosy-southern-self picked up on while I was trapped inside those dirty walls.

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