Page 94 of Unexpected Heroine

What I didn’t expect was Savin’s girlfriend to be the roadblock.

She juts her chin and stands firm, arms crossed at her chest. “We already give a talk to your boss and the large lion man. Why you come back?”

“Tasha,” Savin chides, tugging her elbow gently to move her out of the doorway where she’s physically impeding our entrance.

When she cricks her neck to give him a side-long glare, I note the bruises along the underside of her chin and neck. She was there. In that disgusting house with my Lettie.

It’s the visual reminder I need to resist removing her by force.

She grumbles under her breath in Russian, her eyes darting between Savin, Shep, and me. After a tense few seconds, she finally lets us enter. But she’s not happy about it, and I have no doubt that she won’t hesitate to throw us out at the first sign of trouble.

If this wasn’t a fucked-up situation, it would be comical how this waif of a woman—battered, bruised, and gaunt from her prolonged time in that house—is the one calling the shots here.

When Savin kisses her forehead and whispers his thanks in her ear, it all makes sense. He’s as broken up about what was done to her as I am about the horrors that Lettie lived through. And he’ll let her process it in any way she needs to.

Lettie’s response would be a bit different. In this situation, she’d be huddled in the corner, desperate to get away from the strange men at the door. But Tasha is angry, dripping with defensiveness, and dead set on protecting the man she loves. Recalling what Mia and Klein told me about Savin being forced into his role in the trafficking ring by unsavory methods of coercion, it stands to reason that he’s suffered too. And Tasha is focusing on him rather than herself.

If not for all those articles on trauma responses I’ve read this week, I never would have seen it this clearly. Having that background should make it easier for me to accomplish my goals with Savin tonight. Hopefully, without upsetting them any further. Fuck knows they’ve already suffered enough.

The magnitude of that realization detonates, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

Before Lettie, I’d never have cared about that. Not to this extreme.

It wouldn’t have dawned on me to consider their perspective through anything other than the lens of logic. These two individuals would have been tools. Sure, I would have felt a measure of sympathy for what they’ve endured, but it wouldn’t likely have changed my approach with them.

My tunnel vision on a mission has always served to remove emotions from operations like this. After all, getting swept up in feelings muddies the water and distracts us from our objective. Or so I thought. It always made more sense to set them aside—just as I’ve done since I was a boy—and focus on what mattered. Getting the job done.

Only it’s not that simple.

You can’t take away the human from human interactions without losing your humanity.

As I take a seat on the edge of one of the double beds with Shep on my left, preparing to interrogate this man about his role in unimaginable horrors committed against countless women, a single thought flashes across my mind in blinding neon.

Violet Holt has not only taught me to love, she’s taught me empathy.

Chapter 18

Pow! Right in the coochie

LETTIE

As unlikely as it may be, I sure hope this normalcy lasts a while. Not to be a Negative Nancy, but let’s be real. These days, I’ve got more problems than a three-legged dog walking on a tightrope.

Sunshine is on the horizon, though. In fact, it’s surrounding me in this very room.

Exactly as I suspected, Stella and Freya are hitting it off famously. Although I’m mostly teasing them about falling in love, I’m still hopeful. However, after seeing Stella interact with Jonesy, I don’t think Freya stands a chance.

The three of us are on the floor, gathered around the coffee table and playing cards with Marley. Meanwhile, Kri paces around the room acting like a... well, a bodyguard, I suppose.

Stella’s rattling through another long, silly story as she shuffles a deck of cards, preparing for the next deal. This one’s about the time Laura Fitzsimmons got her hair caught in the paper shredder at work. The fire department was called because she refused to let anyone cut her free. Spoiler alert: They cut her hair anyway.

I’ve heard the tale before, so I check my phone.

Again.

Still nothing from Tomer.

To remove the temptation to call him, I slide the phone under my thigh.

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