Page 21 of Tactical Lies

The flap shifted, and the light from outside illuminated a large, shadowy figure.

Scared, Becca pressed closer to Connor’s back, her fingers curling into his T-shirt as she clung to him. One of his hands moved behind him to sweep across her bent knee, even as she could tell his focus was on the approaching figure.

“Thought we’d have a little fun,” the man sneered as he bent down and unlocked the chain binding one of them to the ring in the middle of the floor.

She wasn't sure which of them had been unlocked, but Becca knew what men like this thought was a fun way to pass away the time and she had a ball of terrified anxiety sitting like a rock in her stomach.

Were they going to rape her?

Could she survive that again?

There was part of her that would love to believe she could handle anything, survive anything. If she’d been raped once and managed to work through it and come out the other side, building a life for herself, then surely, she could do it again.

The bigger part knew there was every chance it would destroy her.

Especially if Connor had to watch.

But it turned out she wasn't what they wanted.

When the man tugged on the chain it was Connor’s leg that jerked. And when two more men filled the doorway to the tent it was Connor that their gazes went to.

Another tug on his chain, and Connor went to stand, but Becca tightened her grip on his T-shirt. She couldn’t let him go. What if they hurt him? What if they killed him? Just because she hadn't asked him to come to Cambodia didn't mean he wasn't there because of her. And if he died in this camp in the middle of nowhere, she would blame herself. Being angry with Connor and no longer trusting him did not equate to wanting him dead. She just didn't want him in her life.

“It’s okay, moonlight,” he whispered, softly enough for only her to hear. “I’m glad it’s me they want and not you.”

Reluctantly, she uncurled her fingers only because she was worried if she didn't, and she delayed Connor from doing what the men wanted him to do, it would only make them angrier with him, and he’d be punished.

So she twisted her hands into fists and pressed them into her lap as she watched Connor stroll out of the tent like he wasn't a prisoner and well outnumbered. She wished she could bottle his confidence and drink a little of it. She so badly needed some.

Only when the tent flap fell closed, enclosing her in the dark, loneliness overwhelmed her.

She wanted to beg Connor to come back, to offer to stand beside him and endure whatever horrible thing it was those men were going to do to him. Anything so long as she wasn't alone.

People might think, given she’d been raped, that touch might be her biggest fear. It was something she feared, something that still had the power to make her skin crawl and her insides clench.

But it wasn't her biggest fear.

Her biggest fear was being alone.

Just like she’d been that night.

Just like she’d been when Connor walked away.

This time, it might not be his fault. She knew he’d walked out of the tent without a fuss only so that their captors’ attentions were focused on him and not her, but he’d still walked away. It was still the same result. She was still alone, and she still wished he was there.

No matter what he did, what changed between them, her soul still craved his.

After her assault, they'd had what she was sure everyone else would think was a weird way of him comforting her. But it had worked for them. It was a way for Connor to return her control over herself and what happened to her, a way for her to seek his comfort in the way she needed it.

What she wouldn't give to have that comfort right now.

To have his steady, warm, strong presence beside her.

But you didn't always get what you wanted.

That was something she knew all too well.

A shift at the door of her tent had her straightening. Were they done with Connor already? Was he coming back?

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