Page 8 of Tactical Lies

Taking something she would never willingly give.

Time lost all meaning. The world was filled with nothing but the sounds of Dylan grunting and her blood pounding in her ears as he squeezed her neck tight enough that the world dimmed around the edges.

Yes.

Take me.

End me.

Becca didn't want to live out the aftermath of this.

Death would be a blessing.

When he suddenly let out a curse and she felt him come inside her, she was disappointed that he pushed her to the side, and she was still breathing.

Why couldn’t he have at least given her the gift of ending her life?

Shoving her off him, he all but threw her limp body back into the driver’s seat. She flopped like a ragdoll, her mind seemed to float above her body like the two were no longer connected.

Muttering a curse, Dylan leaned over her and opened her door, pushing her out as he tried to get into her seat. She fell, landing on the rough asphalt of the road.

The sound of her engine roaring to life startled her a little.

Although she’d been pushed out of the car, her ankle had gotten tangled in the seatbelt.

Either he didn't notice or didn't care, but Dylan didn't lean over to disentangle it, he just started driving.

Dragging her along with him.

The last thing Becca remembered was the sound of her own screams as she was pulled along beside her moving vehicle before the world turned black around her and she mercifully fell unconscious.

Becca woke with a gasp.

Cold sweat coated her skin, and she shook all over.

Absently, she lifted a hand to brush against the scarred skin on the left side of her face. The plastic surgeons had done the best they could to minimize the damage, but there were still scars. Faint lines that were rough to the touch from the abrasions of her skin tearing along the road.

Those weren't the only scars she had.

Her nose and cheekbone had both been broken, as had her left arm which had also had the shoulder joint popped out of place. The bones had required surgery to fix. There were more road rash scars along most of the left side of her body.

But the worst injury was to her left ankle.

Being twisted as it was in the seatbelt as she was pulled down the road alongside her car, the break had been severe, her foot barely attached to her body by the time Dylan realized that he wasn't making a clean getaway in her car and dumped it and ran. Doctors had done all they could, but in the end, her foot hadn't been salvageable and after enduring eleven surgeries to try to save it, she’d wound up having to have it amputated.

None of those were the worst scars she had, though.

That would be the broken heart she’d been left with after Connor bailed.

He’d been her rock those first four months only to disappear when she received the news, she was pregnant.

Less than a month after he’d left, she miscarried the baby.

A DNA test she’d had performed showed Dylan Sanders hadn't fathered her child. The baby, a little boy, belonged to Connor. Despite her fury at the man she’d loved who had abandoned her when she needed him the most, she’d named her son after Connor’s father. Carter Marsden-Charleston might never have gotten to take his first breath, but he was the reason she had pushed so hard to work through her trauma and build a life for herself. He was the reason she worked so hard, traveling the world, helping children living in poverty, because she wanted her son’s name to carry on, for his death to mean something.

Shoving back the covers, no longer able to stand them touching her skin, Becca bypassed her prosthetic and instead reached for the crutches near her bed.

“Bec?” Isabella Baker’s sleepy voice called out from the other side of the room.

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