Page 22 of Tactical Lies

If he was, she was going to have the conversation with him that they both needed. They both needed to feel free to move forward with their lives without the chains of the past binding them to it. She’d tried and assumed Connor had, too, but now looking back, she knew that she’d only been pretending. Trying to convince the world—and even herself—that she could conquer her trauma and still have a life.

It wasn't Connor who slipped through the flap.

It was one of their captors.

Obviously, he knew he wasn't supposed to be in there because he snuck in, reminding her of a slithering snake.

As soon as the tent flap closed behind him, plunging her into darkness, her panic ramped up. Memories of the past blended with her terror in the present, overwhelming her and rendering her powerless.

There was no escape.

Her ankle was still bound to the ring in the floor.

The presence in the room grew stronger.

Closer.

Then it was there.

Above her.

A hand clamped around her neck and another fumbled at her pants.

In this second, Becca knew that this time she wouldn't be able to rebuild her life, this time, she would be left in tatters. A broken soul. Beyond repair. Ruined.

Chapter

Six

August 18th

3:04 A.M.

Dodging the fist that came his way was easy.

Too easy.

Connor felt he might as well be play-wrestling with his four-year-old niece, Essie.

The men in the camp were drunk. Not just the rowdy kind, but the falling down, barely able to function kind of drunk.

Apparently, in this drunk state, they thought it would be funny to drag him out of the tent and make him fight them. He had no idea if they were aware of who he was and that he’d been a SEAL before he retired and went to join Prey. These men had to be the rumored Khmer Rouge group that lived in this area, they had some skills, but it wasn't anything comparable to his own.

And he was proving that even if the men were drunk.

It would be so easy to incapacitate as many as he could then get his hands on a weapon. But even though they were drunk many of them were still conscious. Sitting around the fire, watching as man after man tried to take him on, hollering and cheering, their weapons at their sides.

He could not get close enough to those weapons to secure one before the men could pick them up and start firing. The tent where he and Becca had been held, where his moonlight was still chained up, was close enough that it would be sprayed with bullets.

Risking Becca’s life was not an option.

Not when he owed her so much more than he’d ever realized.

Of course, over the years he’d wondered about the baby. Wondered if it was a boy or a girl, if she’d had it and kept it, or given it up for adoption, and if she knew who the child’s father was. But he’d been a coward and never tried too hard to find out.

Because he was afraid of this very thing.

Finding out that the baby he’d freaked out over was his all along was a vicious blow. One he would never recover from. He’d thrown away everything he’d ever wanted over his own son.

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