Page 106 of The Vigilant

I lifted my chin slightly and willed my voice to stay stable as I said blandly, “Getting ready for bed and then going to sleep so I can be rested for tomorrow.”

Bullshit.

I hadn’t been rested for days. A week.Over a week.Not since Tynan had taken a knife for me had I been able to sleep soundly. I guess a man completely upending my entire belief system around men…and then still breaking me…could do that.

“Because you intend to go with us,” he said without question, his hand flexing at his side.

Of course, he knew—was going to have to know. I was just hoping the realization could hold off until tomorrow morning when everyone else was around.

“She’s my friend. This is my fight. Of course, I’m going,” I said and turned away, striding into the bedroom because I couldn’t bear the way he looked at me a second longer—like by going, I was risking his most precious possession.

His penance,I reminded myself.

I pulled the tie from my hair, combing the wet waves free with my fingers, when I heard the door slam again, a pang echoing in my chest.

Good. It was better that he left—better if he thought he could convince Rob to not let me go with them rather than trying to argue with me.

I hooked my thumbs under the waist of my leggings and shoved them down, the cool air hitting my bare legs just as I heard his thundering footsteps come close.

He hadn’t left.

My heart thudded, and I straightened just when his big body filled the doorway to the bedroom.

He stilled, his gaze dropping down on me like a hot anchor, making my skin pebble with goose bumps and my nipples harden against my shirt.

I might be his penance, but my body willingly played the part of his prey.

“Was there something else you needed?” I kicked off my leggings, the fabric landing on top of my duffel bag.

His eyes followed the movement and then flashed with fury. “What’s that?”

I couldn’t stop the way I stiffened. I didn’t want to rehash this conversation, especially when it was for no other reason than to assuage his tormented guilt.

“My bag?” I cocked my hip and arched my eyebrow. “If you don’t remember it, maybe Dr. Nilsen should come check you for a head injury…or early onset dementia.”

Tynan moved so fast I swore he stopped the air from going into my lungs, the effect making my breath catch as he yanked my bag from the floor.

“I know what it is. Why the hell is it still packed?” he demanded, holding it up in front of me.

“Because—hey!” I tried to snatch it back, but he lifted it out of my reach and then stalked to the closet on the other side of the room.

I followed, grabbing at his arms and then pounding my fist into his back as he barricaded himself in front of the drawer and started dumping my things into it. “That’s my stuff. You can’t just take it?—”

“Watch me.” He shook out the last of the clothes, my copy of The Art of War landing with a thud on top of it all, and then tossed the bag onto the floor.

“I’m not staying here,” I charged, ignoring the tightness in my chest as he whipped around. “As soon as we find Mara, I’m gone.”

He jerked like I’d struck him. Not like a slap across the face but like a sling shotted stone, the most basic weapon taking down the towering giant.

Like the idea of my leaving was all it took to make him crumble.

His shoulders lowered, his breath coming harder and heavier as he faced me fully, pain marring the gorgeous lines of his face.

“Dammit, Sutton.” He let out a groan that took me right back to when Dr. Nilsen was cleaning his wound, the sound nothing short of pure, unadulterated agony. “I’m sorry about your father, Sutton. I’m sorry that it’s my fault he’s gone?—”

“Bullshit,” I choked out, backpedaling because I didn’t want to be swallowed up in his diatribe of guilt.

Tynan jerked. “What do you mean, bullshit?”

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