Page 31 of No More Secrets

“Go to hell.” She spits.

“Already there.” He wipes his cheek on his shoulder and swings her around as if they’re dancing. Then he holds her back tight against his chest, the stuff in her backpack digging into his ribs, before she can cause further damage to either one of them.

She grunts and kicks, breathing heavily.

“Would you just chill? I’m trying to help. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with forced calm, letting her work through the shock. Giving her mind time to catch up with everything that happened. To realize she’s safe. Or, at least, safer with him than she ever was with them. He knows. He’s been there. And eventually, slowly, she surprisingly does calm down.

She takes a deep defeated breath. Then she whispers, “Shiloh.”

“Shiloh,” he repeats. He likes her name. It suits her.

He releases her wrists and cautiously takes two steps back.

Shiloh remains still, shoulders hunched, chin dropped, before she turns around to face him, her shoes scraping in the dirt. She sniffles, her hazel eyes lifting to his face. She digs the base of her palms into her eyes as if trying to plug the waterworks, then lets her arms drop to her sides. The tears keep coming.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks, wary.

His face contorts with disgust. What kind of man does she think he is?

“Nothing. I... I don’t want—I’m not like them.” He tilts his head in the direction they’d run from. “I only want to help.”

Her mouth screws up. “Nobodyjustwants to help. They always want something.”

“You aren’t trusting, are you?”

She shakes her head.

“Good. You shouldn’t be.” His hands drop. She also needs a cold, hard reality check. He points back toward the encampment. “Those guys would have torn you apart inside out and left you there to die.”

Her face pales.

“No one over there would have cared. No one would have lifted a finger to help, no matter how loud you screamed. And nobody would have done anything to get those assholes arrested. They would have gotten away with what they wanted to do with you. Then they’d do itagain, and again, and again. To you, if you didn’t die during the first round. Then to someone else.”

She looks physically ill. A tear tracks down her cheek, followed by another.

“Would you have wanted that?”

She shakes her head.

Good. She’s scared. He wants her scared. Then maybe he can talk some sense into her.

“Did they hurt you? Did they—” He swallows roughly, and his voice comes out thin. “Violate you?”

“No,” she says, meekly, vulnerable.

He loosens a relieved sigh.Thank fuck.This could have been much worse.

She pulls her gaze from the encampment and stares at the ground. She looks so young.

“How old are you really?” he asks.

Her teeth rattle, and he realizes she’s shaking uncontrollably. She’s probably going into shock. In another few minutes, her skin will be ice cold. She needs food and a hot shower.

“Fi-fi-fifteen,” she whispers.

Hell.

What’s she doing out here by herself?

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