Page 78 of Warrior

“To ask you probing, painful questions about your family. Obviously.” A hint of a smile appears, then vanishes. Worry takes over, but he never looks away.

I sigh. “Right, well, Dad’s an asshole and Mom’s a pushover. That’s about all you need to know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What? You don’t think a girl justends upin a sex trafficking ring, do you?”

He stops.

Yeah, he didn’t think ofthatone.

“I wasn’t kidnapped in the middle of the night. I wasn’t snatched out of the house where I lived with two loving, peaceful parents. My father put me in the car on my fifteenth birthday and drove me to meet a man who ran Terror. That man put me in the back of a truck with others, and off we went. With an exchange of money, of course.” My gaze stays on Kade. “After all, someone had to pay off his gambling debts.”

Kade’s mouth opens and closes.

I’ve actually stumped him?

“You hadn’t said any of that,” he finally mutters. “I mean, we talked about Terror, but…”

“It’s embarrassing.” I glare at him. “You think I’m proud of what happened to me? So many more girls—and boys—came out of that place with physical scars along with the emotional trauma. My scars are just mental.”

He winces. He looks like he’s about to say something, then clearly thinks better of it. I kind of wish he would say what he thinks, though. Cracking open his brain and digging into his thoughts might be the only way I inch closer to forgiving him.

It doesn’t happen, though. His movements stay methodical. He unplugs the drain in the tub, finishes rubbing down my limbs with a towel. He leaves me on the counter and comes back with clothes.

A t-shirt, leggings, his sweatshirt.

I spot the Cyclopes logo stitched on the breast, and my anger flares all over again. He put me in his sweatshirt so nonchalantly—and for what?

“Why make me wear that?”

“I was hoping it would keep you safe,” he admits in a low voice. “But it didn’t.”

I sigh.

No, it definitely did not. It didn’t stop the target on my back. It didn’t signal that I wasprotected. Clothing doesn’t work like that in Sterling Falls.

My conversation with Nadine returns, and suspicion prickles at my skin. She said there was outside influence. The sheriff alluded to the same, hinting that it wasn’t his decision to search my club. To take all the computers, our hard drives…

“Did you push the sheriff to search Bow & Arrow?” I ask.

He meets my gaze. “What? No.”

Yeah, right.

“You guys planted a body?—”

“I had nothing to do with that,” he growls. “I’m not a fucking murderer.”

Okaaaay, Mr. Crabby Pants.

He gives me his back while I put on the new clothes, and I clear my throat when I’m done. I leave the sweatshirt sitting where he placed it, because if there’s one thing I cannot handle, it’s more fucking Cyclopes.

He only frowns a little when I lift a forgotten one from the hook on the back of the door. Once it’s on, he opens the bathroom door again. This time with the intention of us exiting.

When I entered the bathroom, I was aching. Kicking off my shoes was painful, so I lowered myself into the hot water fully clothed. No one was home to stop me, anyway. I was allowed to wallow in my misery.

I guess I did that a bit too well.

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