“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What for, Sara? Protecting yourself?” Shane shook his head, his chest full with emotion. “Never be sorry for that. If you hadn’t done such a good job all this time, we might never have had the chance to meet.”
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a molten-hot kiss that set his body on fire. The aggressiveness of her lips, the tightness of her grip, the yearning, needful moans spilling into his mouth reflected a woman taking a chance, taking charge, taking control. This woman, his Sara, was like a phoenix rising from the flames, and somehow this magical creature had pulled him inside the ring of fire and allowed him to stand witness to the miracle of her rebirth.
When she pulled away, they were both panting hard and smiling. It was a moment of such lightness and ease that Shane could’ve lived in it forever.
Sara—amazing how easily his brain accommodated to knowing the truth of the woman who held such sway over his heart—slipped her hand in his and squeezed. “There’s one more thing I need to share.” As Shane watched, she stepped around him, crossed the room, climbed on the bed, and stretched out on her stomach hugging a pillow beneath her head.
Showing Shane her scars. Letting him look his fill.
He knew battle-hardened warriors without that much courage and spirit.
But, aw, Christ. The injuries were worse than Shane had been able to feel by a factor of five. He hadn’t been wrong about the cause, though. Sara had been severely beaten. Multiple times with at least two instruments, he guessed.
A boulder parked itself on his chest, but he forced himself to move across the room and crawl up on the bed beside her.
“You okay?” he asked, brushing her hair over her right shoulder so that he could see the whole canvas of her back.
She turned her face toward him, but made no effort to make eye contact. “Yeah. Now, I am.”
“Will it bother you if I touch you there?”
“No. I can’t even feel some of it anymore.” And looking at where the deepest cuts had been and the most knotted scar tissue remained, Shane could guess where. “Do you really want to?” she asked, her voice a little grossed out.
Shane didn’t answer with words. And he didn’t explore with his hands.
Leaning over her, he pressed a firm kiss against the most gnarled scar just below her left shoulder blade. She gasped. “My beautiful Sara,” he said. Middle of her back, just left of her spine. Kiss. “Beautiful, beautiful Sara.” The tail end of the lowest scar. Kiss. “So very pretty.” As she trembled beneath him, he repeated the ritual for each distinct mark he could make out. Twenty-two in all. Seven darker, redder, deeper lines had been carved into her skin by one tool, and at least fifteen paler, flatter, stripes had been permanently etched into her skin by another.
Only when he’d kissed every one did he touch her with his hands, light strokes of his fingers and palms to learn the landscape of her. “Do you have lasting pain?” Shane asked, barely recognizing the almost hoarse voice that came out of him.
“My upper back gets fatigued easily if I try to carry too much,” she said in a low voice. “And my left shoulder always feels tight. Sometimes, there’s a lot of twingy achiness that comes out of nowhere.”
Lying on his side, Shane stretched out beside Sara, his face aligned with hers, his hand lightly stroking her back.
“Do you want to know?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Shane said, even though a part of him was already dying inside. Before the first words left her mouth, he reined himself in, slipping on his medic hat and borrowing a bit of the professional distance you were trained to develop when working life-or-death situations.
He didn’t want to scare her with his rage.
Slowly, almost mechanically, Sara recounted the downward spiral of events that spun out of her father’s arrest and the revelation of his massive indebtedness to the Church gang after his death in prison. The loss of her house, her belongings, her freedom. When she got to the moment when the first of the men had entered the basement room of Confessions, Shane turned onto his back and urged her to lay her head on his shoulder so he could hold her close. Over the course of four or five days, seven men came to Sara’s room. Often individually, once a group. She was raped, caned, and whipped before Bruno finally pulled her out, took her under his wing, and found her another way she could pay her father’s debts.
Shane’s chest burned with rage and regret. It was every worst-case scenario he’d imagined come to life. Prostitution, sexual slavery, forced labor. What hadn’t she gone through in the past four years? Sara’s voice drew him out of his thoughts.
Being forced to work at Confessions was when Sara slowly faded away. After Bruno’s rescue, she formally dropped out of college, cared for her teenage sister, and, at Bruno’s insistence, took on a new name. “By the time I realized what had happened to my life, it was too late to get it back again.”
“I’m so sorry, Sara,” Shane managed, hugging her in tight and kissing her forehead. “If I could take it away and bear it for you, I would.”
She tilted her face toward his and met his eyes. “You just did,” she said. After a moment, she burrowed into his body, and her muscles relaxed against him.
Shane reveled in the fact she’d felt safe enough to bare her body and her soul to him this way. He swallowed hard as a revelation overwhelmed him. “I’ve never felt closer to another person than I do to you.”
When she didn’t respond, Shane lifted his head to find her eyes closed and her face slack. After the day she’d had and the memories she’d shared, he didn’t blame her one bit, and he didn’t mind, either. They’d have plenty more time to talk and to love.
Sara had fallen asleep without a shirt, so Shane tugged the edge of the covers up over her bare skin. They never had managed to get changed. No matter. Whatever she needed, he was willing to do. For Sara.
Sara. Sara. Sara. The name suited her beauty and her quiet strength so well.
Emotion lodged in Shane’s throat.
He didn’t just want to be there for her tonight or tomorrow or during this mission, however long it lasted. Miraculously, Shane was flirting with thoughts of forever. When this was all over, she could come back to Northern Virginia with him. Or if she wished to live somewhere else, he’d consider that, too. Wasn’t like he loved the job he had. But he definitely loved Sara. Now he just had to find a way to convince her that she didn’t have to go on the run. That he could provide her and Jenna—when they got her back, because they would—a safe future.
Because he couldn’t live with any other result.
Chapter 21
You’re wearing my shirt,” came Shane’s gravelly voice from behind her.
Only the palest of sunlight filtered in through the window. It was still early. Sara lay with her back against his front and smiled. “I woke up in the middle of the night and changed.”
He hummed approvingly and snuggled his face into her neck. Little kisses rained down against her skin there. Shane stretched behind her, and he thrust his hips into her bottom.
Hello, Mr. McCallan. He was hard and thick and ready.
Arousal shot through her body, peaking her nipples and setting her blood on fire—and waking her all the way up.
Jenna. Fear slammed into her anew. Her thoughts raced with worry over what had happened to her sister overnight. The possibilities were endless, and too many of them were unthinkably horrifying. God, Sara wished there was something she could do.
Shane’s hand rubbed across her stomach, small circles that had Sara wishing he’d wander up or down.