Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(53)

When Eli shimmered into view a half hour later, relief surged hot and forceful through her veins.

She rose from the couch and had to stop herself from going to him.

“Things are quiet, by Buenos Aires standards anyway,” he said. “I took a look at the garage. Wanted to make sure we weren’t followed.”

She nodded.

“You want to go grab something to eat? I’d rather make it back here before dark.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He looked curiously at her, as though he were trying to see inside her. Her unease was tangible, she knew. He touched her lightly on the arm as he headed toward the door.

In an automatic gesture, she felt for her knives. Then she reached for her jacket. Though tattered and sporting a torn sleeve, it offered protection and hid the other knife. And she’d cleaned most of the blood off.

She followed Eli outside. The sun was sinking low in the sky as they walked down the street. It wasn’t dark enough yet for the streetlights to pop on, so shadows began to yawn in the darkened corners.

She walked faster.

Two blocks up, they stopped at a street vendor where Eli ordered sausages and empanadas. As Tyana glanced down the streets at the intersection where they stood, she noticed that none of the restaurants seemed open.

She turned back to Eli as he collected the sack of food and paid for it.

“It doesn’t seem very busy,” she said as they began to walk back. “I would have thought it would be more crowded. More people out.”

“They eat late here,” he replied. “No one really goes out before nine which is why I wanted us to get our food and be back in our room before things got a lot busier. Much easier to tell if we’re being followed this time of day.”

She nodded but kept her eyes peeled as they crossed the street at the next intersection. As they walked past one of the alleyways, a childish cry of fright froze Tyana in her tracks.

She stared down the alley to see a young girl. Maybe twelve. Maybe thirteen. On the cusp of womanhood, yet so young. Too young. She was being shoved against the rough stone of the building wall by one man while another stood to the side leering.

Tyana’s blood turned to ice. She felt those hands on her own body, ripping at her clothing, heard Damiano’s hoarse protests as he fought to protect her.

Her hand was inside her coat even as she sprinted down the alleyway. She launched herself into the air, her foot connecting with the man holding the girl.

They went down in a tangle. The man bellowed in pain and rage as Tyana landed on top of him. She scrambled up, knife in hand and threw it at the other man before he could react to her attack.

It landed in his shoulder, embedded to the hilt. He staggered back, staring in disbelief as blood ran down his arm.

She turned to face the first attacker just as he lunged at her. He rammed into her like a freight train, and they both went down again. She hit the street with a bone-jarring thump. Pain speared through every muscle, and she gasped for breath.

She reared back to head butt him, but suddenly he was gone. Ripped from her body and thrown against the opposite wall. A snarl of rage echoed through the alley.

Tyana scrambled up in time to see Eli make quick work of the ass**le. She turned to see about the girl, but she was gone. Tyana ran to the end of the alley and looked down the street only to see her disappear among the vendors.

“Are you all right?” Eli demanded beside her.

She nodded, still winded from her fall.

“What the f**k did you think you were doing, Tyana? Are you just trying to get yourself killed? Get us arrested? Jesus H. Christ, woman.”

She whirled around, tears of rage nearly blinding her. “If you think I was going to stand by while those two animals raped her, you’re crazy.”

She yanked her jacket around her and hurried away from the alley, back toward the apartment. Eli kept pace with her, his hand touching her elbow. She jerked away from his touch as they reached the door of the apartment.

By the time they made it inside, she was shaking violently and she felt ill. So sick. She wanted to vomit.

“My knife,” she said, and she didn’t recognize her own voice. She fixated on the knife. “I lost the knife. Mad Dog gave it to me. I never go anywhere without it.”

Eli touched her, tentative, testing. Concern was there in the light probing.

“You have other knives, Tyana,” he said in a low voice.

She wrapped her arms as tight around her as she could, folding inward. She walked to the couch, her composure shattered. Like a leaf blowing in the wind, she wilted onto the sofa, her knees shaking, her limbs jittery, like a junkie in need of a fix.

Eli was there, in front of her, kneeling, his hands on the couch on either side of her hips. He made no effort to touch her, but worry was set like stone in his eyes.

“Tell me what the f**k happened back there, Tyana.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. God, she didn’t want to remember. As long as she blocked those memories, she could go on, she could function, she could pretend it never happened, that those years before Jonah and Mad Dog didn’t exist.

A gentle hand touched her cheek, cupped it in a warm, sweet grasp. “Tyana, listen to me. Nothing can hurt you here, sugar. It’s only you and me. No one else.”

To her horror, a tear rolled down her cheek, colliding with his hand. He brushed it away with his thumb, a tender gesture that proved to be her undoing. Another slipped down. And another. A low sob caught in her throat, and she swallowed fiercely, determined not to give in. Not to be weak.