Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(54)

She tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. He folded her in his arms and held her tightly as he rocked her gently back and forth. She pushed and he pulled. She tried to move away, to hide from him, but he kept those arms locked around her.

Emotion, raw and tearing, swelled in her throat. She fought against it, tried to keep it in, because once let loose, she would break.

And then he kissed her. One tiny, gentle brush of his lips against her forehead. Quite simply, she shattered. There in his arms. There was no defense against his quiet understanding.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her. Soft. Comforting. His hands stroked repeatedly over her hair as her tears soaked into his shirt.

When there were no more tears to shed, she simply lay against him, limp, drained. He slid his hand over her damp cheek and pulled her away so that he could look at her.

“What happened, Tyana?” he asked. “What is it that you’re so afraid to tell me…anyone?”

“That was me back there,” she whispered. “It was me all over again. And no matter how hard I train, no matter how hard I become, it always comes back to me being a defenseless young girl fighting for survival on the streets. I can’t forget her. I can’t make her go away. I don’t want to be her anymore.”

His eyes softened. He carefully got off his knees and moved to sit on the couch beside her. She faced forward, her knees spread, her arms between her legs and her head bowed.

“Tyana, she’ll always be there,” Eli said softly. “She’s an important part of who you are.”

She shook her head.

“Tell me about her.”

She turned her head to look at him, not sure she could get the words past her frozen lips. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and let his hand linger there at her temple.

God. Where to start?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tyana drew in several long, steadying breaths. Eli’s fingers still touched lightly at her temple, drawing a line down her cheek and back up again.

“My earliest memory is of an orphanage in Prague. I remember being cold and hungry, and there were children crying. I don’t know how I got there. Later I was scornfully told that my mother had dumped me on the doorstep and ran as fast as she could, but who knows if that’s real or just the drummed up version of what they told every kid there.

“I used to hide in one of the corners, just hoping to escape notice. That’s where Damiano found me. He was older, but skinny as I was and as dirty. I’ll never forget how he took my hand and told me it would be okay, that he’d look out for me.”

She bowed her head as another hot tear trailed down her cheek.

“He kept his promise,” she whispered. “He took so much for me. Always put himself in front of me when the headmistress was angry or when the men came every month to select the orphans they wanted for the workhouses.

“As we got older, Damiano filled out more. He got bigger. I didn’t develop the curves that the other girls did, and while I didn’t understand then why that angered the headmistress, I realize now it was because she had every intention of selling me to the highest bidder.

“She ran a profitable business. Young virgins offered at premium prices. Damiano was so determined to protect me from that. When I did finally begin to have the semblance of br**sts, he made me wrap them to keep my chest flat. We stayed as filthy as possible so no one would want us. Boys, especially good-looking boys like Damiano, were just as in demand as the girls.”

Eli slid his hand up her back and palmed the back of her neck, massaging lightly, but he never said a word. He just listened.

“I think the headmistress caught on to us because one night she locked me in a room by myself. Later a man showed up. I was asleep. When I woke, he was there…” Her breath caught on a sob and she raised her hands to her throat in panic.

“It’s all right, Tyana,” Eli said soothingly. “I’m right here, sugar. Nothing can hurt you here.”

“It hurt,” she said in a small voice. “I couldn’t fight him. I just lay there crying while he took his pleasure.”

Eli pulled her into his arms, his fingers tight at her waist. She could feel the pounding of his heart and the tension in his big body.

“Damiano found me the next morning. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He helped bathe me, and then he told me to wait for him, that we were getting out, but that first he had something to do.”

She turned her head up to Eli. “He killed her,” she whispered. “He killed the headmistress, and I wasn’t sorry. I hated her. I wanted her to die.”

There was no condemnation in Eli’s eyes. Anger, sorrow, but no judgment. She lowered her head again.

“Damiano came back, took my hand and we fled into the streets. For months we existed hand to mouth, doing whatever we had to in order to survive. We stole, Damiano sold himself, just so we didn’t starve. I hated myself for that. Hated that he sacrificed everything for me. I was at a point where I was willing to prostitute myself so that I could feed us both, and Damiano would have a warm place to sleep, where he’d be safe.

“He completely flipped out. I’ve never seen him so angry with me, never before then and never since.”

Eli pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked her hair.