Long Road Home(28)

She stirred, rustling the covers. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he stroked her hair, wanting so badly to take her in his arms and keep her there. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked confused and very much afraid. Then she smiled a slow, sleepy smile, relief pouring over her face.

Unable to help himself, he leaned over and kissed her soft, delectable lips. “Good morning.”

Jules savored the feel of his lips, his touch rapidly dispelling the tenuous grip her nightmares held her in. As he drew away, she shifted, feeling a throbbing in her shoulder.

Frowning, she sat up and flexed her arm, rotating it around. Fleeting images assailed her mind. Memories of being drugged, held down, a hand in her hair, shoving her face into a pillow, searing pain in her shoulder, soft laughter above her. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting them to go away. She hadn’t analyzed those events since that awful day in France, choosing to shove the brutal memories to the far recesses of her mind. Only now that she had recounted them to Manny, they burned brightly in her head.

“Jules, are you all right?” Manny reached out to stroke her cheek and she flinched away.

The skin burned on her shoulder, the ache intensifying. She reached back, trying to remember the significance. So much of that day had been buried. Northstar, yanking her to her feet, telling her to clean herself up. Who was the other man? The one who’d raped her. Their voices intertwined in her head, both evil. She dug her fingers into her temples, desperate to make the pain go away.

Who was he? She tried to picture him, but all she could feel was pain, overwhelming fear. Wait. She’d seen him one other time. During her training. God, those days were fuzzy, a mixture of pain and humiliation. She’d been shoved facedown on the couch, someone straddling her body. Voices in the background, his voice, instructing. Searing pain in her shoulder, nausea welling up in her throat. Something cold poured over her skin. Then blackness. Nothing. She couldn’t remember.

“Jules!” Manny’s voice was firmer this time.

She struggled from the darkness closing around her. Her breath came rapidly, and then she knew she was going to be sick.

She bolted from the bed, shoving Manny aside. She raced to the bathroom and lunged for the toilet. No sooner had she stumbled to the floor than her stomach lurched and heaved.

Strong hands encircled her waist, picked her up and locked her to Manny’s side. He helped her bend over as she heaved violently, his hands never loosening their hold.

His fingers stroked back her hair as he waited for her to finish. He didn’t speak, and she was grateful for the silence. Her head couldn’t take the slightest noise at the moment.

When her turmoil subsided, she slumped weakly against him, wiping the back of her mouth with her hand. He left her for a moment, and she heard the trickle of water. A second later, he handed her a plastic cup so she could rinse her mouth out. Then, without a word, he swept her into his arms. He tucked her head under his chin and just held her.

He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her even closer to him until there was no space between them. Silence settled over the room, so much so that she could hear her own heart beating. It pounded wildly in her chest, and she was sure he could feel the thundering against his body.

But still he said nothing. Gradually she began to relax in his arms, until she sagged limply against him. The burning in her shoulder intensified though, and she could smell blood. Her blood. Was it a memory? What had they done to her? They’d stripped her of all dignity, but it hadn’t been enough. Would it ever be enough?

She shifted to relieve the discomfort in her back. Manny loosened his hold, and she eased away from him. She kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to see anything reflected in his gaze. Pity. No, she didn’t want to see pity there. The last thing she wanted was for Manny to feel sorry for her.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she mumbled.

She stumbled back into the bathroom and turned the shower on full force. After stripping away her clothing, she stepped under the icy spray, gasping as her body numbed. She forced herself to remain under the cold, needing the shock to clear her head. She had to get it together. Where was the calculating assassin when she needed her?

After several more minutes of self-punishment, she stepped from the shower and toweled herself off. She stood naked in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. She tried hardening her features, her eyes, anything to regain the tough shell she’d worked so hard to perfect. But all she saw was a fragile, scared mouse.

The tingling in her shoulder nagged her until finally she turned around, looking back over her shoulder into the mirror. But all she saw was the small tattoo Northstar had forced her to get. Was that what she was remembering?

She shook her head in confusion. No, she distinctly remembered getting the tattoo, but the other images made no sense. The tattoo, while uncomfortable, wasn’t that painful. The things she remembered—her blood, the painful cutting—weren’t from the tattoo. But it felt like the same spot. That whole period was one long, drug-induced haze.

Maybe she was missing something. She contorted her body to once again look in the mirror but saw nothing but the coiled snake stamped on her shoulder.

Looking in the mirror had not been something she spent time doing in the last three years. Her entire back could be painted purple and she wouldn’t know it. She turned back around, wondering if she should ask Manny to check it out.