Page 94 of Peace Under Fire

“We were never told when we were born, or how old we were,” she admitted, her voice shaky.

He could see the courage it took to admit that. All her tells were on display. Her chin was up. Her shoulders pulled back. Her spine rigidly straight. She grabbed the serving fork and bent over the pasta, filling her plate with intense focus. “After we escaped, we guessed how old we were and chose our own birthdays.” While he was still digesting that fucked up information, she continued, the bravado even stronger in her voice, like she’d decided to put it all out there, damn the consequences. “We chose our own names too.”

“Your caretakers never named you?” Squish tried to mask the rage in his voice. What the hell? Birthdays were one thing, but no names? That was cold. What the hell was wrong with those cockroaches? He’d thought her background couldn’t get any more messed up. He’d been wrong.

“Not names, they gave us identifiers. A letter number combination. I was FJ12. Giulia was AB09. JoAnn was HS17. We never figured out what the combinations meant, or even if they meant anything at all.”

He digested that in silence, watching as she loaded her plate with the creamy pasta and pulled off a thick wedge of bread, leaving strings of cheese trailing behind. She caught the cheesy strings with her index finger and swiped them up with her tongue.

Christ. His gut tightened with lust. His dick, which overreacted every time he thought of her in that towel, went ballistic at the sight of her sucking on her fingers. No doubt there was some sexual joke about women sucking their fingers, just like there was about them walking around in a towel. But if there wasn’t, there should be, because watching her sucking and swirling her tongue around that finger was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

She wasn’t aware of what she was doing to him. He knew that. Her focus was on her food and her story. She hadn’t looked at him once.

“How did you choose your name?”

It was a miracle he got the question out considering how hot and tight his throat was. She pulled her finger from her mouth, but slowly, as though she were savoring every morsel of cheese. He turned his groan into a cough. She never even noticed.

“Honestly? It’s kind of embarrassing.” Her shoulders curled. “I named myself after my favorite song.”

“Nothing embarrassing about that,” he managed to say without wheezing.

“I was nine.” She shot him a look. Her cheeks were pink. “It was Mandy, by Barry Manilow. I thought it was so romantic.” She paused. “I was nine,” she reemphasized.

“Right.” He’d bet his trident some of that color in her cheeks was because she still thought it was romantic.

He remembered the song…vaguely. He’d have to look it up on his phone. But he was pretty sure there was something in the lyrics about how Mandy came and gave without taking, and how the singer had sent her away.

An eerie tingle swept through him.

That was a little too on the nose for comfort. How weird was that? Had Mandy sensed at nine years of age how that song would mirror their relationship? Was that why she’d chosen it for her name?

“Our names changed quite a bit in the years following our escape from the cockroaches.” Mandy picked up her plate and a fork and headed into the living room. “Partly because we were trying them out. And partly because there were so many times we were sure the cockroaches had found us, and we had to disappear and pick new names again.” She settled into the armchair across from the couch. “Eventually we felt safe enough to settle down on the compound. That’s when Giulia chose our last name—Brady. She felt it would be less conspicuous if we all had the same last name. But I kept coming back to Mandy for my first name. I guess it just fits me.”

Squish followed behind her with a dab of pasta and a plate full of bread. “You chose well. The name suits you.”

He didn’t expect the comment to open a can of worms. But she froze, with the fork halfway to her mouth. A frown pleated her forehead. “You think Mandy suits me? Why?”

Shit. He scrambled for an answer. To his surprise, the answer was right there on the tip of his tongue.

“Because it’s a sweet name for a sweet girl.” It was the truth. But would she appreciate being labeled as sweet?

Her forehead remained furrowed as she took a slow bite of her pasta and chewed. She swallowed before answering. “You think I’m sweet? Why?”

Was she looking for compliments? He studied her face. Uncertainty shone in her eyes. Her head was cocked to the left, as though she were assessing his sincerity, like she thought he was making shit up.

She really had no idea. His chest ached. Fuck, his entire body ached. Like he’d caught a sudden case of the flu—the emotional flu.

How could she not know how sweet she was?

“Sweetheart.” His voice roughened. “Everything you do is kind. From sharing your baking with everyone in the complex, to baking everyone a cake on their birthdays. How many cards did you give out while you were staying there? Birthdays, get well cards, anniversaries? Then there’s all the favors you did for people in the building—the pet sitting, plant watering, picking up prescriptions and groceries when someone was sick or hurt. You’re constantly doing things for people, from volunteering at nursing homes and soup kitchens, to trying to save the life of a man who hurt you every chance he got.”

She dropped her fork on her plate and stared pensively down at her pasta. “I didn’t save your life, though. You didn’t even get the message until after the mission was over.”

“That’s not the point. You tried. You tried to help me, even though you had no reason to.” He ached to join her in that chair, cradle her against his chest, and soothe some of the pain she was so clearly feeling. But she’d curled her legs up in the chair and was huddled over her food, her entire posture defensive.

She frowned again, and slowly looked up, directly into his face. “Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?”

Yeah…he didn’t want to open this conversation until she’d filled her belly. She’d barely eaten a bite. “Let’s table that question until after dinner.”

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