Page 25 of Heathen

"There will be no wedding night," she snaps. “I don't need a hospital."

"The hospital is for a check-up. What have they done to you?"

I watch her throat swallow, ignoring the person behind me laying on their horn because I'm sitting still at a green light.

"They didn't hurt me," she says, refusing to look me in the eye.

I don't know enough about her to believe her or not. I know a lot of women who have been victimized refuse to admit to it, especially to a man.

Cerberus New Mexico has several women on their team to help with situations like this. The women are badasses in their own right but they're also more likely to get another woman to talk about their experiences rather than the same gender who hurt them.

This chapter here in Las Vegas doesn't have someone like that.

"Tell me what you need," I say as I look away and begin driving again.

"I need to turn back the clock a full day, no, make that a couple of years. I never should've come to Vegas."

"Why did you move here?" I ask, wondering if she has dreams of being a poker-winning millionaire or if she wants to be on a stage performing every night.

She doesn't answer, and I'm in no position to demand anything from her.

"Are you a cop?"

I don't know exactly how to answer that, so I choose the absolute truth.

"I'm not a cop."

"FBI? CIA? Anything?"

"I don't work for the government, at least not anymore."

"Former CIA?"

I shake my head. "I was in the Marine Corps."

I look at her briefly, catching the frown on her face. Since when did people start finding military service so distasteful?

"So you're a wannabe hero with a savior complex?"

"Is that what you think of military men and women?"

"That's what I think about a creep who sees me at the grocery store one night and purchases me the two days later," she mutters, her tears beginning to subside as she lets anger take over.

I wanted the crying to stop, but I don't know if the anger directed at me is any better.

"I followed you the other night," I confess, earning a scoff from her.

"Something you do often?"

"I can't get into what I do for a living. It's... classified."

I feel her eyes burning into the side of my head, but I don't look at her. I know how crazy this sounds, but is anything at this point too far-fetched? One day, she was a cashier at a grocery store and the next, she was being sold and married off to a manshe doesn't know. This entire situation is off the wall fucking nuts and I never would've suspected I'd be here when I stepped off that damn plane the other day.

"Of course it is," she says. "How will you help my friend? Or was that a lie?"

I lick my dry lips, wishing I could just tell her everything, but I don't know enough about her to disclose anything about the organization I work for.

"I can help," I assure her.

---