Page 52 of Ruthless

Satisfied at that, I stare out the window, mentally calculating everything I will have to replace in my apartment.

“Do you have comprehensive coverage on this piece of shit?” Zane asks, and I know exactly what he’s getting at.

“And you were doing so well too.” I shake my head as the corners of my eyes crinkle, but there’s no fight behind my words. He knows that he’s won another round because it’s the smart thing to do. I want my child to be as safe as possible, and if that means I have to concede and buy something the size of a tank, I will.

We sit in silence for a few more minutes when my curiosity gets the better of me. “So, that wastheIsaac? The one that was in Afghanistan with you?” I add that last bit as an afterthought to ensure he knows what I’m asking.

“It is,” he grunts out. “Why?”

“Just curious.” I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my leggings as I prod him for more information. After all, we’re married, and as his wife, I can ask him these things. Whether he’ll tell me or not is another story entirely. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“We lost touch after everything that happened and went our separate ways.” He takes his right hand off the steering wheel and begins to twist the ends of his beard. “I tried everything to get back to normal. Even therapy. None of that shit worked.” A nervous tic I’m not even sure he realizes he does, but one I’ve picked up on.

“Therapy?” My ears perk up at this piece of information. He’s never told more than what happened in Afghanistan. I haven’t learned what happened after, but if he’s opening up to me now, it tells me it’s something he’s not doing lightly. Maybe being trapped in this small space is acting as his confessional?

“What happened over there fucked with our heads, and they wanted to make sure that we weren’t going to be sent back out into the field and blow a civilians head off because they sneezed at us wrong.”

“Did it work?” I push my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose and twist in my seat until I face him, hanging on his every word.

His forehead wrinkles as he thinks over my question. I can see the wheels turning in his head like it wasn’t something he ever really thought about before. “Don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” My eyebrows dip down at his answer.

“I’m still fucked up, aren’t I?” His fingers clench tighter against the steering wheel until the stiff plastic protests under the immense pressure. He’s disappearing inside his head, and the last thing I want to do is lose him to whatever darkness sucks him under. I reach over and pull his hand away from his beard and interlace our fingers, letting him know without words that he isn’t alone anymore.

“Considering who my family is, I don’t think I’m one to judge on that.” My tone is lighthearted, but there’s a certain truth hidden behind my words, and of course, he picks up on that and turns the conversation over to me.

“What about you?” Zane asks, and I sit up straighter in my seat.

“What about me?” I slip my hand out of his and lean away from him until I feel the armrest on the door digging into my back.

“I get the feeling that Finn didn’t shelter you from what he does? From who hereallyis?” He takes his eyes off the road for a split second to look me in the eye as he quizzes me on my childhood before they drift back onto the road.

I don’t answer him right away. The truth is how I was raised is difficult to explain to outsiders, but then again, with what Zane has experienced, he may be just the one who does get it.

“He didn’t. You remember me telling you how my mom was killed?” My throat becomes scratchy as the memories come back to me full force. Zane answers with a slight nod of his head, so I continue. “She was on her way to pick me up from preschool when her car was boxed in.”

My hands rub against the tops of my thighs as I practice my box breathing. In for four. Hold. Out for four. Hold. He catches on to what I’m doing without me having to utter a word. He grabs my left hand and plays with the diamond on my ring finger, twisting it around in time with my breathing. This goes on for at least a couple more seconds before the ache in my chest subsides enough for me to continue talking.

“They gang-raped her and then sent her back to my father in pieces.” There’s a slight tremble to my voice as I force out the worst of it in one long breath. Delivering news like this is similar to ripping off a Band-Aid, and best to do it as fast as possible. Even knowing it still makes my insides ache with the torment my mother must have endured at the hands of those monsters. The atmosphere in the car grows heavy with tension, but I need to get out the rest so that we can move on to a different topic. One that won’t make me want to throw up yet again.

“Fuck, Ken. I’m sorry.” He squeezes my hand a fraction tighter and lets out a heavy sigh. When he glances my way, his dark eyebrows are pinched together, but it’s the darkness behind his eyes that has a tingle spreading from my stomach and down between my legs. I clench my thighs together to try and gain some sense of self-control, but my hormones have a mind of their own.

The fact that he resembles the same expression my dad wore that dreadful day hits home. I might have been too small to remember everything accurately, but that is something that has stuck in my mind through the years. I wanted someone to feel that deeply about me. My father loved my mother. She was his world, and after they took her from us, he made sure everyone knew what happens when you fuck with a Donnelly.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” A pained look crosses his face.

I nod and swallow down the lump building in the back of my throat. “They sent him pictures of me, from everywhere. There were some from school and even some from me in our yard. Told him that I’d be next if he didn’t back off.”

“That’s why your dad is so protective of you,” he says more to himself like it’s an afterthought.

“Yeah. And my brother’s. They figured the best way to keep me safe was for me to know what was going on. My dad thought if they did that, I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks where my safety was concerned. They also taught me how to use a gun and some self-defense moves.”

“You were only four.” His eyes narrow, but something tells me that he will be just as protective as mine if he has a daughter.

“In this life, it’s better to be prepared from a young age. It’s kill or be killed.” It’s harsh but true. “Teegan and Keegan were only two when she died, but they grew up the same way.”

“That’s fucked up.” He shakes his head but doesn’t loosen his grip on my hand. A few beats of silence pass before he asks, “What happened to them?”

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