Page 53 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

Just heavy.

Real.

Kelli crouches too, knees creaking from too many years of hard living.

She reaches out, fingertips ghosting along my battered cheek.

"You’re late," she says, voice thick but teasing.

I grab her wrist—careful, reverent—and press a kiss against the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse hammer against my lips.

"I’m here now," I vow.

Whatever comes next.

Whatever hell we have to walk through.

I’m not letting go again.

Not of her.

Not of them.

Not of this blood and bone that finally feels like home.

CHAPTER 16

KELLI

The second I shut the battered door behind us, the air feels too thick to breathe.

The kids settle onto the torn cushions in the corner, clutching their little toy pieces, watching us with wide, wary eyes.

Watching him.

Watching me.

I can feel the heat of their stares burning through my spine.

Traz leans heavy against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

I see the dark stain blooming under his jacket, and my stomach twists.

"Sit down before you fall down," I snap, grabbing the old med kit from the shelf.

He doesn’t argue.

That’s how I know he’s worse than he’s letting on.

He sinks onto the crate, jaw tight, skin pale under the dirt and blood.

I crouch in front of him, popping the cracked latch on the kit with shaking fingers.

Old habits kick in, and I push the fear down deep.

Keep my hands steady.

Keep my face blank.

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