Page 11 of Marks of Rebellion
"Try again."
"Okay. Vanessa."
"That's better. And do you have a name?"
Heat rushes to my face.
Jeez. Get a grip. She just wants to know your name. You're a 43-year-old man.
"Hunter. Hunter Ward."
She smiles, and my stomach flips again. "Well, Hunter Ward, that's a very nice name. Thank you for rescuing me."
"I'm sorry no one did sooner."
"Naomi told me the date when she arrived yesterday. I've been gone eight months, right?"
"Yes. That's what the paperwork said."
She twists her fingers together.
"What happened to your wrists and ankles?" I ask.
"Just damage from the shackles."
"You've been in cuffs?"
"Yes. Until a week ago."
Horror grips me. "For eight months?"
"Yes."
"What else did they do to you?" I growl, and she jumps. "Sorry. What did they do?" I repeat, softer.
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"You shouldn't have to handle it." I angrily blurt out.
She quickly looks away.
"Vanessa."
She takes a deep breath and turns back. "Hmmm?"
I firmly ask, "What did they do?"
"They aren't the ones who hurt me."
"Who did?"
Her eyes fill with tears. "Can we change the subject? Please?"
"All right." I want to pull her in my arms, but I don't want to startle her again.
Ask her, and I can stop torturing myself.
"The paperwork said you have a fiancé who's been searching for you. I'm sure you'll be happy to see him soon." As I say it, my heart twists.
