Page 45 of Damaged Princess

"Please?" I beg. "I wouldn't push, but Lydia said it's the first thing to try. That's why I started the water when we came in."

"Fine," she groans.

I help her out of her dress.

"What happened here?" I ask, running a finger over the jagged scar on her shoulder.

"My mom and I were attacked. She didn't make it," she mumbles, reaching for her panties. She's not wearing a bra and the tiny thong doesn't hide much, but it's something. "ShouldI take these off? Did Viktor put these back on me when I was asleep? I'm so confused."

"Leave those on," Wolfe says, clearing his throat. "And I'm not sure, but yeah, it's likely he did."

I guide her over to the tub and cradle her in my arms. I slowly ease her legs into the water and set her between Wolfe's spread legs.

"Hey, dollface. You're going to be just fine. We're going to take good care of you." Wolfe runs his hands down her arms. He gently cups the steaming-hot water, pouring it over her shoulders and massaging his way down to her hands.

"Thank you," she whimpers. "I'm so sorry for everything. Least of all puking in front of you and most of all for coming here with ulterior motives."

Her eyes are closed as she rests back against Wolfe's chest.

"She's out," I whisper a few minutes later.

My mind races. I read the police reports about her mother's attack. Anastasia wasn't listed in any of it. No hospital reports, no victim's statement; legally speaking, she wasn't there that day.

My jaw clenches tighter than my fists. There's something very fishy going on.

It tickles the obsessive part of my brain.

I can't let it go now.

I shake my head. Wolfe's still stretched across the sofa, downing his coffee and trying to wake up. It's that fucking scar that changed everything for me. I'm really not a violent person, but Markov Androff sealed his fate when he tried to kill his daughter right alongside his wife.

My eyes fly to the hallway that leads to Anastasia. The really fucked-up part is I'm pretty sure subconsciously she knows. She might not be able to admit it to herself rationally. The mind does all sorts of things to force a person to cope with stress or traumathat's too great to face. But to continue to be around him for years?

She's tougher than we gave her credit for. I glance at Wolfe. He's still lounging with that lazy look of satisfaction on his face. There's a very good reason we didn't let him in on all the specifics.

Vik and Wolfe did contract work together after the military. It's not an unusual path for soldiers to take when trying to transition back into civilian life, but Wolfe took to it a little too well.

Anastasia pops out of Wolfe's bedroom door.

She's got a pillow and an arm full of his clothes.

She's wearing one of his undershirts and she doesn't even glance our way. Her chin is tipped high as she aims for the nest.

"Okay, that makes me feel like a goddamn king," Wolfe says, hopping up and aiming for the kitchen. He drops his coffee cup in the sink and heads to the hallway.

Anastasia comes out of the nest, giving him a grin when she sees him leaning against the far wall.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she says, then shakes her head. She covers her face, but continues right into his outstretched arms.

"Me too," he says, pulling her mouth to his. "Cas is going to take good care of you while I'm gone. It's a half-day trip, so I'll be back this afternoon."

Ana gives him a nod. They share a slow kiss full of tongue that has Anastasia whimpering.

Wolfe smacks her ass and saunters off.

"I'm serious," Wolfe says, pointing at me as he heads for the door. "Don't leave her hurting."

"I'd never," I assure them both.

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