Page 65 of Stripped

"What's going on?" he asked, turning to the other men.

"Here, let me get that for you." Gabriel took the bandage from his hand.

Wraith brushed him off.

"Let him attend you," Alex ordered.

He sat down, biting his tongue so as not to say something he would regret, as Gabriel wrapped the bandage around his arm. "She doesn't want to stay here. She doesn't trust me."

"She does." Alex sat down next to him.

"What did she say to you?"

"Not much, but I told her exactly what her grandfather was involved in. It will have been hard for her to hear."

"And Sokolov?"

"Nothing. She'll need to talk tomorrow." Alex cleared his throat. "I'm taking you off the investigation."

"You can't do that. No one knows the situation like I do. I'm so close to piecing this all together."

Alex held his hand up. "You're on protection only. I don't want you to leave her side until this bastard Sokolov is caught, and I have a feeling it's going to get very dangerous."

Gabriel finished with his arm. "Thanks," Wraith said under his breath.

Alex stood to leave. "Have her in my office by nine tomorrow."

He watched as they shut the door behind themselves. Damn. Now what? He went to his drawer and pulled out a starched white handkerchief. Opening the bathroom door, he waved it around. "Truce?"

Hearing no response, he peeked his head in. She sat in the tub, knees pulled up to her chest, holding her face in her hands. The bubbles had dissipated, now just small islands of white foam floating here and there on the water's surface. He went and sat on the edge.

"Was he that rough on you then?" he asked quietly. "Because he can be a right bastard."

She looked up, resting her chin on her knees. "No, on the contrary. He was very kind, which can be worse. He reminded me of my father." Wraith picked up a sponge and started washing the makeup covering her tattoo off her back. "You won't get it with that," she said. "You'll need remover."

He looked over on the counter and saw a package of wipes. Taking one, he cleaned off the remainder. He ran his hand over the muscles that covered her spine and ribs. "I'm sorry."

"Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew something wasn't right. It was hearing the name, the Tartan Mafia, that made it true. I've been in denial."

"It still hurts, though," he said. She bit her lip. "You don't have to be strong with me, Primrose."

"Yes, I do."

The water had turned cold. He stood her up and wrapped a towel around her. Picking her up, he carried her into the other room and sat down on the couch, with her on his lap. She rested her head against his chest. There were questions he wanted to ask and things he needed to say, but he didn't want to scare her away. "Talk to me. Let me in."

"Wraith—"

"Please, Primrose.

"I don't know how. I'm broken. I've always been broken."

"You're not broken to me. You're strong and smart, maybe a bit willful, but not broken. But you can't do this alone. No one could."

"Would you have taken the shot if someone hadn't gotten to my grandfather first?"

It was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer. If he wanted her to open up to him, he needed to do the same. "Yes," he said after several minutes. "I would have taken the shot."

She stiffened in his arms, and he caressed her back, hoping to offer her some reparation. "I told you I was ex-military, SBS. I was a special operative sniper. If I was given an order, I followed it. This was no different. It's not that I don't have emotions. I've just learned to harness them. Acknowledge, process, execute. It's like living life constantly in code red." He kissed her on the head. It was his turn to ask a question. "Tell me what Sokolov did to you?"

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