Page 17 of Bred By the Mercenary

I’m swooning so hard I worry I’m going to fall off the balcony. It takes me a few moments to come back to my senses and realize what he’s talking about.

“Oh, I was referring to your sudden decision to ditch me and jump off a three-story balcony, then me not hearing from you for months.”

“Oh, right,” he chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “You deserve the truth.”

“You bet. I mean, thanks for helping me tonight, but I’ve struggled for a long time to trust men in my life, so I just need a bit of reassurance if I’m going to stay here tonight…” I shrug, feeling like I should stop talking about things he doesn’t need to know.

His brow furrows. “Which men?”

Taking a deep breath, I turn to the city, the cold breeze playing with my hair.

“My dad treated my mom like crap, and I saw him hit her a few times. Then my ex, the reason I’m in this predicament tonight, hit me. I had flashbacks that, somehow, I’d end up with a man just like my dad. Sometimes, I don’t know if I can trust myself in picking who is a nice person or just faking it.”

After a moment of silence, I turn to see Daxton studying me, shadows dancing across his face. His breathing grows heavier, like he’s holding back a storm of emotions. He looks like he might sprint over the balcony rail again, but a fall from thirty stories isn’t something anyone can survive.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned by the intense look in his eyes.

“Wait… your ex hit you tonight?” Daxton’s words come out almost like a growl, his eyes darkening.

I blink at him, a bit confused, and shake my head.

“No, that was on the night of the masquerade party. That’s when I dumped him.”

He nods, but there’s a flame in his eyes that’s slightly terrifying.

“So, he’s the one responsible for trashing your place?”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking asshole. I’m planning to put a restraining order on him tomorrow.”

“Won’t be needed,” he says softly, but the intensity behind his words is unmistakable.

“Wait, what does that mean?” I ask, a twinge of worry threading through me.

He steps closer, his fingers tracing along my jawline, a touch that sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach. His lips pinch tight, and he takes my hand, leading me inside.

“Better we talk inside.”

Once the balcony door is locked behind us, we take a seat on the circular couch. He flicks on the fireplace with a remote control. It’s not real flames, but the warmth rolls over me.

I stare at Daxton. “So, what about you? I know you’re more than you’ve let on... and you definitely don’t work in sales.”

He chuckles, almost to himself. “Yep, that’s right. It’s not exactly easy to describe my job when I first meet someone. I want you to trust me, but it’s something you need to keep to yourself, or it puts us both in danger.”

I frown, feeling a knot of fear in my stomach. “You’re kind of scaring me.”

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he starts, his gaze intense. “I grew up in the worst part of the city after my parents split. I got into trouble, ran away, ended up homeless, and in several gangs. By some miracle, I didn’t end up in jail. I’ve been shot once and survived. That’s when I got help from a man who took me into his gym to train, to focus on something other than the streets.”

“Wait, where were you shot?” I ask, completely stunned.

“In my thigh. It hurts every now and then, like a reminder of where I’ve been. You want to see?” He has that wicked grin again.

“How about we save that for later,” I say, then quickly add, “Just keep going with your story.” My heart beats faster, my mind betraying me with its reaction to Daxton. Every time I stare at him, I do so longer than any normal person should, especially when he grins.

“Well, little did I know, the guy ran a huge business where he trained and raised mercenaries who then worked for him.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I find myself struggling to breathe.

“Don’t joke around. Are you telling me that’s your job? You go around and... kill people?” I scoot back on the couch, creating a small distance between us. The warmth of the fireplace seems to fade as the cold reality of his confession sinks in.

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