Chapter 19
Heathen
Keeping my distance lasted all of an hour and a half, and that time was spent going over new information that Rooster was able to find on DimaTkachenko. The second I had all of it committed to memory, thoughts of her rushed in again.
Rooster laughed like he knew what I was thinking when I excused myself and started to leave the conference room.
I didn't find her in the bedroom, and I spent ten minutes looking for her. It wasn't until I went to the basement and passed an open window, the sound of her laughter filling my ears, that I discovered where she was.
I have no idea why I feel like a raging bull stuck dead center among a room full of breakable things when I see her head thrown back, her smiling face looking up at the stars, as she laughs at some fucking thing Bandera has said to her.
She's not in the pool, but that didn't stop him from jumping in and resting his muscular arms on the edge as they spoke.
I haven't felt jealousy like I feel right now in a very long time, since middle school if memory serves me correctly, but the girl in question is my wife, not the head cheerleader who wouldn't give me the time of day.
A million questions eat away at me as I open the basement door and step outside, but the one that keeps ringing in my ears as I approach them is if I even have a right to be angry in the first place. Our marriage isn't real. Our vows weren't real. Is she the type of person who would see the fake commitment as something that should prevent her from flirting with someone else? Is she even flirting with him?
"Speak of the devil," Bandera says, his smile unfazed as I walk up to them.
"I'm dying to know what you've been saying about me," I mutter, not missing when the two of them look at each other as if co-conspirators in a plan for world domination or something.
I hate the ease and camaraderie they already seem to have with each other, especially considering that the woman hated me on sight. I'm not a hundred percent sure that she still doesn't.
She smiles at me, not a hint of guilt in her eyes, but that could easily mean she doesn't see what she's doing as wrong.
"Do you not like to swim?" I ask, pointing to the water instead of raging like a jealous husband.
"She doesn't have a suit," Bandera answers for her. "Already asked, but now that you're here, she may be more amenable to skinny dipping."
"Excuse me?" I snap, my eyes glaring in his direction.
The man doesn't even bother to look surprised by my reaction.
"I suggested her bra and panties, but—"
Kaylee laughs like he has told the funniest joke.
"That's all she does," Bandera says, pointing at her.
I continue to glare at my teammate, all the while wondering if I could drown the man and make it look like an accident.
All he does is smile wider as if he's proven some sort of point. I want to ask him to share with the class, but I get the feeling I wouldn't like anything that comes out of his mouth right now.
As if I were invited, I take a seat right beside her, wondering how long she'll last sitting on the bench with our thighs touching.
"I guess I'll give you newlyweds some time alone," Bandera says, lifting himself up out of the pool as if scaling a damn wall is an everyday occurrence for him.
Instead of watching him, I turn my attention to her. Instead of finding her staring at him and drooling, she's looking right at me.
I give myself a moment to let my eyes wander over every inch of her face.
"What happened here?" I ask, lifting my hand, and letting one finger brush over the tiny scar below her bottom lip.
For a split second, her mouth hangs open, her breath loud as it rushes past her lips.
"I fell when I was little. Bit right through my lip. I had eight stitches. Four inside my mouth and four outside."
"Sounds painful," I say, pulling my hand away and letting it drop into my lap.
"I don't remember it happening. I only remember the story being told to me as a child. My grandmother was watching me. I was running through the house, not heeding her warning that it was dangerous. Even though it was my fault, she apologized every time we went to visit her."
"She must've felt terrible that you got hurt under her supervision."
"She was a wonderful woman," Kaylee says, her voice marked with sadness. "She was my biggest fan."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I say after noticing her use of past-tense words.
"It happens, right?" she says with a sad smile. "Are you or were you close to your grandparents?"
I pull in a deep breath. She's opening a can of worms with these questions. As much as I want to lay my entire life out at her feet, we aren't exactly in a position to share family histories.
"I'm not very close to anyone in my family, with the exception of Ellie."
"Ellie?"
"My little sister," I answer. "Are you an only child?"
"I have two brothers and two sisters."
"That's a lot of kids," I say. "I have a younger brother as well. I thought three kids was a lot."
"You're the oldest?I'm stuck right in the middle. My parents had the girl then boy pattern down to a science."
"My parents only had kids because it was expected of them," I mutter, looking away when I realize I've probably said too much.
Who wants to hear about the poor rich kid who didn't get enough love from his family? Not me, that's for damn sure. I don't care how much it has shaped my adult life.
"Do you like to swim?" I ask before she can grill me about my childhood.
"I don't have many friends with pools," she says. "I work a lot too."
"I can't recall the last time I went for a swim," I muse. "Probably years."
"You haven't gotten in yet?"
I shake my head. "I met you my first night here, and you know what happened next."
"I'm sorry about turning off your alarm clock last night," she says, before chewing the inside of her cheek.
Although she's not looking at me, I can see the regret shimmering in her eyes.
"We're going to do our best to find your friend," I assure her.
"I can't get over how those women see marrying a man they don't know as an escape."
"I think it's because we come from a place of privilege as US citizens born into a relatively free world. I'm no expert on the dynamics of their home countries, but if they're here and willing to marry someone they don't know and possibly face unforeseen abuse, it must be pretty bad back home."
"I think they were tricked like me," she replies. "I thought, oh, I can sign this contract, and just walk out if I want to later, but they weren't going to let that happen. And when they threatened my friend, Morgan, I knew I couldn't just leave and risk putting her in more danger."
"The crazy thing is, there are places all over the country like that warehouse. They trap people, mostly immigrants, into marriage for sale, labor, and all sorts of stuff with the promise of either making them citizens or threats that keep them where the traffickers want them. It's modern-day slavery, and it's much more prevalent than a lot of people want to believe."
"I find it fascinating and crazy," she mutters as she shifts her weight on the bench.
"Is that why you put yourself in danger by going into that warehouse?"
Instead of answering immediately, she pulls in a deep breath, as if she's not really sure why she did what she did.
"Maybe?" she answers honestly. "I never imagined that they had women trapped there. Those women go grocery shopping. They come and go from the house they live in. They aren't handcuffed or being dragged around by chains."
"But they're no less captives than if they were."
"Exactly," she says. "It's insane, and not how those sorts of places are depicted in the movies I've seen."
"Maybe Hollywood depicts them as bound by chains and gagged because most people can't imagine being able to go grocery shopping and not ask for help. People who have no real idea of how some of these places work can't put themselves in that same position and understand just how much control these types of organizations have."
When she grows silent, I turn my eyes to her, wondering just how long she's been watching the side of my face.
"Is this what you and your team do? Help women who can't help themselves?"
"Sort of," I answer, still not sure if I've told her too much.
"Like heroes," she whispers, and the edge of awe in her voice doesn't exactly hit me in the best way. I have no idea why I find it so hard to be proud of what I've done in my life to help others. If anything, I get angry at those who sit idly by and do nothing, even when evil is right in front of their faces.
"I've never claimed to be a hero."
"Doesn't make what you do any less heroic. Why do you do it?"
I shrug, pulling a weak smile from her lips as if she anticipated my reaction.
"It's just the right thing to do," I answer honestly.
"And that's what makes you a hero, Ellis Burke."