Chapter 11
Wyatt stared down at Teslyn and Ivy, their faces relaxed in sleep. He scratched his cheek, the sound of stubble reminding him how long he’d been awake.
He grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet, creating a makeshift bed on the floor as his mind went over the details of his very long day.
He’d awoken with a burst of energy, anxious to get to Warsaw Mountain in Colorado and get Marco Steele.
Now he was on his way back home to Atlanta, in a hotel room with these two sisters—one a child he desperately wanted to protect, the other a woman slipping into the warm space between his armor and his skin.
His phone call to Vanessa had been enlightening.
She’d not only confirmed everything Teslyn had told him, she’d also expressed great admiration for the other woman, calling her a phoenix who’d risen from ashes most people wouldn’t have had the mettle to escape.
She was more than just a dear friend, Vanessa said.
She was someone Vanessa would trust with her life.
That kind of recommendation held a lot of weight with Wyatt, so he’d gone ahead and taken the sisters across state lines.
Now he was knee-deep in this mess right alongside Tess, any defenses he’d erected when he saw her license plate now fallen by the wayside, and he liked her more than he wanted to admit.
Still, he longed to be on the mission from which he’d been diverted. He picked up his phone and slipped out the door, noticing he had a text from Logan.
FOURTEEN LARGE WIRE TRANSFERS INTO MOM’S BANK ACCOUNT OVER THE PAST FIVE YEARS—ALL FROM A SWISS ACCOUNT—JUST UNDER $60K TOTAL.
So it was true. Marilyn was blackmailing Ivy’s father, just as Teslyn had said.
ANY LUCK ON FINDING HER HIGH SCHOOL? Wyatt asked.
NOT YET SEEMS HARDER THAN IT SHOULD BE.
Wyatt texted his thanks to Logan and dialed the HERO Force situation room for an update.
The Warsaw plan called for Ralph and Hawk to be on the ground at Steele’s estate, with Jax monitoring operations nearby. If conditions were favorable, they should already be inside—though he knew from experience that any number of unforeseen events could have stalled their progress.
The phone rang off the hook.
Wyatt frowned and ended the call. No matter how the mission was going so far, a member of the team should have been in the sit-room to answer the phone.
What if something had gone wrong? What if the shit had hit the fan and Steele had gotten the upper hand, forcing Ralph and Hawk to abort the mission?
He cursed under his breath.
He should be there, not Ralph. He wanted to be there, damn it, wanted to be on the front lines and have the opportunity to take that monster down.
The HERO Force team wouldn’t kill Steele, of course—not unless their own lives were threatened.
But Jax’s intel said there was enough evidence on the premises to put Steele away for the rest of his life, and then some.
Wyatt took his Glock from its holster, removing the magazine and tucking it into the pocket of the jeans he wore.
God forbid Ivy awoke in the night and found his weapon.
He needed to be sure it was safe for her to handle, just in case.
He lowered himself to the floor, pulling his T-shirt over his head and tossing it aside before yanking the thin motel blanket over his legs.
He preferred to sleep naked, which meant he was downright uncomfortable in addition to being concerned about his HERO Force teammates, and he was grumpy that he wasn’t with them.
They’re fine.
You’re worrying over nothing.
He forced his eyes to close. Tomorrow, they’d make it to his house in Atlanta.
The sisters would be safe. Logan and Cowboy could investigate the congressman-daddy and the trailer fire, while Wyatt could rejoin Hawk, Jax, and Ralph in Colorado—maybe even in time to get in on the mission to take Steele down.
That last part was unlikely, but hey, a man could hope.
Satisfied with his plan, Wyatt settled into sleep.
He was damn near dead to the world when Teslyn’s cries startled him awake.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, barely able to make out the room in the darkness.
Red numbers glowed on a digital clock, and he remembered it was to the right of the big king bed.
“No, please.” Her voice had the strangled sound of a sob.
In one movement, he grabbed his gun, slid the magazine home, and jumped to his feet like the trained soldier he was.
He rushed to her side, relieved to see her sleeping face in the glow of the alarm clock. She was dreaming. Talking in her sleep.
Her mouth pulled down into a hard frown, her face contorting into a tortured mask. “I’m a good girl.”
He knew how badly she needed to rest, but he couldn’t listen to her carrying on like this.
It rattled his protective instincts, no matter it was only a dream.
Besides, he told himself as he gently shook her shoulder, she was bound to wake Ivy if she kept calling out like this.
“Tess, wake up, sweetie.” He cursed his use of the endearment, not intending to mix any such language into his speech.
He shook her a little more forcefully. “Wake up, Tess. You’re dreaming. ”
In the space of an instant, she opened her eyes and swung for his face, his hand grabbing her wrist tightly in mid-air.
“Let me go!” she snapped, working to yank her arm back as her legs kicked at his hip and torso. She was like an angry stallion, all fear and outrage.
“Stop it,” he barked. “Teslyn, it’s me, Wyatt. Stop it!”
She landed a kick to his kidney and he grunted, no longer willing to play nice. He shifted his weight, wrestling her backward with an ease borne of strength, and pinned her wrists to the bed. His face was mere inches from hers, her eyes wild. “It’s me. Wyatt.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the fight refusing to drain from her body even as she asked urgently, “Wyatt?”
“Yes.”
He could feel the moment she remembered him, her muscles going lax. “I thought… I thought you were… ”
He leaned back, settling his weight away from her. “You were dreaming.”
“I’m sorry.”
He should mind his own damn business. This woman was nobody to him, just a temporary distraction from his regularly scheduled life—and boy, was Razorback going to owe him one after this. But he heard himself ask, “You have dreams like that a lot?”
“Nightmares,” she said softly. “They’re nightmares.”
He swallowed hard. What was the harm in trying to help her? Anyone would do the same. It wasn’t like it mattered to him, like he actually cared for her. Did he? “Always the same, or different?”
“The same.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
He should turn around and go back to his spot on the floor, pull that threadbare excuse for a blanket over himself and forget all about her.
But he didn’t want to. He wanted to know just what tormented her in the night, and he sure as hell didn’t want to examine exactly why it mattered so acutely. “It might make you feel better.”
“It might make me feel worse.”
“I doubt it.”
“What are you, a nightmare expert? Some kind of therapist?”
He nudged the side of her thigh with his own. “C’mon, what’s it gonna hurt?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
He considered how tired he was, how much he wanted to sleep, and realized he wanted to help her more than he wanted a pillow beneath his head. “No.”
She sighed heavily. “It’s stupid, really.” She was quiet so long, he wasn’t sure if she’d changed her mind, fallen asleep, or was gathering her courage. “Marilyn had this boyfriend, Travis. He lasted longer than the others. It must have been a couple of years.”
Wyatt’s hands clenched into fists, his short nails digging into his palms as his imagination suggested a litany of offenses Travis may have committed. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, not like that. He never did anything. He just liked to mess with me to get me upset. It’s stupid that I even remember it now.”
“How did he mess with you?”
“He just said things. Things that were designed to unnerve me, to make him feel powerful and me feel small, you know?”
“How old were you?”
“Ten or eleven.” She clucked her tongue. “It was nothing, really.”
“Did he do this in front of your mom?”
“Marilyn?” She rolled her eyes. “Even when she was there, she wasn’t there. She was high or drunk or passed out on the floor. I honestly couldn’t tell you if she knew he did it or not.”
He worked to control his breathing—in for a count of two, out for a count of three—but it wasn’t working. He was angrier than he’d been in a long-ass time, and the object of his anger existed only in Teslyn’s memory.
She moved to roll over, the blanket beneath him making it hard for her to do so. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “I told you it’s stupid.”
He reached for her shoulder, gently turning her back.
“It’s not stupid at all.” His hand stayed where it was long after it was necessary, his thumb rubbing absently back and forth on her skin.
“You were just a kid. You should have felt safe in your own home, and he took that from you. How often did he do this?”
She shrugged her shoulder and he let his hand fall away. What the hell was he doing, touching her that way?
“All the time,” she said quietly.
“So, you were in fifth or sixth grade, your mom was basically invisible, and you had a grown man talking to you in a threatening manner, making you feel unsafe.”
“Yes.”
His eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room, and he could see the telltale glimmer of a tear as it slid from her eye. In a moment of insanity, he wished he could kiss it away.
I’m overtired as fuck, with terrible judgement.
He needed sleep, not to be sharing secrets with Teslyn in the dark, and certainly not kissing her tears away.
She was a grown woman who’d had a bad dream, for Pete’s sake, not his girlfriend, just his responsibility.
He leaned away from her. “He had no right to do that to you. Anyone in that situation would have lost their shit, especially a kid.”
He stood, congratulating himself for not crossing any lines he’d regret crossing in the morning. His mind flashed to the feel of her skin beneath his thumb, warm and inviting.
So maybe I crossed one line.
He chalked it up to intense fatigue. “Get some sleep.”
“I feel terrible you have to sleep on the floor.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“You came all this way just because Razorback asked you to, then you’ve stuck with us while everyone thinks I’m a kidnapper—”
“And an arsonist.”
“Thanks for reminding me. And now you have to sleep on the hard floor while we have this nice soft bed.”
He couldn’t help his wry smile. “Well, when you put it that way, I’m really getting shafted.”
“I’m sorry.” she said sincerely.
His hand itched to touch her, but he kept it by his side. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, Wyatt.” She pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Sorry I woke you.” She rolled over easily without him in the way.
He made his way back to his bed on the floor, and unloaded his weapon for the second time that night before lowering himself to the ground.
Punching his pillow, he snuggled up with that same goddamn blanket, thinking about the softness of the wide king bed and Teslyn’s incredibly soft skin—both just out of his reach.