Page 23 of Brooks

Fuck James Monroe. I’d more than been a good wife to him.

I turned off the water and quickly dried off, feeling no less hot than I did before my shower. I grabbed clean clothes out of my bag, put on my shorts and bra, and filled the sink up with water. I’d learned a long time ago to handwash my clothes after wearing them. Perspiration-soaked cotton was not your friend. I was hanging my now rinsed out tee from earlier over the towel rack to dry when I heard it. The swift intake of air and I knew without turning around who was behind me.

Fuck.

“Don’t you knock?” I snapped.

“I did. When you didn’t answer I thought you bailed again.”

“Do you mind? I’d appreciate some privacy.”

It was too late. He’d seen them. My heart was thundering in my chest and the room was suffocating.

“Tatiana, darlin’.”

“Don’t,” I bit off. “I don’t want your pity.”

“The last thing I’m feeling is pity,” Brooks told me.

I heard his footsteps come closer. It didn’t matter anyway. Close up, far away, you couldn’t miss the mess of scars.

“Who did this to you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck it doesn’t. Who?” he growled. “Did Monroe do this?”

“Hell, no.” I turned to face him. He’d seen the back, might as well give him the full experience. “Do you think that cocksucker would be breathin’ if he did this to me?”

My front was nearly as bad as my back. Brooks’ eyes traveled up from my stomach up to my face. I knew what he saw, puckered exit wounds scattered over my torso. When his gaze locked onto mine, I flinched at his angered expression. I’d seen a lot of pissed-off males in my line of work, but never one as furious as him. He looked like a feral beast, and I was a little afraid of him.

“Who. The. Fuck. Did this to you?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I didn’t ask you how long ago, Tatiana.”

In that moment, him using my name, I missed him calling me Doll. My real name sounded like an expletive the way he snarled it out.

“Al Issa. Not him personally. He’s too sophisticated for something as unpleasant as torture, he sent his men to do his dirty work for him.”

“Motherfucker!” he roared and stomped out of the bathroom.

So much for my new plan. Time for damage control.

Chapter 10

I wanted to commit murder.

No. Scratch that. Murder was too easy. Too fast. I wanted to string up every man that dared to touch Tatiana and torture them they way they’d done her. I’d thought the scars crisscrossing her back had been left from a whip or stick, but when she turned, I’d realized she’d been sliced up and stabbed in the back. Literally. There was so much scar tissue I couldn’t tell where one wound had ended and another began.

Inhuman pieces of shit. I’d done a lot in the name of country. Seen a lot more. What I’d never done was brutalized someone. No one on my team had. That’s not to say I’d never taken a life, I had, plenty of times. Quick and fast. I had no use for playing with someone. If you were marked for death, it was because you were either trying to actively kill me or my team, or your crimes were so atrocious it warranted the bullet.

But right now, seeing the marks left on Tatiana’s beautiful flesh I wanted to hunt and maim. Another piece had clicked into place and I now understood why this was personal for her. Al Issa meant something to her. I just didn’t understand why keeping him in power was important. I’d think she’d be happy we’d planned on taking him out.

“What the fuck?” Kyle followed me out of the house into the courtyard.

“Not now,” I warned.