Page 50 of Thaddeus

“Quiet, agápi mou.”

My belly was pressed against the hardness of his vest and it was digging in to the point of pain.

I welcomed the agony.

I’m dead to you.

Forget my name.

I used to think my worst fear was that my sister had been murdered and left in an unmarked grave, never to be seen again.

I’d been wrong.

Thad

“Lift up your arms.”

Emerson’s arms dangled at her sides and just as she’d made no effort to help as I’d taken off her muddy boots, socks, and pants, she wasn’t moving now.

“Agápi mou—”

“Stop calling me that. Just stop.” Her green eyes flashed with anger.

I’d take any emotion she wanted to offer over the deadened stare she’d had since we’d left Garcia’s camp. She hadn’t spoken. She’d allowed me to move her where I’d wanted her. She’d been silent when I’d picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. And while she hadn’t aided in my undressing her thus far, she hadn’t protested.

Until right then.

And it wasn’t because I was peeling off her clothes, it was because I’d called her a name that meant something to her. To both of us. The first time I’d spoken the Greek term of endearment to her, she’d melted. And every time after that, her eyes had sparkled when I’d said it.

“Lift up your arms.”

She did and asked, “Why didn’t you stop her?”

I didn’t answer her and debated whether or not I should remove her bra and panties. I’d seen her naked hundreds of times. I’d had her every way a man could take his woman. Tasted every spectacular inch of her. I could remember every freckle that dotted her skin.

Yeah, bra and panties stayed on.

My boots, socks, and tee were already in a pile next to hers. I dropped my cargos and stepped out of them, thinking my boxers were staying on, too.

This wasn’t about me getting some, or rekindling any sexual fantasy. Emerson was covered in swamp mud and she needed a shower. She also couldn’t be alone. Not until the shock of seeing her sister had worn off.

Though thinking on it, I didn’t think she’d ever get over seeing Autumn that way. That shit would mark her deep. And I couldn’t say it hadn’t hit me square in the gut, too, seeing the young, vibrant woman I’d seen in pictures looking hollow.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” she snapped as I led her into the shower.

After making sure the water had warmed up enough, I turned her so she was under the spray and watched as the caked-on mud started to dissolve and run down her forehead, cheeks, neck, then between her ample breasts before it finished its path down her stomach.

“Babe, make sure that doesn’t get in your eyes.”

Even after my directive, she made no move to stop the dirty water from sluicing down her face. Tiny droplets of muddy water clung to her long lashes and she blinked them away.

She was a mess.

And not just with jungle grime. She looked defeated.

Her fists balled up and they both slammed into my chest. “You could’ve stopped her. You could’ve made her come with us.”

She continued to pound and I made no gesture to stop her. She needed this, needed someone to take her frustration out on.