Page 42 of Fallen Hero

The van shot forward into traffic.

An elbow landed in my solar plexus.

I removed my hand from Kiara’s mouth, and as soon as I did, she screamed—a loud, piercing shriek that could wake the dead.

Fuck. I really hated this part. Hated that it was me who was now causing this woman fear.

“Call her father,” Calista said softly. “His voice will calm her.”

“Pete—”

He didn’t let me finish. “On it.” But before he made the call to Shep to tell him we’d secured Kiara and get her father’s number, he turned and took a picture of the defeated girl on Fallon’s lap.

Kiara was going home to her family.

The other frightened girl needed to go somewhere. Pete would offer to put her on a plane with Kiara, or he’d make other arrangements. But last night was the last time they’d sleep in the putrid room knowing that the next morning, they’d be forced to live a nightmare.

Chapter Eleven

Thankfully, we were staying in a penthouse. Not only was the shower huge, it also provided unlimited hot water, or at least enough that the water hadn’t begun to run cold after forty-five minutes. Bad for the environment, which was why I didn’t push it, even though I could still feel the grime and misery on my skin.

Some of it should’ve dissolved when Kiara spoke to her father on the phone, and her fearful tears had turned into ones of relief, then gratitude. More should’ve leached away when Kiara told the girl—whose name was Mira—we had saved them, not taken them to give them to someone else. Her tears had, too, turned into ones of relief.

That was, until the hospital had come into view. Then both of them turned hysterical.

It was Kiara who’d explained that Sparkle had told them under Islamic law, prostitution was an offense punishable by lashings. He also told them they’d be taken to a prison camp and would never be released. The girls believed this with such certainty, it required another phone call to Kiara’s father for him to explain no one was going to put them in prison or harm them.

A very kind older female doctor had looked over Kiara and Mira. She didn’t try to separate them, or me from them, while she tended to Mira’s face. She didn’t do a thorough examination; it was a very brief look at both to make sure there was nothing that needed to be taken care of immediately. That also should’ve washed away some of the helplessness I felt.

It didn’t.

Neither did walking with them out to the back of the hospital, where a Bell 429 helicopter was waiting to take them to Bahrain.

Seeing Kiara’s wobbly, scared, brave smile did nothing but make me heartsick.

Seeing Mira’s face clean only made her look younger than she had when it was caked in blood. Seeing that made me want to throw up. I didn’t ask how old she was because I didn’t want to know. My soul could take no more.

I needed a reprieve.

I only had a few days before I’d walk into a different kind of hell. There would be no trash or horrendous smell of decay.

This new hell would be glamour and lavish trappings.

I finished drying off. Grabbed the white satin robe I’d set on the counter and pulled it on. I didn’t know who it belonged to, but I was helping myself, even if it only hit me mid-thigh and was a size too small.

I avoided my reflection in the mirror as I exited the bathroom. I didn’t need to see the hollowness—I felt it. It settled in my bones.

Why do I do this to myself?

How much longer can I do this to myself?

I ignored the bed and continued to the balcony door. When I slid it open, there was nothing but a whisper. I’d stayed in some expensive places, and never had a door been so quiet.

When I got to wherever I was going, I wanted whisper doors. I wanted nothing but silence. No girls with haunted eyes. No more blood. No more tears.

I walked to the railing and looked down. Way up high, the world looked so far away. That was what I wanted—to be far away from the world, from evil.

“You doing okay?” Mason’s rough voice gave me a start. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”