Chapter 17

Ispring awake when I hear the whimpers beside me, my instincts on high alert. I'm on my side, facing Cat, and my eyes immediately move to her face. Her expression is pinched in pain and her head tosses back and forth on the pillow.

"Oh, God, please," she cries in her sleep, the broken tenor of her voice shattering my soul. "Please don't hurt them. Take me instead."

Throwing the blanket off both of us, I sit up and slip my arms under her shoulders and knees. She's still stuck in her nightmare as I settle her on my lap.

"Please don't make me," she whimpers.

"Cat, baby, wake up." I kiss her damp forehead. It's destroying me to hear her pleas, but I'm afraid of waking her up too quickly. These fucking nightmares are slowly sucking the soul out of my body.

Suddenly, she stiffens and lets out a godawful cry. "NOOO!"

The sound still echoes in the room when her eyes snap open. I see the events of that night still lingering in her gaze before the protective barrier in her mind takes over and the look fades, the memories receding.

"Hunter," she croaks dryly. Her arms band around my neck and her face falls to my chest, where she sits for several minutes, great sobs shaking her entire body.

With my knees slightly raised, I pull her closer against me. I feel like my chest is collapsing in on itself as my eyes become moist.

"It's okay. I've got you," I whisper against her ear. "Was it the same?"

It takes her a moment to calm down so she can lift her head. Her eyes are swollen, her face is red, and her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"Yes," she says, her voice scratchy. "But…."

She trails off and her eyes fall away from me to look at her clenched hand resting on my chest.

Fear seizes my lungs, making breathing impossible. What else did she see? She usually never sees anything. She only remembers the screams. From her descriptions, it always sounds like a combination of her screams and those of our babies. Of course, she doesn't acknowledge they're our children's cries. Only that it belongs to her and to someone else.

I gently lift her head by her chin. "Tell me," I urge softly, needing to know what she remembers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as more tears trail down her cheeks. Her eyes look haunted when she opens them again.

"I-I was tied to a chair." Her throat bobs when she swallows. "There was a m-man holding a knife. The mask he was wearing looked so evil, Hunter." Her face crumples with a hiccupping sob. "H-he asked me a question, but I can't remember what it was."

It feels like my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. I remember the first time Cat mentioned the question she was asked while she and our children were held captive. Exactly like then, I experience a blinding rage unlike anything else I've ever known. Locking down that feeling and keeping it from Cat takes almost more effort than I possess. My body vibrates and my skin heats to such a degree that should burn anywhere Cat touches. The need to find Henry and completely eliminate him floods my system. The other two men are unattainable since they're in prison, but Henry isn't. He's free and available to quench my thirst for murder. Whisper is next on my list as soon as I find him.

Slamming my eyes shut and taking a deep breath, I quell the violence that's trying to overwhelm me and refocus my attention on Cat. She needs my full attention on her, so I need to stop thinking about all the ways I will slaughter Henry and Whisper.

"It was just a nightmare, baby," I whisper hoarsely, running my hand up and down Cat's leg. "Nothing and no one can hurt you." Not as long as I draw breath, I silently add.

The nightmares are getting worse, and I don't know what that means. Dr. Armani has told me repeatedly that we need to let Cat remember the events of that night on her own. Forcing it could cause irreversible mental damage. For a few months after the break-in, she remembered, but one morning it was as if the incident never happened. Any memory of that night, including having children, simply vanished, as if her brain said "Enough." Now the mere mention of our children or that night causes her to break down and she becomes hysterical.

No one, especially me, blames Cat for what happened that night. However, she blames herself, and it's that misplaced guilt that prevents her from truly healing.

There's not a damn thing I can do to convince her that there was nothing she could have done to save our children. Those teens entered our house with the intent of killing my wife and children. There was nothing she could have done to change the outcome. Cat surviving was a miracle.

Henry is living on borrowed time. And eventually I'll find a way to get to Terry Fletcher and Howard Leeway.

And then there's Whisper. I'll enjoy killing him the most.