Chapter Thirty-Six

Ghost

H er vacant mask disappeared, and she came back to me. Still beautiful, still submissive, but she was fucking broken and transparent in all of it.

Her vulnerability weighing on me, I fisted her hair again because I could. But this time, I added a verbal command. "Head back, face up."

Her neck stretched, and her eyes closed.

My cock throbbed.

Pulling her head partially under, I rinsed the shampoo. Then I brought her back up and reached for the soap as I cataloged every wet inch of her.

Pushing her hair back as I lathered my hands, she purposely avoided looking at me.

Her last statement hitting on a loop, I didn't ask what she thought she was wrong about.

I'd been wrong.

Grossly erroneous, in fact.

Al-Hashimi was dead. Eight years of planning, manipulating, scheming. Eight years of hiding, killing, and executing—it was over. I still needed to confirm with my strike teams and make sure the other women were all handled, but it was over.

And not one goddamn ounce of weight had lifted from my chest.

If I sank my knife into that profiler's chest this second and finally fucking exacted my revenge on her, I'd still be here.

Kneeling in front of the one woman who had brought me to my knees.

That profiler couldn't kill me.

But this woman sitting in a bathtub in a ruined dress as she let me wash her?

She could fucking destroy me.

Watching my hand run the length of her arm, she shivered. "You were right."

"About?"

"The water is not too hot."

Needing to know what'd been done to her, wanting to make sure she didn't keep everything that'd happened to her locked up until she choked on it, I eased into the interrogation. "Did they say anything to you?"

"The men?"

They weren't men. They were exactly what Helios had said they were—terrorist rapists. "Yes."

"They asked about you."

Steady, controlled, I ran my hand up her other arm. "Specifically?"

She nodded slowly. "They wanted to know what your signal was."

My fucking signal?

"Our signal," she added. "Back at that… place in the woods."

Moving to her lower legs, I made a mental note to liquidate the compromised property. "They never should've gotten to you. That was my fault."

"You were busy with the blonde—" Her words cut off on a sharp gasp, and she flinched as I grasped her ankle.

Holding firm with intent, I applied pressure. "You do not make excuses for my mistakes. Understood?"

Fear dilated her eyes, and for the first time, she stared like she was frightened of me. Not my dominance, not the SEAL who'd wound up in her village, not my protocols, but me.

Who I really was.

It was past time for the conversation.

"Your accelerated heart rate, your dilated pupils, the quickness in your breath, your instinct to pull away from me—that's fear. Rightful, appropriate fear. You're here because you are not now, nor have you ever been, safe with me. You were taken by insurgents because of me. You spent eight years in hiding because I made you. You were taken by a terrorist a second time because I failed you. You were on a plane that ditched in the ocean because of my choices. Never excuse my behavior. Never forget who I am." Gripping her tighter, I leaned closer. "And never lose that fear. I almost killed you tonight."

Her expression morphed, her pulse steadied, and she looked at me like she had eight years ago.

Then she fucking detonated me. "I am alive because of you."

"Excuse me. Sir?"

My hand went to my Glock, and I drew. Before I'd turned my head, my aim was targeted on the source of the voice.

To his credit, the former Israeli IDF didn't react. He also didn't look at Safiya. If he had, he'd already be dead. "The captain wanted you to know we're fifteen minutes from Virgin Gorda."

"Copy. Leave." Lowering my aim, I holstered my Glock, but Simon didn't retreat.

Staring over my head, hands behind his back, he remained at parade rest.

"What?" I demanded.

"Permission to speak freely?"

For former IDF, he knew a lot about American military protocol. "What was your occupational specialty in the Navy?"

"Seren."

Avoiding my question but giving me his high rank explained his knowledge. "Permission granted."

"The captain prefers to have you and your teammate Ares on deck, in position, as we pull into Taylor's Bay. I've been apprised of your capabilities and have provided accordingly. Once we're assured the Solace is secure, I'll tender you to shore."

"Understood." Show of force. They were short-staffed, and the captain wanted protection. If I was him and had picked us up, I'd want the same. "Now leave."

"Yes, sir." The Israeli Navy captain pivoted and walked out.

Safiya crossed her arms and pulled her knees up. "I will dry myself off. You can leave too."

Getting up, I grabbed a towel and held it out for her.

Unmoving, she looked up at me.

"Not in my nature." It was as close of an explanation as I wanted to give.

Keeping one arm over her chest, leveraging a hand on the side of the tub, she rose with grace despite every damn thing she'd been through. "There are many things not in your nature, and yet you still do them."

I wrapped the towel around her and helped her out of the tub. "Such as?"

Her body warmed from the hot water, her cheeks flushed. "Bathe me."

If she only fucking knew. "Wait here. I'll grab you something to wear." I almost made it out of the en suite before her insecurity hit my back.

"Who does this yacht belong to?"

I glanced back. Then, because of who I was, because of who owned this yacht, because I was unwilling to compromise her safety any more, I withheld intel that would've alleviated the lines between her eyes.

Her head dropped, her voice followed, and jealousy that was eight years deep surfaced. "I saw women's clothes in the large closet." She pulled the towel tighter before looking up. "They are as expensive as this yacht."

"Wait."

Striding out of the bathroom, my gaze landed on a tricked-out M24 sniper rifle lying on the bed next to a folded shirt and some medical supplies.

Bypassing them, I grabbed her clothes.