Page 26

Nash

Today

The crunching of approachingfootsteps against the gravel grows louder as I stare at Raider, processing his words. Tex stares out the door, smiling, as the other visitors climb the front porch steps.

But I can’t. No. Not yet. I need more information than her damn fingerprints alerted our computer geek before seeing her. And a shower. Shit.

My fingers wrap around Raider’s tatted forearm and launch us in the direction of my room, practically running for the back of the house to avoid seeing her before I’m... presentable. She’s seen me worse off, but that was then, not now. Not when I have the means to not smell like shit and at least brush my damn teeth.

Not giving two thoughts to the verbal beating I'll be rewarded for the damn dog being in Drake’s house, I fling the door open, sending the gray pup leaping from his spot on the bed. Dobby races to us, eager to meet the new friend I brought him.

Raider shoots a look of warning before crouching to the floor to put himself eye level with those big brown eyes. "Drake is going to flip the fuck out. He hates dogs."

"Then don't tell him. I never planned on it. Forget the damn dog. Tell me everything you know," I demand as I shuffle around the room, pitching empty beer cans into the trash and piling dirty clothes into one central pile that resembles a mountain.

With the floor once again visible, I turn, ready to beat the damn answers out of Raider, when a foul whiff wafts up my nose. Angling down to my chest, I give my armpit a quick sniff.

I suppress a gag, mostly to keep Raider from yelling ‘I fucking told you so.’ Last night’s stale beer and night sweats combine to a lethal stench.

"Shit, I need a shower."

After an enthusiastic grunt in agreement, Raider trails me to the bathroom and leans a shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his big-ass arms, which must take hours of lifting to accomplish, while I strip for a quick rinse.

"A little over forty-eight hours ago, her prints, registered to the file we have for her, pinged our boy Rocky. At first he didn't believe it was legit since it’d been so long. I mean fuck, at this point we all expected those damn prints to either never surface or pop up when run in some African morgue."

The annoyed look I try to glare his way falls flat. The pain from his words, the certainty all the boys felt about us never finding her again, registers instead.

Raider purses his lips in a thin line and nods. "Sorry, man. The prints were run at a US military base over three hundred miles from the spot where we rescued you."

The water isn't anywhere close to warm yet, but I step in anyway to let the freezing spray clear the remnants of my earlier hangover. Hands pressed against the natural stone wall, my head hangs between my shoulders as the now-warm water cascades from my head down my back.

"Where has she been?" Fuck, this isn't going fast enough. I need to know. Everything.

"We don't know, Snowflake. She won't talk. Shit, the story the boys on base gave said she went fucking hysterical when they attempted to remove that damn burka."

"What was she... why did they want it off?"

"Make sure it was really her under there, I guess. And to... um... damn, Snowflake, she's been missing for months. They didn't even know who she was. They ended up sedating her just to conduct a basic wellness exam."

Tense silence and steam fill the bathroom as I wait for him to continue. Either he's leaving something out intentionally, or he’s the most obtuse fucker alive.

"And?" I ask through gritted teeth.

Through the glass door, I notice him glance back into the bedroom and shrug like we're talking about the damn weather. "Once they got her calmed down, the base doc did a basic once-over and didn't find anything critical. She's healthy enough. The doc didn't do a rape kit. Wouldn't do it without her consent. All the blood work came back clear too, so they released her to come home."

Fuck. Just hearing that word, knowing what those bastards did to all those women and the idea of my girl being left in their hands for four damn months, sends bloodcurdling anger through my veins. Thankful for the steam blurring the glass door, I press my back against the cool tile to anchor me to the present, hoping it’ll help steady my rapid breaths. "What else?"

"Again, kid, we don't know. She hasn't talked to anyone and...."

"And what?" I slam my fist against the metal nozzle and shove open the shower door. Raider stares me down as I hastily wipe off the streams of water running down my chest before attacking my long hair with the damp towel.

"It could be PTSD. Shock. Or hell, just not trusting anyone within a few feet of her, but they told me she won't take the damn burka off. Snowflake, she flips the fuck out if anyone even tries to help her out of it."

Leaning against the sink, I press both palms against the granite countertop and stare at my reflection.

She's here. Alive. Terrified. And damn, if any of these boys witnessed what she has firsthand, they’d be hiding too.

But not anymore. This ends today.