Page 16

Callum woke slowly, blinking against the soft morning light streaming through the curtains, the world around him blurring into focus. But it wasn’t the light that held his attention—it was Sloane, her warm body once again wrapped around his. Her breath whispered softly against his chest, her dark hair fanned across his skin.

Damn it.

Again.

He swore last night when he went to sleep they wouldn’t wake up tangled together, but at some point, he’d once again pulled her close to him.

He knew he shouldn’t allow it. Letting her stay in his arms like this only blurred the lines he should be keeping clear.

Yet here he was, distinctively not pushing her away.

Especially after he’d fucked up last night’s conversation and put that sad look back in Sloane’s eyes. Felt akin to kicking a puppy.

He sighed, his chest rising and falling against her cheek. Last night’s conversation hung heavy in his mind.

Amelia .

Her name felt like a storm inside him—equal parts love and guilt. She had been everything good in his world, and he would love her until his last breath. Yet, when it came to talking about her illness, that silent battle with cancer that he hadn’t been there for at first, the guilt consumed him. He hated himself for being overseas, for missing that first crucial month.

When someone ended up with only six months to live, having missed one of those months seemed unforgivable. Not wanting to add to his burden, Amelia had kept the news of her cancer to herself for three and a half weeks while he was on an undercover mission.

Goddamn it, she should’ve told him from the very first day. They should’ve spent every waking second together. And then they’d lost more time dealing with the grief of her miscarriage.

Callum didn’t even want to think about that. The doctor had said maybe the miscarriage was a blessing in disguise since a pregnancy would’ve complicated Amelia’s treatment.

But she’d died a few months later anyway. Callum hated that any of her last days had been spent in sorrow of any kind.

Get the fuck over it, Boy Scout.

He smiled, able to hear Amelia’s voice in his head, cussing like a sailor and all.

She would’ve been the first person to tell him now that he needed to get over it. What was done was done.

Amelia would have liked Sloane, he realized. She would’ve liked Sloane’s quiet strength and the way she didn’t complain, even when the weight of the world was clearly crushing her small shoulders.

It was a strange thought, imagining the two women side by side. Sloane was nothing like Amelia, but in some ways, she was exactly what Amelia would’ve wanted for him—a balm for his jagged edges.

Callum shifted, pulling Sloane closer without fully meaning to. The sheet slipped, revealing her legs, bare and shapely. He couldn’t look away. At best, all he could do was keep his thoughts from sending him straight to hell. His breath caught, his gaze wandering up from her calves, over her knees, to take in the curve of her legs?—

What the fuck?

Bruises. Mottled purple and yellow shadows very distinctly shaped like fingers marring the soft skin of her upper thighs. His chest tightened, fury sparking to life.

It was Nikola. It had to be. That son of a bitch.

As he gently rolled to his side, the oversized T-shirt she was wearing that they’d found in a drawer shifted, exposing more bruises along her collarbone and the upper curve of her breasts. Each mark was like a physical blow to Callum. He clenched his jaw, struggling to keep the surge of anger from waking her.

Nikola had done this. And yet, Sloane hadn’t complained, hadn’t said a word. She bore it in silence, just like everything else.

Her resilience struck him, but it also broke his heart. Women like Marissa, who cried for attention over imagined slights, couldn’t hold a candle to Sloane’s strength.

The bruises caught his attention again. How much more had been done to her that she hadn’t mentioned?

Shit. Had she been raped? Maybe he shouldn’t have worried so much about staying under the radar and taken her straight to a hospital.

Callum’s vision clouded, an edgy, twitchy feeling coming over him. He wanted to kill someone. First, Nikola Kozak, then everybody who’d ever known or supported him.

He wished like hell it was Nikola who’d lost half his face rather than Jakob. It still wouldn’t have been enough to make him pay, but it would’ve been a start.

Sloane stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and he tried his best to bury his rage. She blinked sleepily, her lips curving into a soft smile as she snuggled closer. For a brief moment, he let himself enjoy the way she molded against him. But then she stilled, sensing his tension.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

“For what?” he asked, frowning. So help him, if she apologized for what Nikola had done to her…

“For asking so many questions last night,” she said, her cheeks coloring. “About Amelia. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.”

Guilt punched him square in the chest. He’d been a jerk last night, shutting her down instead of explaining. She hadn’t deserved that. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You weren’t nosy,” he said softly. “You have nothing to apologize for. I should be the one apologizing. Sometimes it’s just…hard to talk about her.”

Her expression softened, relief flickering in her eyes. But then her gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head as she studied him. “Are you mad about something else?”

He took a breath. He didn’t want to ask her the questions he was about to, but he needed to know. Both for personal and professional reasons.

Callum hesitated, weighing his words. Trying to figure out some way around this.

But there was no way around it.

“Sloane,” he said carefully, “I need to ask… While you were with Nikola, did he—” He swallowed hard. “Did he rape you?”

Her eyes widened in shock, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No,” she said quickly, sitting up, clutching the oversized T-shirt. “No. He didn’t. I swear.”

He had to be sure. He grabbed her hands. “Angel, if you were assaulted in that way, it would not be your fault. You would have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. But we would probably want to get you to a hospital. If not here, then…”

“Callum, I promise I wasn’t. I won’t lie, I was afraid Nikola was going to rape me, and he probably would’ve if he’d had the opportunity. I?—”

She looked down, embarrassed.

“What? Tell me.”

“I sort of used the fact that he wanted me to stop him from killing me.” She shook her head, refusing to look at Callum. “I suggested he could?—”

He stopped her right there. “Good.”

Now she looked up, blue eyes peeking out at him through her thick lashes. “Good? Suggesting he could…use my body?”

“Yes. Good .” He cupped her cheeks. “You survived. Survival is always the most important thing. You never have to apologize for how you make it through a situation like that. The only thing that matters is you make it through .”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Relief coursed through him. Both that she hadn’t been raped and that she seemed to believe what Callum was saying.

Her gaze dropped to her thighs, her fingers brushing over the bruises. “Are these the reason you’re asking me that?”

He gently guided her hand away. “Yes.” His voice was as rough as his touch was gentle as he gestured to the marks on her skin. “Even though the worst didn’t happen, I’m still so sorry, Sloane.”

Tears filled her eyes, and her voice trembled as she said, “I tried to scrub them off in the shower, but it didn’t work, of course. I think I just made them worse.”

His heart twisted, and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “None of this is your fault.”

She was stiff in his embrace at first, but slowly, she relaxed, leaning into him. “I’d never felt so helpless in my life,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. “I hated that feeling.”

“The memories will fade,” he promised. “And so will the bruises. It’ll take time, but it will get better. I promise.”

She nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Part of why I felt so helpless was…because I’ve never—” She broke off, her face turning crimson.

“What?”

“I’m a virgin,” she finally blurted. “And I was terrified my first time was going to be…with him. Nikola. Against my will.”

Callum froze, her words sinking in.

A virgin .

At twenty-three.

He struggled to reconcile how that could possibly be true in this day and age, but her embarrassed expression told him it was nothing less than verity.

“Sloane…” He didn’t know what to say, but the raw vulnerability in her voice cut through him. “I’m so sorry you even had to think about that. That should never have had to cross your mind.”

“Like you said, I’m just glad the worst didn’t happen.” She shook her head, forcing a small smile. “And it’s not like I hold my virginity in some sort of high esteem or something. I’m not waiting for the mythical Mr. Perfect. I just…don’t get the chance to date much.”

Callum’s arms tightened around her, his chest aching with a strange mix of relief and protectiveness. He couldn’t stop himself from holding her closer, and to his immense gratitude, she burrowed into him. For a long while, they lay like that, her warmth soothing the edges of his anger and guilt.

As he held her, he realized he wanted to know more— needed to know more. He traced small circles on her back with his fingers, his voice soft as he asked, “Will you tell me about your life back home? I know it’s not great, but…”

“What do you want to know?”

He let his fingers trail down her spine, then back up again, his touch gentle but persistent. “Start wherever you want. I just… I want to understand you better.”

She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at him. Her eyes were wary but soft, as though weighing how much to reveal. Finally, she sighed and settled back against him.

“When I was ten,” she began, her voice quiet, “my mom left my dad. We packed up in the middle of the night and drove to another town. She told me it was because of Clarice, Marissa’s mom. My dad had been…seeing Clarice for years.”

Sloane’s fingers stilled on his chest, and she exhaled slowly. “He wasn’t around much even before that, so I didn’t really care that we were leaving. I didn’t know him well enough to miss him.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

“It was,” she admitted, her voice tight. “But not for the reasons you’d probably think. My mom… She wasn’t okay. She suffered from depression and anxiety—although I didn’t understand it at the time. Some days, she couldn’t even get out of bed.”

Sloane’s voice softened, tinged with an ache that cut through Callum’s chest. “I had to take care of her. Once I was old enough, I worked after school, odd jobs mostly, just to make sure we had food in the house. We barely scraped by.”

Callum closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He’d already suspected she’d grown up too fast, but hearing the details made it all too real. She had carried more weight on her shoulders as a kid than many adults.

It explained so much about her now—her resilience, her independence. But it also made him want to shield her from the world, even if she didn’t need him to.

“What happened to her?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Sloane hesitated, her fingers still on his chest. “She died when I was seventeen. It was sudden. A heart attack, the doctors said. But I think… I think the years of struggling just caught up to her.”

Callum’s hand stilled on her back. “I’m so sorry.” He knew his words didn’t help, but the sentiment was still true.

She nodded against him, her hair brushing his chest. “We were broke. I didn’t even have enough money to bury her. So, I went to my dad.”

Callum’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

Sloane shifted again, pulling away from him and lying flat on her back now, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “He agreed to help, but not before telling me something I didn’t know. When my mom left him, she took a significant amount of his money. She stole it.”

Callum’s jaw tightened. Shit. That did complicate things and gave him a little bit of insight into William Getty—although, the guy was still an asshole. “He held it against you, didn’t he?”

She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “He didn’t say it outright, but he made it clear. He agreed to give me the money for the funeral, but there were conditions. He and Clarice said I could live with them, but only if I earned my keep. I had to work for the family to cover my room and board, plus pay back what…I borrowed.”

What a fucking bastard. “He made you work for it? For burying your mom?”

Sloane turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his face. “It hasn’t been so bad. And honestly, I didn’t expect anything else from him.”

William Getty was very lucky he wasn’t here right now. Callum wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain himself from putting his fist through the man’s face a couple dozen times. “You didn’t deserve that. None of it. That’s not how family is supposed to behave.”

Her lips twitched, almost smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not like I ever expected him to be a good dad. It’s just who he is.”

“Why do you stay there?” Why would she continue to put up with them? “When they treat you the way they do?”

Sloane blinked, her expression becoming unreadable. “Sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

That answer didn’t sit right with Callum, but he decided not to push. She’d already shared more than he’d expected, and he could feel the emotional weight of it pressing down on her. So, for now, he’d let it be.

Her stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension. Her cheeks flushed, and he couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him.

“Your stomach is becoming our alarm clock. Time for breakfast.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. The softness of her skin against his lips made him want to linger, but he pulled back before he did something he shouldn’t.

She looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re cooking?”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Sure. Since it’s cereal and fruit.”

She laughed, and the beauty of the sound struck him. The ache in his arms flared from his wounds as he sat up and eased from the bed, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the soft rustle of sheets as Sloane headed into the bathroom to get dressed, still laughing softly.

He’d never be able to understand how someone who carried so much still managed to shine so bright.