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T he words slipped out before he could stop them. He didn’t need to burden Juliana with his past. Sure, he’d shared the gist of his shitty upbringing, but those conversations hadn’t even scratched the surface. After his parents’ trials, he and his brother had gutted the place before moving back in. Too bad tearing out rusty nails from the old wood floor, stripping the ratty, smoke-darkened wallpaper from the walls, and ridding it of the furniture stained with about every kind of bodily fluid couldn’t wash away the memories. Not even a second renovation several years ago managed to do that. Somehow, they still clung to the walls and hovered in the air.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Juliana repeated.

They didn’t, but he felt a strange sense of inevitability about being there. He’d had his fair share of therapy over the years, and he’d worked through most of the shittiness of his upbringing, but he’d never returned to ground zero since leaving at eighteen. He hadn’t ever thought he needed to. But standing in the living room, with the ghosts of his childhood lingering in every shadow, it seemed right to be there with Juliana. Right to be there facing the final piece of his past with the woman he wanted in his future.

“My parents were part of a trafficking ring,” he said. “Low level and not the kind you read about in books. There were no auctions of beautiful young women. No billionaires bidding on virgins. Mostly, someone lured kids and young adults off the street. Victims already lost to their families or without any family at all.”

He paused and looked around the space. “It’s different now.” He waved toward the spacious kitchen and living area. “This was three separate rooms. A galley kitchen, a small dining area my parents used to store shit, and a tiny living room. There was a room there”—he pointed to the current dining area—“next to a bathroom that had a toilet and a shower. That’s where my brother and I slept. We got very good at climbing in and out of the window at the back when we needed to.”

A shudder went through him. “They kept the victims in the garage. Sometimes in cages.”

Juliana sucked in a breath. Nothing he could say or do would make this story less ugly, more palatable. It wasn’t fair telling her all this. But now that he’d started, he didn’t want to hide any part of himself from her. He wanted her to see every dark part of his past. He wanted her to understand him in a way no one ever had. So, while it was a burden, it was also a plea. A plea for her to accept all the complicated, ugly, awful, and beautiful things in his life.

“There were four bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs,” he continued. “People would come here and buy time with one of the victims. If they didn’t buy them altogether and take them away—usually to a brothel—they’d take them upstairs.” Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the sounds. The grunts, the muffled screams, the distinctive echoes of skin hitting skin as one of the johns hit their chosen prey. Frequently, it was his father delivering the blow. He had a violent streak and took pride in “breaking them in,” he used to say. His mother tended to stay high on whatever drug she had on hand. Sometimes she’d join her husband, but often she’d stay passed out in the living room.

“When James, my brother, turned eighteen and was old enough to get custody of me, we went to a woman he trusted and told her everything. He’d even gathered evidence against our parents.” He paused, remembering that meeting and the days that followed. “She was his high school counselor, and by the time we showed up in her office after school that day—I was still in middle school—she’d figured out more than James had ever told her.” He paused again and smiled. “Mrs. Baxter had seen a lot in her life and career. She could spot kids like me and James a mile away. Kids who wanted more from life but who had everything stacked against them. She didn’t hesitate to help.”

“You’re still in touch with her, aren’t you?” Juliana asked.

“We are. She was a licensed foster care guardian and took us in while the police sorted everything out. They arrested my parents, of course, along with several other people. They also picked the house apart searching for evidence. It took more than a year before James and I were allowed to move back in. Before we did, the Baxters and their three sons helped us tear much of it down and build anew. It didn’t look like this when we were done—this renovation was done six years ago—but it looked different enough.”

“You moved back in?”

He nodded. “Both our parents died shortly after their trials. My mom from an overdose and my dad in a fight. To our surprise, they owned the place, mortgage free. It wasn’t easy being here, but we didn’t have a lot of options. I was in high school by then, and it meant I could be in the same school Mrs. Baxter worked at. James took night classes, and we both got jobs to cover our expenses. We didn’t need a lot since we didn’t have rent, but it wasn’t easy.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like for a nineteen- and a fourteen-year-old,” she said. “But you did it.”

“We did,” he said, his chest easing with the acknowledgment. “We muddled along for the next few years. By the time I graduated, my grades were decent but not enough for a scholarship, so I chose to enlist in the army, like Aaron, Mrs. Baxter’s oldest son. James had always had good grades—both in high school and in his night classes—but he didn’t want to stay in San Francisco. I couldn’t blame him. We agreed to rent the house out, and he could use the money to move. He went as far away as he could and still be in the US.”

“Boston.”

He nodded again. “The real estate market was already growing here, and the rent we got allowed him to find a small place and focus on school. You know the rest.”

“And you?” she asked.

“You know that story, too,” he said, turning and looking at her for the first time since reliving his past. They still stood at the top of the stairs, side by side, holding hands. The ambient light from the street filtered through the closed blinds, highlighting the golden streaks in her hair. Her blue eyes, cast in shadow, held steady on his. The weight of everything he’d shared, everything he’d lived, hadn’t gone away, but it had eased. His breathing grew steadier, and the bands in his chest loosened as all his senses came back to him—the smell of Juliana’s shampoo, the heat of her soft skin under his fingers and against his palm.

“I enlisted and rose in the ranks, as they say. Joined Green Berets, then Delta. I spent eight years without a scratch, then one day, that all changed. Our convoy of two trucks hit a series of IEDs. Those of us who survived were shot by waiting insurgents. Insurgents who, thankfully, didn’t have good aim. Four people died in the explosion, two by gunshot, but five of us survived.”

A pained sound escaped Juliana, and she looked as if she was about to cry. For him. He lifted their hands and kissed the back of hers. He didn’t think anyone had ever cried for him.

“After that, there was no question about going back to Delta. Rather than take a desk job, I decided I wanted something different in life. Mantis was a teammate—one who hadn’t been in the ambush—and he’d been feeling the same. A ragtag team of us discharged at the same time, and although we had no idea what we wanted to do, we knew the life we wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Family, purpose, do some good in the world that didn’t involve guns.”

“And you ended up in Mystery Lake?”

He heard the smile in her voice, and he returned it. “Dulcie’s bike got a flat tire. We stopped to fix it and decided to stay. There’s a therapist a lot of us worked with over the years, and she suggested we reach out to the network we’re now a part of. She knew all our backgrounds and thought that helping people out of abusive relationships might be the purpose we were looking for. It felt right, and so we sank our roots there.”

“And now you have your family and your purpose. Along with a few successful businesses,” she said, her voice tinged with both pride and a little awe.

He inclined his head. “Family—the right family—can be a powerful thing.”

Her eyes searched his, then she nodded. “It can,” she agreed before looking away.

Sliding a hand around her waist, he held her. “You were dealt a shitty hand, too.”

She tipped her head. “Not compared to you.”

“It’s not a competition,” he replied, slipping his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. “We both deserved better.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “We did.”

They stared at each other for several heartbeats. And the longer he stood there, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, and the softness of her lips, the more he wanted her. The more he wanted the goodness that lay between them.

Her lips ticked up a fraction. “If we stand here any longer, I’m going to kiss you, Simon McLean.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied. “Because I’m going to kiss you,” he replied before lowering his head. She melted into him as the kiss, both gentle and confident, intensified. He inhaled her scent, memorizing the feel of her lips against his, the way her hip curved under his hand, and the brush of her breasts against his body. Her palms rested on his chest, their warmth searing his skin through his cotton shirt.

Tilting her head, he deepened their connection, sweeping his tongue against hers. They tangled and dueled and retreated and tasted and learned each other. Her fingers curled into his shirt as she leaned into him, and his blood raced south—well, what little hadn’t been there already. And now that he knew her scent and her taste and the sound of her need, he suspected he’d be walking around half hard most of the time.

A block away, a car backfired, the sound ricocheting through the room. Startled and already on edge, he swiftly pulled away. Juliana tensed as well, but he tightened his hold on her, reassuring her she had nothing to worry about.

“A car,” he said.

Her eyes took a moment to focus, and he savored the dazed look on her face before she nodded and relaxed again. There was no way she could miss his arousal pressed against her belly, but she didn’t move away.

“What now?” she asked.

His mind went in a hundred different directions. No, that was a lie. It went in one specific direction—one that had them both naked in the king-size bed upstairs. But the first time they were together wouldn’t be in this house. He—they—wouldn’t be surrounded by the memories of his gritty past. One look into her eyes told him she felt the same.

“Now we get some sleep,” he said, lowering his hand and wrapping it around hers. “In the morning, we’ll assess the situation, maybe touch base with Anna, then head back to Mystery Lake.”

“We need to figure out how to get evidence on the triad,” she said with a nod. “We can’t do much without evidence.”

“Anna will work on it, too,” he said, leading her to the stairs that would take them to the bedrooms. There were now three, but even with options, he had no intention of sleeping apart. Not after the kiss, not after his confession, not after the day they’d had. He wanted the assurance that she was safe. With him. And if that meant sleeping beside her, his arms wrapped around her, then that was a slice of heaven he’d happily steal.