Page 46 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

F aolan fought the bile that threatened to rise. Her fingers tightened around the knife in one hand and the taser in the other.

And the voice—that voice from her nightmares—blurred through all the half-drugged memories. She had tried to forget, but she still remembered the sound.

“I know you’re here,” he said. “It’d be easier if you just came out. You know that, don’t you?”

No.

Her mind screamed it. But she stayed silent.

He moved closer.

“It was too hard to retrieve you after they found you,” he said, as if explaining a late delivery. “Too many eyes. And I had a…complication, let’s say.”

His voice turned wistful. “There were other sweet little girls, but none like you, Faolan. I always remembered your face when I was with them.”

Her vision blurred. She thought she was going to pass out.

He sighed. “Thane won’t come for you. Just like last time. He’s far away. Busy. You think he’ll get here in time?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Thane, please. Please.

Footsteps approached the guest room.

She braced.

“After the boys escaped, you turned into a feral little thing, didn’t you?” he said. “Biting and kicking. Spitting out the meds. I didn’t know what to do with you anymore.”

He was right outside.

“That’s why you had to go in the basement,” he said, tone nostalgic. “But your brothers and that clever little foster dad of yours…they were a problem.”

The doorknob turned.

Faolan braced the taser in her shaking hands.

“Your foster father gave me a lot of trouble. Thought he could play hero.” A short laugh. “He nearly ruined everything. I had to leave the country for a while after that. Lay low. My name was tied to that damn building. They almost traced it back.”

“But I’ve always wanted to retrieve you,” he said, his voice closer. “I watched. Waited. But there were too many eyes… So I stayed away.”

Faolan trembled as the guest bedroom door creaked open.

He was in the room now. She could hear his breathing. Familiar.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “it might’ve been a good thing I had to leave. I ended up mentoring this boy. Just a little older than you were. Quiet. Clever. Very loyal.”

Cupboards opened. The bathroom door squeaked.

“He has a daughter. Beautiful girl. She looks just like you. Nine years old now. Just your age when I found you…”

The closet door flung open.

Faolan hushed her breath.

He didn’t grab her. He didn’t even step closer. He simply looked as she stared back in terror.

His face. That face was no longer blurred by drugs and trauma.

Calm. Older. Grey hair cropped short. Pale, almost white eyes that flicked over her with recognition, hunger, nostalgia.

He stepped back slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, just beyond reach. The gun was held loosely in his hands.

Click.

The safety on his gun engaged.

“See?” he said softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see you again. Hear you call me ‘Tolya’ again.”

Her grip on the taser shifted in her pocket. Knife raised.

His smile wobbled with emotion.

“We have a little time,” he murmured. “So let me tell you, the girl—my adopted son’s daughter—she had something happen to her. Her mother was murdered. And the girl refuses to talk now. Shock, they think. But that’s not why…”

He leaned forward slightly as if telling her a secret that would stay between the two of them. “Her mother caught me with her.”

A scream built in Faolan’s throat, but she swallowed it down.

“She saw, and she knows what happens when you talk,” he said dreamily. “Like you, Faolan. You were so quiet after, too. So good to me.” He stood up slowly. “But we have to go now. We’ve run out of time.”

Then he said, his voice flat and chilling “If you don’t come out, I’ll have to start shooting.”

Faolan stepped out.

Knife in hand.

Her skin crawled. Her shirt clung to her back. Her hand shook.

“Put it down,” he said gently, almost fatherly. “You don’t want to hurt me. You’re not like that.”

She stared at him.

His possessive eyes swept over her.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered. “None of them ever compared. Since I lost you…I never stopped dreaming of you.”

Tears trembled at the corners of his eyes. “You’ll grow your hair out again. Just like before.”

He stepped closer.

Faolan’s voice rose inside her head like a scream . Do it. Now.

Zzzt.

The taser jabbed into his chest.

He jerked. Eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the floor, twitching, gasping.

“You little—” he croaked.

She bolted. She tried to run past him, but he grabbed her ankle. She kicked loose and sprinted, her body screaming from the rush.

She wouldn’t make it to the lift.

There could be more outside.

She veered into the master bedroom.

Her drawer.

She yanked it open, pulled the gun free, clicked the safety off, and aimed.

Bang.

Blood bloomed across his right shoulder. His gun dropped with a metallic clatter.

Faolan backed against the dresser, gun still raised. He breath came in short, ragged gasps.

“Don’t move,” she said. “You fucking move, and I’ll put the next one between your eyes”

He writhed on the floor. “I’m bleeding… I only came because I love you.”

She shook her head, voice full of venom. “Shut your mouth.”

“You were so beautiful. I had to have you the moment I saw you. That’s why I kept you for myself. I tried to forget, but when Zel debriefed me…I knew it was you. I had to come back.”

She kept the gun trained on him.

She didn’t dare blink.

Her hands were strangely steady now, but her insides were trembling like glass under pressure.

He whimpered, soft and petulant, like a child denied a treat.

Then…

“Faolan!”

Her name in a desperate, beloved voice.

Thane.

Footsteps thundered up the hall. Then the door slammed open so hard it rebounded off the wall.

Thane stormed in first, eyes feral, gun raised in a smooth, practiced arc. His chest was heaving. His jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone.

Behind him was Zel, white-faced and furious.

Lirian followed, deadly silent, eyes already sweeping the room.

Then Maro, rage rolling off him like heat.

And just behind them was a stranger. He was tall. His suit was immaculate, but his hands were fisted and his eyes…

His eyes were burning.

“Anatoly?” Maro said, voice disbelieving.

The stranger surged forward, his gaze locked not on Faolan, but on the crumpled figure on the floor.

“What did you do to my daughter?”

The man on the floor—Tolya—tried to sit up, blood leaking through his fingers.

“I… Dimitri… How…” he began, voice shaking.

Thane moved instantly, stepping between Faolan and the man, shielding her completely. One arm reached back, blindly, and she felt his hand grip her waist, holding her against his shaking body. His hands moved up and down her sides, as if looking for injuries.

Only then, only when he touched her, did her legs begin to give way. The adrenaline was wearing off and her ribs were burning.

Faolan let herself sink into him.

The weight of it all, the years of nightmares, the memories drugged into a haze but never quite lost, crashed down in a tidal wave.

She felt Thane lower them both to the floor, his gun never wavering from its target.

“You’re okay,” he whispered harshly. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now, my life.”

Behind them, the room exploded into shouts.

Zel pinned Anatoly down with a knee to his spine while Lirian checked him for weapons with clinical efficiency. No one paid attention to his cries of pain.

Anatoly didn’t speak again; he simply stared at the man he had called son. There was something raw and unspeakable in his expression.

But all Faolan could see was Thane.

And the way he never stopped looking at her like he was terrified to take his eyes off her.

Her voice was a whisper. “He said…his name was Tolya.”