Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Ten days in a jail cell awaiting a military tribunal had damaged me and my wolf, and that meant I couldn’t be strong for my mate. I couldn’t protect her if I was losing my shit.
She’d comforted me.
“Have you always been claustrophobic?” Brooke asked.
I couldn’t lie to my mate. Ever. But this… weakness was shameful. I couldn’t be strong for her if she knew that I had weaknesses.
“Not always.” I paced the room, ran a hand over my head. The hair by my temple was sweaty. “It’s… PTSD from the service.”
From the jail cell they put me in after I killed one of my commanding officers. A rapist and a murderer, the fucker.
“Tell me what happened.” Brooke’s voice was soft, as if she knew she needed to be strong for me. I guessed that was what having a mate was like. We balanced each other out.
Not that I believed she was on board with being my mate, yet. Still, her instincts were there, and that was a good start.
She settled onto the couch, the one where I’d fucked her for the first time. And second. And where we spent the night with me curled around her. All I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs again and get her taste on my tongue to make the entire world go away.
No fucking mob. No past. Only a future with her. I wanted to get lost in my mate and never be found.
But she deserved an answer, especially after what she just witnessed. Shame swirled with the sick feeling in my gut remembering what it had been like to be locked up.
I sat down beside her and toed off my boots. She kicked off her heels. I stared down at my hands. “I grew up on a mountain in Montana. I was raised with wide open skies and plenty of land to run on. But my family was fucked up, like most, and I thought it would be best if I went and found myself in the Marines. One of my packmates, Colton, who was like an older brother to me, was a Green Beret. I admired the fuck out of him, so I thought the military would be the best place for me.”
“Packmates?” Brooke smiled.
Fuck. I forced out a laugh to hide my mistake. “I mean buddies.” I tunneled my fingers through my hair again. “Anyway, it turned out that I was good at it. I had the physicality. Had no problem following a chain of command. It seemed like a pretty good fit. I did three tours in Afghanistan. I saw some shit that was hard to swallow, but I was still okay. But on the third tour, I had this commanding officer.” I drew in a breath.
My throat closed. I hadn’t told this story since I’d gotten back. The pack knew what happened and why I’d returned but from Selena Jenkins, my lawyer, not me. Why I needed to stay holed up making furniture on the mountain with my asocial brothers. No one made me relive it, thank fuck.
Except for now. I shouldn’t tell her. She was already freaked out about me killing the guys who were after her. She’d almost bolted from my van. Adding another dead body to my count wasn’t going to do me any favors, even if he deserved to be dead.
“I, um, had a run-in with him, and it landed my ass in a military jail cell. I–” I shook my head and stole another look. She was gazing at me with intelligent, understanding eyes. I didn’t ever want to violate the trust she seemed to have in me.
I shrugged. And switched what I was going to say to remain vague. “Anyway. It was only ten days that I was held in that tiny cell. It shouldn’t have driven me crazy, but it did. I mean, literally. I lost my shit.”
Because a full moon had come and gone while I’d been behind bars.
“It took that long for the charges to be dropped, and I was discharged, but I was never the same. I went home to Montana and started making furniture. I’d always tinkered with wood when I was younger and turned it into a pretty successful business. I live way up on the mountain, away from people. Plenty of room to not feel cornered. Being here in the city is hard for me, but the trade show is a way to get my pieces in front of new clients. But elevators? Forget it.” I forced a wry smile and raised my hand in the air like a game show hostess. “I wouldn’t have come if my brother hadn’t booked me this big penthouse suite, so I wouldn’t feel so trapped in the city.”
“Ah,” she said. “I wondered why you had such a fancy suite. It didn’t seem to fit your personality.”