Page 51 of Protected from Reprisal
Davis stares at Ace, slack-jawed and uncomprehending. But a moment later, recognition dawns. “Jensen?” he asks. “What the fuck? Why are you here?”
I’m shocked myself, but not for long. Davis was Delta, and though I know he wasn’t on the same team as Ace, it stands to reason they might know each other.
Surprise moves across Ace’s face, but he quickly hides it. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he retorts. “And what thefuckare you doing?”
CHAPTER 10
ACE
I’m goingto kill him.
My finger twitches on the trigger, a hair’s breadth from firing.
I don’t care if he’s not a danger to me. Not ten feet away, with no gun in sight. If he does have one on him, there’s no way he could get the jump on me. He’d be dead the instant he went for his weapon.
He could throw the knife, I suppose. But even with his training, he’s no match for a bullet.
No, the chances of Davis Kellogg hurting me are slim.
But Yara.
Oh, fuck, Yara.
Rage is a crazed animal inside me, clawing and tearing. It wants to escape, to go after the fucker who hurt her so badly.
Oh,Yara.
There’s so much blood.
On her wrists. Her arms. Her chest. Thefloor.
Her sweater—oh, fuck, it’s in shreds. Did he touch her? Violate her? Put his dirty hands all over her soft skin, pinching, punching?—
And there. On her stomach. A fist-shaped mark, already bruising.
A low growl rumbles in my chest; the monster inside warning of its impending escape.
He tied her up. The fuckertied her up. She’s hanging from the crossbeam, her poor wrists raw and bleeding from the coarse rope binding them. With her toes barely touching the floor, I know the pain in her shoulders must be excruciating.
“You tied her up,” I hiss. “You fucking tied her up. What the fuck—” My Sig raises instinctively until it’s level with his face. “Why… What the fuck is wrong… She was a fucking hostage?—”
“So was I!” Davis snaps. His face contorts with anger. “I was a fucking hostage, Jensen. For a whole fucking lot longer than her. So don’t talk to me about?—”
“You beat her!” I shout. Taking several steps forward, I advance on him. “A fellow soldier. A woman. Someone you should be protecting. Not beating the shit out of!”
Now that I’m closer to them, I notice the bruising on Yara’s face. Her jaw, her delicate jaw, is swollen and red. Above her eyebrow, there’s another red mark from where he hit her.
Possible concussion, my brain notes. At least half a dozen cuts, some of them probably needing stitches. As my gaze lifts to her wrists again, I spot at least two fingers bent the wrong way.
“You broke her fingers?” Fury floods my body, even more intense than before. “You. Broke. Her. Fingers.”
“That’s nothing,” he barks. “Broken fingers? Some cuts? Bruises? That’s not even close to what this traitorous bitch?—”
“Don’t you call her that!”
“I’ll call her whatever I want!” Davis yanks his knife from the sheath at his waist and jabs the tip of it against Yara’s chest.
My lungs stall.
