slaves were raised by their captors and beaten into respecting, or even seeing their captor’s torture as love. Although, knowing what he knew of her, she didn’t seem the type to remain loyal to such a person.
“A slave?” He watched as the meaning behind his question dawned. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t a…a sex slave. Or any other kind of slave. Issa would never do that.” She rested her hands on his stomach and gave him a small, sad smile. “I was in a car accident, or at least that’s what Issa and the doctors told me when I woke up. I really don’t remember.”
“A car accident?” His bullshit meter was pegged in to the red, but when he looked into her eyes he could see she believed what she was telling him.
“Yes. A car accident.” She turned from his embrace and paced to the closet. Opening the doors, he watched as she shuffled through the miscellaneous ite ms of clothing. “I was seventeen, I think. I woke up in a strange bed, in a strange house surrounded by strange men. Issa, my uncle, said a drunken truck driver ran my parents’ car off the road into a ravine, north of Mumbai, killing them instantly. I was thrown through the windshield. I guess the glass cut me up pretty badly. I really don’t remember. When I woke up I didn’t remember anything except my first name.” She pulled a blue and white dress from one of the hangers and held it up. “I still don’t.”
Seventeen. “You have no memory of your parents or your childhood?” He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or even more skeptical as he bent and scooped up his jeans from the floor. Something felt off about the timing, about the whole damn story, but he couldn’t quite get a grip on it.
“No. I don’t.” She let the dress drop and reached up to cup her arm. “They really put a tracking chip in my shoulder? Those bastards.”
“Your parents, they were American?”
Thalia nodded, hissing when she pulled the bandage away from her skin. “My mother was half Indian. She was Issa’s sister. We were in India on vacation to visit him.”
He pushed aside the weird feeling in his gut to dissect later. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bathroom. “Come on. We’ll take a shower, I’ll change your bandage, and then we can figure out what our next step is while I feed you.”
She followed him into the bathroom without argument which, when it happened, never ceased to amaze him.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m sorry about Salina.” Seemed she was going to be in a perpetually apologetic state with him. She might as well get comfortable saying it. “I’m sorry about your boat and, well, everything.”
Wrap ped around her back, his smooth chin resting on her shoulder, she felt Grant shrug as she leaned her face into the spray and rinsed away the soap suds. “She was an asset, not a friend.”
“That sounds a little harsh.” She had no problems with killing someone like Jauhar or Hamisi. She may have lost some of her more delicate senses toward death, but she didn’t think she would be able to compartmentalize the loss of someone who helped her like Salina had.
Grant shrugged. The heat of his tongue traveled up the side of her neck before he sucked the water from her earlobe, sending shivers racing over her skin despite the blissful heat of the water. “I really don’t care about anything else right now except this.” The sharp edge of his teeth raked against the outer shell of her ear; she would have fallen to her knees if his thick arm hadn’t been wrapped around her, holding her up.
She both hated and loved how quickly he could reduce her to a spineless puddle of lust with just one look or touch. She wanted to explore him , find his weaknesses. Surely he has one. Resolved to keep things on an even playing field, at least for the moment, she spun away and pushed him under the spray, ignoring his grunted protests. Scooping up the soap, she lathered it into a washcloth. The muscles in his
“A slave?” He watched as the meaning behind his question dawned. “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t a…a sex slave. Or any other kind of slave. Issa would never do that.” She rested her hands on his stomach and gave him a small, sad smile. “I was in a car accident, or at least that’s what Issa and the doctors told me when I woke up. I really don’t remember.”
“A car accident?” His bullshit meter was pegged in to the red, but when he looked into her eyes he could see she believed what she was telling him.
“Yes. A car accident.” She turned from his embrace and paced to the closet. Opening the doors, he watched as she shuffled through the miscellaneous ite ms of clothing. “I was seventeen, I think. I woke up in a strange bed, in a strange house surrounded by strange men. Issa, my uncle, said a drunken truck driver ran my parents’ car off the road into a ravine, north of Mumbai, killing them instantly. I was thrown through the windshield. I guess the glass cut me up pretty badly. I really don’t remember. When I woke up I didn’t remember anything except my first name.” She pulled a blue and white dress from one of the hangers and held it up. “I still don’t.”
Seventeen. “You have no memory of your parents or your childhood?” He wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or even more skeptical as he bent and scooped up his jeans from the floor. Something felt off about the timing, about the whole damn story, but he couldn’t quite get a grip on it.
“No. I don’t.” She let the dress drop and reached up to cup her arm. “They really put a tracking chip in my shoulder? Those bastards.”
“Your parents, they were American?”
Thalia nodded, hissing when she pulled the bandage away from her skin. “My mother was half Indian. She was Issa’s sister. We were in India on vacation to visit him.”
He pushed aside the weird feeling in his gut to dissect later. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the bathroom. “Come on. We’ll take a shower, I’ll change your bandage, and then we can figure out what our next step is while I feed you.”
She followed him into the bathroom without argument which, when it happened, never ceased to amaze him.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m sorry about Salina.” Seemed she was going to be in a perpetually apologetic state with him. She might as well get comfortable saying it. “I’m sorry about your boat and, well, everything.”
Wrap ped around her back, his smooth chin resting on her shoulder, she felt Grant shrug as she leaned her face into the spray and rinsed away the soap suds. “She was an asset, not a friend.”
“That sounds a little harsh.” She had no problems with killing someone like Jauhar or Hamisi. She may have lost some of her more delicate senses toward death, but she didn’t think she would be able to compartmentalize the loss of someone who helped her like Salina had.
Grant shrugged. The heat of his tongue traveled up the side of her neck before he sucked the water from her earlobe, sending shivers racing over her skin despite the blissful heat of the water. “I really don’t care about anything else right now except this.” The sharp edge of his teeth raked against the outer shell of her ear; she would have fallen to her knees if his thick arm hadn’t been wrapped around her, holding her up.
She both hated and loved how quickly he could reduce her to a spineless puddle of lust with just one look or touch. She wanted to explore him , find his weaknesses. Surely he has one. Resolved to keep things on an even playing field, at least for the moment, she spun away and pushed him under the spray, ignoring his grunted protests. Scooping up the soap, she lathered it into a washcloth. The muscles in his
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