With Every Breath (Slow Burn 4)

“Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he whispered against her skin.

And she was. His heart felt as though it were about to burst out of his chest. He felt every single sob to the depths of his soul. Each time her shoulders heaved, it was like a fist to his gut.

He tensed when she lifted her head, fearing she’d try to bolt, but she slowly leaned back so her troubled gaze met his. He flinched at the raw grief reflected in her eyes. Jesus. What the hell had she been living with and for how long? Did this have anything to do with her abduction and torture? No, his gut told him this went much deeper, went much further back, which meant she’d carried her burden for God only knew how long. And that made the hole in his heart even larger.

She closed her eyes and a fresh trail of tears slipped down her cheeks that cut him to the bone. He maneuvered his body so that she was still in his arms but so he could frame her face, his palms brushing over wet skin.

“Eliza, talk to me. It’s obvious you won’t talk to the people you love and trust, so talk to someone who doesn’t matter. Talk to me. But for God’s sake you have to let go of whatever poison is festering inside you or it’s going to consume you for good.”

“It already has,” she whispered.

He almost didn’t hear her faint response and when it registered, his pulse stuttered. Sweat broke out on his forehead at the finality and defeat in her words. Eliza wasn’t prone to dramatics or overreactions. She called it like she saw it and she wasn’t a whiner or a complainer. Hell, he’d never met a woman in his life who was as determined as she was to demonstrate no weakness whatsoever, which is why this outburst was scaring the shit out of him, because she’d die before ever allowing that whispered admission to pass her lips.

And the resignation in her voice when she’d finally spoken?

A chill snaked down his spine, an odd contrast to the sweat on his brow. Because Eliza’s subdued, dull tone was the sound of someone who’d already given up. Had accepted the inevitable—whatever that was for her. And he’d already figured out that she’d run like hell from Houston, not because she didn’t trust her partners, but because she was protecting the people she loved, which meant whatever the hell was going on was serious trouble. The kind of trouble she was willing to sacrifice herself for to protect the people who mattered to her.

DSS had dismantled the entire organization that had done so much damage to so many lives, particularly to the women who belonged to DSS. And Wade, damn it. The game was over. He was staking his claim—had already staked it. Eliza was his and he’d take on the devil himself before ever allowing her to be hurt again. So if the bastards who’d tortured and then nearly killed her in the raid had been taken down and no longer posed a threat, then who the fuck was threatening her now? And if those twisted, sadistic motherfuckers hadn’t scared her and made her back down then whatever was going on now wasn’t good. It was the absolute worst kind of bad. Because this went way back if his instincts were right, and his gut never led him wrong. Eliza was fearless. Too fearless for her own damn good, and nothing scared or intimidated her. Until now.

If those fuckheads hadn’t managed to intimidate Eliza and she’d gone after them like a ferocious guard dog after being tortured and fucking waterboarded, then what the hell could be worse that terrified her to this degree?

Eliza sagged and she was still trembling. Lines of fatigue etched her face, causing him to wonder if she’d even slept since the last time he’d seen her. For that matter it was likely she hadn’t slept before the last time he’d seen her. She felt fragile in his arms and she was not a fragile woman. He doubted she’d even eaten because he could feel the weight she’d lost. Her fatigue beat at him. It was evident in her eyes, her face, her body.

This worried him and he was not a worrier. He didn’t fear anything and had long ago accepted that what will be will be, but the cold hand of terror gripped him by the throat and he realized he wasn’t just afraid. He was fucking terrified. He couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see, touch or know and, by God, he was going to find out what the fuck had Eliza scared out of her mind before the day was over.

“We’re getting the hell out of here,” Wade said firmly. “And after we get the fuck out of this shithole where I can be assured you’re safe, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on, and I mean everything, Eliza. And during this conversation, you’re going to eat even if I have to hold you down and force it down your throat. Then you’re going to get some rest because it’s obvious you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Her chin went up but the gesture lacked its usual tenacity.

“You’re leaving, Wade,” she said dully. “Not me. I won’t be responsible for another death. Never again. I have so much blood on my hands that they’ll never come clean and I’ll be damned if I’ll add yours. You have to leave and forget I even exist. You don’t know me. You’ve never met me. You forget everything about me.”

His temper flared and he was furious that she was so damned determined to protect him. What the hell? There were so many what-the-fuck parts of her impassioned statement, he didn’t even know where to start. Blood on her hands? Only because he feared pushing her completely over the edge did he bite his tongue and not tear into her right then and there and demand answers to the dozens of questions festering in his mind. Reasoning wasn’t going to work with her. That was obvious even before her falling apart moments ago. He’d seen her lack of rationale when she’d sped away from her apartment, leaving him sprawled on her concrete drive.

He didn’t have time to take it slow and treat her with the soft touch he wanted so badly, and after hearing the fucked-up shit she’d just spouted, he had a lot of fucking questions he wanted answers to, but his first and only priority at the moment was ensuring her safety. So he did what it was he did best. He took matters into his own hands.

Before she could say or do anything further, he tightened his arms around her and abruptly stood and strode toward the front door.

“What the hell!” she yelled, slamming her fist into his chest.

Thank God. This was the Eliza he recognized. She wasn’t too far gone. Yet. And he had to bear that in mind and handle her with care even while giving her no choice in anything.

“Shut up,” he clipped out. “You’re going with me and if I have to handcuff your wrist to mine, swear to God, I’ll do it.”