“I wanted you to be comfortable.”
“I don’t deserve your comfort, but I appreciate it.”
“You comforted me.”
“When? When I held you captive? Had you locked in a cage for days?”
“You gave me socks.”
“Socks?” He huffs like they didn’t matter.
“You made sure I ate without forcing me. You gave me beef—”
“That was the only human decency I showed you, Cara.”
“You didn’t have—”
“I owned you. I don’t deserve any grace from you.”
“You never hurt me.”
“I hurt you plenty. I may have never laid my hands on you in anger or malice, but I hurt you plenty.”
I can’t really deny what he’s saying because he did play a role in something that will haunt me for a long time.
“Lauren showed everyone the video. The one that streamed in the basement that first night.”
He drops his eyes to the towel covering his chest. His shame is clear.
“I know you didn’t rape her, that she wanted… that you both like it rough.”
“Fuck,” he grunts. “There is so much to unpack in that statement. I hate that you saw me like that.”
“Which time? Because I first thought you were a rapist within a couple minutes of being pulled off the back of that truck.”
“Both times,” he mutters. “When you witnessed it the first time, and again when Lauren showed you the video.”
Is he upset because of what I thought or the fact that I saw him having sex with another woman? It’s a similar question to what Mia asked when I was trying to wrap my head around being legitimately attracted to a man that held me captive rather than chalking it up to Stockholm syndrome.
“I know you’re not a monster. I started to figure that out in El Salvador, long before I knew you were an FBI agent. I wasn’t raped.”
His eyes meet mine. “But Megan was.”
I can see on his face just how tortured he is over it.
“And you killed him. Angel never once tried to hurt us.”
“Angel was a good guy.”
“FBI?”
“Not exactly, but he was there with good intentions. Well, as good of intentions as any mercenary has, I guess. He died, and that’s on me. Wait—” He leans in a little closer. “Miguel said he killed all of you.”
I shake my head. “No one died but Megan, and I don’t know what happened to that first girl.”
“Megan survived. She was sent away before she could keep starving herself. Lisa, the first girl, she went home as well. We were in the process of moving all of you.”
“The guy picked us up not long after you were taken from the house. We didn’t encounter another problem after that.”
He nods, looking a little grateful that there weren’t more complications.
“Lauren didn’t come back with you guys,” I remind him just in case he doesn’t remember.
“Lauren has a job to do and leaving South America was never part of her plan.”
“She’s going back under, knowing how dangerous it is?”
He shrugs, the movement making his cheeks flinch. “She’s been undercover for years.”
“You’re answering every question.”
“I’ll answer any one you can come up with.”
“Was my sister ever in danger?”
“Not from me. Not from the cartel. Now that shitty cult she’s wrapped up in isn’t ideal.”
“Kincaid says he’ll help get her out.”
“He’s a good man. They all are.”
“All the women around here keep telling me that Cerberus men don’t discuss business with them.”
“We’re not discussing a Cerberus matter.”
He gives me a pointed look that tells me he wouldn’t break those confidences.
“Samuelson made you think coming here was a real job.”
He frowns. “Seems some people are talking more than you let on.”
“Believe me, I was asked to leave the room before they really went in depth on anything.”
“Are you done helping me?” I drop my eyes to the wash rag I’ve been gripping during this entire conversation.
“Yes, sorry. Let me clean this stuff up.”
I work on emptying and rinsing the basins and piling up the towels to go to the laundry, but then I remember I haven’t pulled the towels off his body.
“Crap! You must be freezing.”
“Not a bit,” he says with a slow smile. “My body temp is pretty elevated right now.”
“Fever?” I reach for his head, but then the towel moves again, and it’s clear what he’s talking about. “You need clothes.”
“You’ll have to help me.”
“I know, but you’ll have to keep your eyes closed. This is awkward enough.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he keeps them that way until I’ve managed to pull his sweats up over his hips. The issue he was having under the sheet is no longer a problem due to the pain, so I give him a few more pain pills and offer him the bottle of water.
His eyes dart from my face to the bathroom door behind me.
“Urinate or defecate?”
“What?” He scrunches his nose.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m an aide, remember? Urinate or defecate?”