Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

His hands pulled away from her. He pulled away. Trace rolled to the side of the bed and flipped on the lamp. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Trace demanded as his gaze swept over her. “Did you have another nightmare?”

She hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. His hands had been going for her throat as if—as if he would kill her.

Trace would never do that.

She licked her lips. Every single bit of moisture in her mouth seemed to have vanished. “You were the one having the bad dream.”

Shadows were all around them. The lamp spilled a small pool of light onto the bed. Everything else—darkness.

“I was?” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t remember it. I’m…sorry if I woke you.”

Those words jerked Skye out of her stupor. She sat up, letting the sheet fall away. “I’ve woken you up nearly every night for the last month. Don’t talk to me about sorry.”

He stared at her.

“Something scared you. You said…you said you didn’t want to kill, but you had to do it.” Her stomach was in knots. “It’s because of me. You killed to save me, and now the memory is there, tearing you apart—”

His laughter stopped her. Cold. Bitter laughter. “That particular memory has nothing to do with you.” He leaned toward her, caging her with his body. “You think I regret what I did to Mitch Loxley?”

She tried to search his gaze. There wasn’t enough light.

“Not for an instant. I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I’d made him suffer more before I sent him to hell.”

She believed him. “Then what gives you nightmares?” Her question was a hoarse whisper.

He didn’t speak.

“One secret.” Skye grabbed his shoulders, desperate. “That’s what we can start with. That’s what I want from you, Trace. That’s what I think I deserve.” No, Skye actually thought that she deserved all of his secrets. And she’d get them. Sooner or later.

His hand came up to her throat. His fingers lightly caressed the flesh. This touch was so different from the one that had come before. “You were choking me,” she said.

He flinched.

“No, no, you weren’t.” She’d screwed that up. In his dream, his memory, he’d been attacking someone else. “You went to touch my neck…you said you had to kill, and I called your name.”

He turned away from her. Sat on the edge of the bed with his head hanging down. “I’m sorry. Scaring you is the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

She leaned toward him and pressed a kiss to his broad back. He was so tense beneath her lips. So warm and hard and strong. “One secret at a time.” Would that be so hard? They had to start somewhere. “I’ve told you about my nightmares. Tell me yours. Let me help you.”

She needed to help him. Couldn’t he see that?

His head lifted. He stared straight into the darkness. She didn’t think he was going to speak at all, but then he finally said, “It was right after I left the military. I’d gone…independent with some friends. One of my teammates—the person wasn’t who we all thought. A traitor. Leading us straight to hell. I had one chance to stop things. Kill or be killed.” His voice was wooden.

“You killed.”

“It turned out I was good at killing. Maybe too good.”

She rose onto her knees and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his back against her breasts.

Trace’s attention seemed to shift as he stared down at his hands. He’d taken off the bandages she’d applied so carefully before.

“I’d killed before, but that was in the line of duty. When I was following orders. This time, it was different. It was my friend. And I let my emotions get in the way.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I have a lot of memories that won’t let go of me. I went Black Ops six months after my enlistment. I did things…” His muscles were rock hard against her. “I wish I could forget them.”

Because the memories haunted him. “You don’t have to carry this alone.” She pressed a kiss to his neck, just below his ear. “I’m here, Trace. I want to help you.” She wanted in.

“You helped me back then.”

She frowned, but knew he couldn’t see her face.

“Every time I hunted, every time I killed, every time I thought I’d never taste anything but blood and death and the sand that got between my teeth or the snow that froze my bones…I’d see you.”

Her arms tightened around him.

“I’d imagine you dancing, up on stage, with all the lights around you. I’d see you, and the hell around me would vanish for a few seconds. You were my dream, when I was in a nightmare.”

Her lips feathered over his throat.

“I don’t have nightmares about that time…at least, I haven’t,” he said, sounding angry now. “Not in years.”

“But then Ben Sharpe came back.”

He nodded. “Ben worked with me in Black Ops. I saved his ass a few times—that tends to make a man loyal.”

But demons had started to chase Ben, even then.

“After I got out of the military, I brought Ben onto the independent team with me because I wanted to help him. He’d come to me, desperate, but working with me just made things worse.”

Because of the traitor?

“Ben brought them back,” Trace said. “But I’ll forget them again. I’ll shove the memories into the back of my head and lock the damn vault shut on them.”

He hadn’t looked at her while he’d spoken. Maybe it was easier for him not to see her when he saw the past.

“Thank you,” Skye whispered.

“For what? Scaring you? That’s not what I—”

“For giving me the first secret.” A glimpse into his hell.

He turned then, caught her, and rolled so that Skye was beneath him in bed.

“Thank you,” he told her, voice gruff.