Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“You feel guilty.”
There was a small silence. “Perhaps a little. I laid them to rest and marked the grave site carefully so I would know any time of year exactly where their remains were. I wanted to be able to go get them and bring them home. I don’t know why I never did. I think it was because I didn’t want to admit to my brother what I’d done.”
“Diego, I hate to admit this to you, but I probably would have done the same thing. I didn’t experience the things you did, and I find myself angry with your mother. I wouldn’t have wanted her to know I’d found my brothers and laid them to rest.”
“I should have told Rubin. I didn’t even leave him the information when I had all my affairs in order.”
“You had your affairs in order? For what reason?” She didn’t like the sound of that.
“I’m a soldier, Leila,” he said, his voice gentle. “I always keep my affairs in order. But if I’m being honest, and because I want a real relationship with you, the truth is, I suffer from depression. It’s a mental health issue I’ve been unable to overcome. It doesn’t hit that often, but when it does, it drags me under deep and fast. I’ve always struggled to get back my equilibrium. It doesn’t ever happen when I’m working, but once I’m on downtime, I can fall into a dark hole. Unfortunately, that’s something you’ll have to take into account when you’re making up your mind whether you want to take a chance on me.”
“Do you go to counseling?”
“Nope.”
“Do you take meds for it?”
“Nope.”
“Diego, you’re a doctor. You know better.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, “I do.”
8
Diego was a taskmaster. A dictator. A relentless, merciless tyrant. Yep, that was the only word that really described him—“tyrant.” He transitioned overnight from a sweet, gentle caretaker to a ruthless, demanding sadist.
Leila glared at him. “Do you have a personality disorder?”
He raised an eyebrow but continued massaging her legs. It wasn’t the easy, light massage she was certain she needed—at least she knew she preferred. No, he was doing deep tissue, working every muscle thoroughly. She could have sworn he smiled briefly, but if he did, it was faint and gone in less than a second, so she couldn’t be certain. Had she been, she might have kicked him hard.
“Personality disorder?”
“Don’t pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. You went from sweet caretaker to sadistic masseuse. And you did it overnight.”
“I’m keeping you from getting blood clots.”
Definitely a trace of humor in his voice. She made a face at him. “I think you’re being unnecessarily enthusiastic about it.”
The deep tissue massage hurt, but it also felt good. He had indicated, at breakfast, that he wanted her up and walking, that they would go outside, where he had set up a target range. She was excited that she would be doing something. Anything. She wanted to be back in shape and on the move as fast as possible. She particularly liked that he included training in her recovery program. That showed he meant what he said when he indicated he wanted a partner. He “got” her. She was a fighter, and she would fight at his side, not hide away in a safe room if they were attacked. She had skills, and she wanted to continue to use those skills.
Leila had a love of her country. She even had great respect and sympathy for her fellow soldiers. Despite many of the soldiers she’d encountered in the program being overly aggressive, there were also some who were good men. Each of the soldiers had volunteered for the enhancement program with the idea that they could better serve their country. The soldiers couldn’t possibly have predicted the unfortunate results. They had no way of knowing the enhancements would bring out just as many negative traits as positive ones. She believed her training and physical enhancements enabled her to keep other soldiers safe.
“Don’t like you thinking about men.”
She scowled at him, lifting her head from the mattress to pin him with her narrowed eyes. He should have withered, but he only lifted an eyebrow.
Diego moved from massaging her legs and thighs to her hips. She should have known lying in bed so much would compromise her hips. There were so many sore spots, some far more intense than others. She decided not to voice her opinion of his masseuse abilities. She was half joking and half serious. She didn’t want him to think she whined during training.
“Babe, you don’t have a poker face.”
“I don’t know how you can read what I’m thinking from an expression on my face,” she grumbled. “I can’t decide if you’re the best masseuse in the world and what you’re doing feels amazing or if it just hurts like hell.”