Wren’s eyes were wide. “You did that? A HALO jump?”
“Dozens of times.”
“Were you scared?”
“Every single time. The first time, I peed myself. No lie. I actually wet my pants. The guys ragged on me for months about that, but then, they all did too, their first time.” He grinned, remembering the way Benny had teased him, only to reveal later that he’d done the same thing.
“What do you do when you’re afraid? How do you deal with it?”
Stone shrugged. “Well, for us, spec-ops guys, I mean, you’re trained to deal with it. Basic training teaches you to keep going no matter what. BUD/S training takes it that much farther. We learn to let the fear have its way, but not stop us. Fear keeps you alert. It keeps you alive. If you’re afraid, you’re still fighting to stay alive. When you stop feeling fear, you’ve stopped caring whether you live or die. And that’s when you make mistakes.” They were taxiing across the tarmac, and Stone was rambling in order to keep the memories of Manila at bay. “You just do what you have to do.”
“What’s the most afraid you’ve ever been?”
Stone looked at her. “You really want to know what happened, don’t you?”
Wren wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Am I making you mad?”
“No, not mad. I just…I don’t want you to…look, it’s not a pleasant thing. You’re a sweet, innocent girl. You don’t really understand what you’re asking about.”
“We’re back to that, are we?” Wren said, sounding irritated. “I’m not as innocent as you think. And I want to know because I want to know you. I want you to trust me. I want…I want you to think of me as more than just a ‘sweet, innocent girl.’”
Stone groaned. “Wren, that’s not a good idea. Not with me.”
She stared at him, clearly angry again. The flight attendant announced the gate information, local time, the usual post-landing welcoming spiel. When the doors were opened, Wren lurched out of her seat, grabbed her carry-on from the overhead compartment and stormed off the plane, losing herself in the cluster of disembarking students. Stone let her go, hating the glimmer of tears he’d seen in her eyes.
Once off the plane and through baggage claim, he felt the wave of heat and humidity roll over him. The sun was high and hot, the sky the bluest blue. The smell came next, the familiar burn of Manila.
His stomach roiled, the churning of buried fear, the knowledge of approaching danger.
5
~
She had to fight it. It was coming, it was going to happen, and soon. She’d rather die than endure that. As
He knelt in front of her, a cruel smile on his lips. “I got prends come to see you. Pretty American girl, not look like no American girl. Dese prends, dey come see. Maybe, dey want try you. Yes? I make a good deal.” He grabbed her upper lip and twisted it so hard she couldn’t stop the yelp of pain and the start of tears. “You keep shut up, I don’t let them try you before buy you. You like dat? No, I don’t tink so. You keep shut your stupid mout, dey look, dey touch, but dey not gonna
He smacked her none-too-gently, hard enough to make her ears ring and the cross around her neck swing free and dangle in the darkness. Then he left.
And that was when Wren understood, fully, that he wasn’t just an opportunistic animal. He’d hit her, but he hadn’t damaged her. He’d forced drugs on her, but he hadn’t raped her, or let anyone else do so. He was saving her, keeping her intact. Keeping a product in prime condition so he could reap a maximum profit.
Wren was young and sheltered, and she knew she was naive in some ways, especially when it came to men, but she was far from stupid. She wasn’t a virgin, but the few experiences she’d had only served to emphasize how awful things were going to get.
Unless a miracle happened. Unless someone saved her.
Someone like Stone.
Even tied up, in pain, drug-fogged and addled, terrified and alone, she shivered at the thought of Stone Pressfield. Huge, hard, mysterious, and difficult, Stone was…everything a girl could want. Six-foot-four, a body Adonis would be jealous of, close-cropped dark blond hair and deep brown, almost black eyes. But he was out of reach. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. Not like that, at least. He’d made it clear she wasn’t enough for him.
That didn’t stop her, in the darkness of a dirty, bug-infested, smelly hole in the ground prison cell, from wishing for him, from hoping and praying that he would come for her.
As she fell into an exhausted, frightened doze, Wren let herself imagine Stone bursting through the trap door and rescuing her.
It was small comfort, but it was something.
6
~
It was as if he was drawn to her by some strange magnetic force. For the last two and a half weeks, Stone had run himself ragged, scouting locations before the missions team arrived, operating as security while they did their futile, dangerous work in the slums and the red light district, talking to prostitutes and paying them to spend time in the hostel, feeding them, offering them Bible tracts and prayer and smiles and promises of freedom from prostitution.
And all the while, Wren had stayed on the edges of his awareness. Crouching beside a frail nineteen year old Taiwanese girl who’d been a prostitute since the age of six, smiling as she mixed poorly accented Filipino phrases with too-loud English. Playing checkers with a ten year old girl who’d been sold by her own parents. Serving food and bottles of water, never shrinking away from bad smells or harsh, distrustful glares. Stone would stand a few feet away from Wren, watching for the pimps and dealers who signaled trouble, and he would find himself unable to keep his eyes off her. Her ink-black hair would fall across her eyes, and she would brush it away with her graceful fingers. Her tank-top would ride up, revealing a sliver of dark skin, and she would tug it down absently. Sweat would run down her forehead, and she would wipe it away carelessly. Stone couldn’t
How could he not be attracted to her? But it wouldn’t—couldn’t—go anywhere past that.
Not when he still had nightmares of bullet-riddled bodies, and memories of pulling the trigger that sent those bullets. He woke up sweating and terrified most nights, reliving and remembering. Wren didn’t deserve that.
So, he kept to himself, watched the students, and watched the streets. Followed behind the group as they made their way to dinner, guarded the bathrooms while they took showers. Kept his hand near the cheap but functional 9mm pistol he’d gotten ahold of within hours of wheels-down.
He was starting to think his intuition had been wrong. The trip was days from completion and nothing bad had happened. Less than a week to go, and the students would be boarding a plane for the States. Which meant Wren would be safe. He prayed the next five days would go quickly. Yet, the feeling persisted. The troubled, gnawing sense of unease in his belly.
He refused to let anyone from the group leave the hostel without him, and without at least four other people. He slept with his pistol under his pillow, as lightly as if he was in the field with his unit again.
When he didn’t dream of the raid in Manila, he dreamed of Wren, of the hopeful gleam in her eyes when she’d told him she wished he would see her as someone other than a sweet, innocent girl.
Friday. Less than forty-eight hours before their flight out of Manila. They’d spent the last twelve hours going out in groups of six, Stone as escort and tour-guide, seeing sights and having fun, unwinding before leaving for home. Now, he was at the head of the last bunch of students, leading them through the thronging crowds. They’d had
