Page 47 of Direct Action

I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe even count my blessings I was going to get Chloe out of my truck without so much as a dirty look, but I fucking hated it.

Chloe was not docile. She didn’t sigh in defeat. She spoke her mind, yet here she was standing next to me, waiting for me to unlock the front door, without making a peep. She said nothing when my hand went to her hip and guided her inside. Wordlessly, she walked through my house and turned down the hall.

Another gift-horse moment, yet I wanted a full dental inspection of the motherfucker.

I tossed my keys on the table, pulled out my phone, and shot off a text to Pete letting him know I was home and I’d call him in the morning. This in an effort to pull my shit together before I joined Robot Chloe.

By the time I walked into my bedroom, Chloe had her shoes off and she was curled into a ball in the middle of my bed, facing away from the door. She gave no indication she heard me come in. I made quick work of taking off my boots, got into bed behind her, wrapped my arm around her, and pulled her snug to my chest.

Still no response, just more desperation—heavier, like she was blanketed in it.

“I can’t quit the Vault,” she whispered.

Jesus fuck.

My arm tightened, and my mouth opened to tell her she damn well could, but she wasn’t finished.

“I know it’s the smart thing to do. The safe thing. But I can’t.”

“Chloe—”

“I can’t,” she pushed out with so much force her body jerked.

Ten months ago, Chloe stopped depositing money into her savings account.

Eight months ago, she started taking monthly withdrawals.

Five different part-time jobs.

She had seventeen dollars left in her savings account.

“Baby, who’d you visit today?”

Her limp body tightened, and that blanket of desperation got heavier right before she made a low, pain-filled sound that sounded like it only rumbled out from the back of her throat, but the true origin of it came straight from the pits of hell.

Her hips bucked, her shoulders jerked, then the sobs came.

I rolled deeper, giving her my weight, doing my best to absorb whatever pain she’d let free. I’d seen a lot of death. I’d smelled fear. I’d witnessed shit that nightmares were made of in real time. I’d consoled frightened women and children. I’d carried wounded men. I knew what pain felt like. I knew the power it held. And whatever the cause of Chloe’s, it had her in its claws.

“I got you, Chloe,” I whispered.

It took a long time before her body stopped shaking, longer for the hitches to even out, longer still before I felt her suck in a deep breath and let it out.

“You wanna talk about it?” I gently asked.

She shook her head and burrowed back.

“Okay, baby. Sleep.”

I’d changed my mind; I didn’t want Chloe to tell me who she’d visited. I wanted that intel from Fallon. I wanted to be armed with the information I needed to make sure Chloe never again had dead eyes and body-racking sobs.

It didn’t take Chloe long to fall asleep. Neither did it take long for me to start mentally berating myself for missing Chloe’s pain—months of pain. Going on damn near a year, and I’d been so wrapped up in my attraction and fighting against acting on that attraction I’d missed something big. Something that was hurting her. Something that, had I not been so goddamn stupid, I would’ve seen.

I heard Gavin come home. I listened to him quietly move around the house. I rolled out of bed long enough to undress and pull the covers out from under Chloe. When I got back in, I yanked the blankets up, wrapped myself back around her and lay there awake longer still, seething mad about what an asshole I’d been.

Then I fell asleep still curled into Chloe.

At some point Chloe had turned in her sleep. Therefore, when I opened my eyes, two things happened at once—first, in the dim light I saw Chloe staring at me. Second, I felt her hand on my face, her thumb gently tracing my bottom lip.