Page 95 of Steel Vengeance

Sloane realized she was still hanging onto Stitch and let go. Glancing at his face, she was relived he didn’t seem uncomfortable with the attention. If anything, he looked pleased.

“Omari?” she asked.

“He’s dead.”

Two short words. No emotion.

Stitch walked further into the room, his back to her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He kicked off his shoes.

“Er, because you just killed a man.”

The man that murdered your wife.

“We just killed a lot of men.” His voice was stark and matter-of-fact, like he was telling her he’d just weeded the garden.

Blade cleared his throat. “I’m going to take a shower, and then call Lilly. Catch you later.” And he left through the interleading door, leaving them alone.

“I need a shower too,” Stitch said, heading for the bathroom.

She let him go, sensing his need to be alone. To process what had happened. How could they be so blasé about death? Then again, when they were operators they’d lived with it on a daily basis. The SEALs were an elite assault force. Death was what they did. It was their constant reality—maybe they’d become immune to it.

“Are you hungry?” she called after him, as he disappeared into the bathroom. “I can order room service.”

No reply. Only the sound of the door locking behind him. Seconds later, she heard the sound of running water.

Stitch took a long time in the shower. When he emerged, it was in a billow of steam, towel wrapped around his waist. For once, his mouthwatering body didn’t distract her—she was too worried about him. He seemed so detached like his head was in the clouds. She wanted to reach out and pull him back to earth. “You know, if you want to talk—” she began.

“I’m fine,” he interjected.

“Okay.” She gave a little sigh. If he didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to make him, but all her senses were telling her he wasn’t right. Maybe he just needed some time. After all, it had just happened.

“Look, Sloane, you don’t need to worry about me. This was just another op, at the end of the day.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she said softly. “You got the man responsible for attacking your village and murdering your wife. You’ve waited over a year for this moment. I’d say that was a little more than just another op.”

He shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought it was too. I thought it would feel different, but it doesn’t. After all that, it just feels like another mission. We’ve taken out a bad guy who deserved to die, along with a bunch of armed mercenaries. It doesn’t make anything better. It doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t bringherback.”

“No,” she whispered. “It was never going to do that.”

The massive shoulders slumped. He looked up and she realized his eyes were moist. He wasn’t crying, but the emotion was spilling over.

“Oh, Stitch,” she whispered.

Without a word, he reached for her, pulling her into his warmth. Still standing, she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the solid strength of his body as he laid his head against her stomach. Her fingers instinctively moved to his hair, still damp from the shower, her touch gentle as she stroked it. She could feel the wetness soak through the shirt she was wearing, but she didn’t care. If she could offer any comfort to this brave, broken man, she would.

He held onto her for a long moment, and she could feel the tension in his muscles, as if he was drawing strength from her. A flash of vulnerability, a side of him she hadn’t seen before, like he needed her as much as she needed him.

Eventually, he looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes burned with an intensity that sent heat rushing through her, igniting every nerve in her body. His gaze was filled with longing—no, desire—and it was aimed at her.

That look made her feel powerful, cherished, and wanted in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

He lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him, and she followed without hesitation, her lips meeting his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness. Just the rightness of being together, like this was exactly where they both belonged.

His kiss was gentle at first, as though he was savoring the moment, learning her taste. It was different from the kiss they’d shared that night in the apartment when he’d mistaken her for Soraya. Now, there was no confusion. He knew exactly who she was.