Read Online Hearts Under Siege by Natalie J. Damschroder - Free Book Online

entire body screamed “Do it!” Didn’t matter what “it” was, she’d take it.
    And then he stepped back.
    “You can go first. You look wasted.”
    She scrubbed her hands over her face. Fighting grief on every level. “I am. Thanks. Shit. My bag.”
    “Here.” He picked it up off the floor and tossed it onto her bed. She hadn’t even noticed him carrying it.
    “Thanks. Sorry.”
    “Hey, no apologies.” His voice was soft, admiring. “You were amazing today. I owe you.”
    “No, that’s what family does.” It came out without forethought, but she meant it. Unfortunately, the word “family” reminded them both why she’d done what she’d done. Brady’s expression went hard, stoic, and the dark well of pain she’d managed to ignore during their adventure overflowed again. “Um…I’ll be out as soon as I can.”
    “Take your time. I’ve got to call in, get instructions. Let them know…”
    Molly couldn’t handle the horror in his eyes now, and ducked into the bathroom to escape. She stripped off her still-damp, starting-to-reek clothes, and turned the water on in the shower to heat while she did other necessary things. The moment she stepped under the spray was the purest pleasure she’d ever felt in her entire life. She moaned as the hot water flushed away her tension and fatigue, eased every muscle, caressed and massaged, and oh, she might never leave here. The spray hit tender spots on her back and shoulders that she hadn’t noticed, easing the tightness, and when she lathered up the complimentary bar of soap to clear away the layer of grime, she let out a another moan.
    But that was one indulgence too much. She burst into tears, grief and longing digging in, turning pleasure and relief into agony. Chris, whom she’d never see again. Jessica, alone and scared. And Brady, oh, Brady. She dropped the soap and pressed her palms flat against the wall to hold herself up while her body shook, the sobs drowned out by the hiss of the water. She hoped. The last thing Brady needed was to be burdened by her rampaging emotions.
    She didn’t know how long she cried. The water never went cold. Brady didn’t knock on the door or ask if she was okay. So it probably hadn’t been that long. But it drained the last of her reserves. She reluctantly turned off the shower and pushed back the curtain. The towels were thin but soft, and she rubbed one over her hair and body, not caring what she looked like. A minute to put on sleep shorts and a tank, and she went out into the main room, not sure what to expect.
    Brady stood by the window, peering out through the tiny gap at the side of the curtain. She could see his eyes darting around the city, checking the street below, the windows of whatever building was across from them, the nearby rooftops. He looked alert, focused, but the fist clenched in the drapery told her he was barely holding it together. She suddenly felt guilty, as if she’d betrayed him by hiding her own grief, venting it alone. But then she was glad she had. The release had left her drained, but also neutral, which could be strength. Maybe now she could hold him up without breaking down herself.
    She checked the locks on the door—training, not that she expected them to be unsecured—and stowed her things. She stood for a few seconds, watching him, wondering if he’d even noticed she was in the room.
    “Brady.”
    He didn’t move, but said evenly, “No sign they tracked us.”
    “Good.” He still didn’t move, not a single muscle, and the room almost vibrated with his tension. Molly murmured, “Fitz, come here.”
    The curtain bunched, and Molly’s heart seized as if his fist clutched it rather than the padded polyester fabric. She circled the beds and squeezed up next to him, prying his fingers off the drapery. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’re safe here. You can let go.”
    At first, she thought he would. His face went from stoic to tortured, crumpling like a tin can, and a