Bastian’s already crushed heart sank at seeing Brie sitting at the bar. Fuck. Was he too late?

They’d kept him in the meeting, planning an op that would gut him emotionally if not physically. Still, he stayed, because sure as hell no one was going to Morocco with her but him. If he’d chased after her, he’d have lost his spot at her side. And it was likely only Savvy knew Brie was a recovering addict who hadn’t had a drink in years.

Staying in the meeting, knowing she was here, had cut him. He’d done this to her, brought her this low.

His fault. He hadn’t warned her that he needed to tell Savvy about Drugov. He’d been about to tell her last night, but she’d kicked him from her bed, out of her CLU.

He’d been angry and frustrated, and who did he run into but Savvy James? The woman had taken one look at him and knew he’d gotten Brie to talk. He’d done his duty and told Savvy everything.

Savvy had told him on Dahlgren that Drugov was a person of interest. The fact that Brie knew him personally was the piece that had been missing. Even after telling Savvy everything, he hadn’t known until the meeting that Savvy had connected Drugov and Lawiri.

Now he knew the final piece, information that had been shared after Brie left the room. Drugov had been after Brie for years—just like the mercenary in South Sudan had said. Lawiri’s showing up at the USAID facility two months ago was likely to confirm that Brie Stewart was Gabriella Prime and the later attack had been twofold: snatch Brie and burn the food. Drugov would get the woman he wanted, and the country would further destabilize and fall into famine.

Now Brie sat at the bar, her back ramrod straight, facing the bottles of alcohol lined up on the shelves at the back of the bar.

He circled and saw there was no drink before her, just an empty counter and a woman facing her demons. He wanted to slide onto the seat beside her yet feared being the thing that would push her over the edge, cause her to lose the battle.

But inaction could be worse. What if she gave in because she was alone? Because she believed he didn’t care about her?

He dropped onto the seat by her side, reminded of their first meeting on these very barstools.

And just like she had then, she rebuffed him before he had a chance to speak. “Go. The fuck. Away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Go away.”

“No. I’m sorry, Brie. I was going to tell you that Savvy needed to know about Drugov, but you tossed me out.”

“And you left because the only reason you fucked me was to get me to talk. Your job was done.”

He couldn’t lie, but knew she’d find the truth hard to believe. “Can we talk about this in private?” Someplace where drinks weren’t being served and the bartender couldn’t overhear.

“No. If you’re just going to tell the fricking CIA everything I say, we may as well talk here.”

She waved the bartender over. The man paused in front of her. “Have you decided?”

Her gaze fixed on the bar again, and Bastian held his breath. After a moment she said, “No.” She nodded toward Bastian. “But he wants something.”

Bastian did, but no way was he ordering a stiff drink now, not when she was fighting demons. “Coke. Please.”

The bartender filled a glass, slid it across the bar, then moved to the corner—as far as he could go and remain behind the counter.

“I love you,” Bastian said, desperate to breach her barricades.

Her body stiffened. Her eyes hardened and her nostrils flared, but she said nothing.

His heart pounded as her silence lengthened. Finally, she rose from her seat and left the club.

Brie’s entire body quaked with rage. He loved her? Right. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have fucked her for information and then turned around and told the CIA everything. He wouldn’t have let her be blindsided by that meeting.

He wouldn’t have used her just like her family tried to use her.

Her father had wanted her to screw Drugov to seal a deal. Marry him to join empires. Her needs, her wants never factored into the equation. She was a vagina for male satisfaction and a womb to carry little Prime-Drugov heirs.

As if she’d bring children into that world. As if she’d perpetuate the horror that was her family on another generation.

Tears were falling before she made it to the door of the club. She could walk faster now that she’d ditched the cane, but she still couldn’t run, which she desperately wanted to do. Her goal was her CLU, where she could lock her door against the man she’d kicked out of her bed because she cared too much, only to discover he was on a mission from the CIA.

Savvy must have arranged everything. That was why he was on the carrier even though he didn’t require twenty-four-hour observation. He was there to get close to her.

And of course he’d gotten clearance to take her to the observation deck. Savvy had just run the meeting in a room full of SOCOM leaders. Brie had no doubt the woman could convince the entire fleet to assist her scheme. A field trip to watch jets take off was child’s play.

No wonder medical center staff had looked the other way and the doctor had been free with condoms. Brie was dumb not to have seen it sooner.

She was halfway to her CLU when Bastian caught up to her.

“Brie. Please talk to me. Please.”

She turned and fixed him with a teary glare. “I have nothing to say to you except I now understand why your parents would prefer someone else over you.”

It was the most cutting thing she could think of to say, and it was effective. He stopped dead in his tracks, and she made it to her CLU without him following at her heels.

She closed the door behind her and finally let the tears flow. First she was assaulted by images of his body as he’d made love to her, waking feelings she didn’t want. Emotions she feared.

Then she rewound to the first moment he’d stepped into the hut in South Sudan, when she stood before him naked but for a slave collar, and how her heart had surged at the sight of him.

Dancing under the stars in South Sudan. Kissing on the observation deck in the Gulf of Aden. Making love in this room. It was a vicious cycle of memories in which he’d elicited the most intense of her emotions.

And now here she was, adding another to the heap of memories.

She’d sat at that bar for thirty minutes, fighting the urge to order a drink. Now she wished she’d given in.

She’d give anything not to feel this, not to feel at all.