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Connie pressed her hands to her ears to block out the sound of Atticus murmuring to her. She longed for the quiet she'd fallen into, the peace of oblivion. Nothing could hurt her there—her body didn't exist, her mind was cut loose to float along in false security. Maybe she could find a way to make it permanent. All her training screamed at her to fight that idea, but the psychologist was just a fraction of the personality that made Connie who she was.
There were bigger elements, ones more wounded, who got a definite say in the matter.
The scent of blood and death changed, lightened. Something fragrant and citrusy cleaved through the air, acting like a palate cleanser for the nose. It was all female, a breath of fresh air, and belonged to only one person Connie could think of. She opened her eyes and blinked at Archie, her lips trembling when she realized her friend's brave expression was simply a mask. She shrank back, hugging herself tightly.
“It's okay, Connie. I'm just shocked. That looks as though it hurts.” Sitting beside her, Archie lifted her hand and brushed a fingertip over a bruised cheekbone. “Jasper needs to take a look at you. The ambulance will be here soon, but if you need medical treatment, he can make you feel better until the girls arrive.”
Connie sighed. “I don’t want any drugs, Archie. Before everyone gets the wrong idea, I wasn’t raped. He just used me like a pinata. Jasper should be taking care of Thane.”
“If you don't want Jasper to look, will you let me make sure you're okay? We can cover you up with the blanket and go upstairs, away from all these bossy men.” Archie attempted a smile that didn't come close to reaching her morose brown eyes. “It'll take five minutes, Connie. I won't hurt you. Jasper can stay down here and make sure Thane is in the best hands.”
Another head shake.
Archie sighed and looked resigned. She shifted closer and ran her hand over Connie's head, stroking her hair gently until she relaxed. “I'm so sorry this happened, Con. We'll fix it, I swear we will. Do you want to go sit with Thane? He’s unconscious because of all the blood he lost, but he'll know you're with him.”
There was a trick somewhere, she knew. Her friends were sneaky at finding ways of getting what they wanted, especially when they were concerned. She didn't trust Anarchy's capitulation or her gentle petting. It was why she was braced to run at the first sign of betrayal, but between Archie, Jasper, and Atticus, they'd surrounded her strategically with no place to go unless she started scurrying through their legs.
They understood her too well.
Archie twisted to drape the blanket around Connie's shoulders. It was only because she was watching her friend that Connie glimpsed the small syringe hidden between the material and Archie's hand. Handing over control to her body, Connie let it decide whether it wanted to take flight or stay and fight.
Hospital, numerous tests, rape kits, medication, psychiatric visits, more meds…she couldn't do it.
When the fabric settled into place around her shoulders, Connie exploded into action. Diving forward, she ignored the protests of her broken body and crawled through Atticus's legs. Something twanged painfully in her thigh, but she kept going. She could run and find somewhere safe enough to hide and lick her wounds, just as soon as she could…get away from…her friends…
She tried to drag herself forward, feeling her muscles turn to water. Only halfway through the arch of Att's spread legs, she strained for an extra inch before her body told her to go to hell and curled up to sleep. Her mind continued with the illusion of escape—for about thirty seconds before her vision failed.
“Just let the pain meds do their job, little sub,” Atticus rumbled as he bent and gently scooped her up, swaddling her in the blanket and cradling her against his chest. “No one will touch you, you have my word. Just sleep.”
She blinked up at him, his dark hair and worried face filling her fractured vision. A warbling groan of discomfort hummed in her throat when his fingers touched her skull, feeling around for whatever he was looking for. She tried to push him away, but the drugs reduced her to a limp noodle.
“If that fucker wasn't already dead,” Atticus snarled, then cut himself off when Jasper shook his head.
“Not now, brother. Thane handled it. Damn it, she needs a head scan, looks like she's been pistol-whipped. Fucker whaled on her face pretty bad and there might be some fracturing.” Something bright and shiny beamed into her right eye, blinding her. It flicked over to the left. “There're signs of concussion. She and Thane are gonna end up spending some quality time in the medical quarters.”
No. Connie's breathing picked up. Medical quarterssounded a lot like hospital, and the hospital was a huge no-no. Her legs kicked restlessly, flopping uselessly in uncoordinated directions.
“How much did you give her?” Atticus asked as he carried her, flying her away from the bloody scene. Green eyes, riddled with guilt, conveyed instructions she didn't want to obey. Relax, we've got you. Just let Jasper take care of you, little sub.
“Enough to take the edge off until she can be examined properly.”
You've hit the wall, Constance. You were never going to win this one, you know that, right? The Domme tsked, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor.
It was never about winning, she thought. It was about curling up into a ball and protecting herself. Finding somewhere quiet to dissect what was real and what she'd imagined, then healing. Or trying to, because in all honesty, this was the straw that had the potential to destroy her.
She shuddered when fingertips grazed her shoulder. Fingertips became the press of a palm rubbing a gentle circle over the tight muscles. She wanted to strike out at that caring touch, snap the hand off at the wrist for daring to touch her, but the spark was dead, burned out and useless. Her body cut the strings so she slumped on Atticus's lap as he sat, her brokenness exposed for everyone to see.
“Atticus, give her to me. No, don't look at me like that. She won't hurt me,” Anarchy murmured as she settled in beside him. “She's exhausted, traumatized, and injured. Lay her down with her head in my lap, and let me take care of her while you and Jasper bring some order back to this chaos.”
Time turned into a whirl of quiet sobs and soft reassurances. Her body was shifted carefully, her broken head gently placed on soft thighs. Fingers petted her hair lightly, and that simple touch helped ground Connie in the here and now. They stayed there on the couch as Connie's internal battery switched on the five-percent warning sign, her head lolling with the pull of sleep.
Just a few feet away,the EMTs had arrived and were strapping Thane onto a board, preparing to lift him onto the gurney and take him out to the waiting ambulance. The small one, a redhead with hazel eyes, kept shooting glances at Connie, her concern obvious. Connie drifted in and out of shock, pleased they were taking Thane's injuries seriously. She blinked up at the medic when she walked over.
“Okay, Jess is just doing the last checks before we get Thane tucked up in the rig. He's lost a considerable amount of blood, but Jasper did good getting a line and fluids into him. Heart is strong, breathing is good. He'll need surgery to repair that shoulder, but from the scar already there, he's no stranger to that.” The redhead sighed and removed her gloves, snapping on a fresh pair. “Let’s see what we can do for you, sweetie.”
“Connie’s hurt really bad, Ariel,” Archie murmured anxiously.
“She’s in pain, and she’s exhausted. Don’t worry until the doctors have done their exam, Archie. With this amount of bruising, she’s going to look rough for a while. Zach,” Ariel said quickly as the man in question walked past. “I need you to go out to the rig and retrieve the spare backboard. You know where it is, right?”
