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Knowing how badly she’d been physically hurt was terrible, but the thing that had Zaxx shaking with rage was her whimpering lethargy. His little sister was a spitfire (the word virago came into his head and he shoved it aside); she was mouthy and pert, always with a snappy comeback or a snarky observation, and she had limitless energy, bouncing around like her blood was full of Pop Rocks. Her emotions were huge, and she wore every one of them on her sleeve. If she was angry, she was yelling. If she was happy, she was squealing and dancing around. On the rare occasions that sad beat out mad, she buried herself in snuggies, sank into a corner of the sofa, and binged old sitcoms and junk food. The slack, whimpering girl in his arms now was broken inside and out. A mere impression of his sister, like the last lingering scent of her in a room she’d left.
He was going to kill the bastard who did this to her, and he was going to take his fucking time about it.
The clinic door swung open before he could reach it—and Gia Lunden was the one who’d opened it. Shock hit him with such force, it momentarily shoved every other thought from his head. He drew up short and stared. Gia stared back. Neither spoke. All of Zaxx’s words had fled with his thoughts.
Then Zelda whimpered in his arms, and he came crashing back to reality. His love life, or lack thereof, was not the most important thing right now.
Gia moved, too, holding the door open for him.
He carried his sister through and asked, “Where’s Tasha?”
“She’s in the procedure room,” Gia said as she passed him and headed to a side door. “Here, follow me.”
Zaxx followed her down a sleek corridor, into a room at the end. Tasha stood there, her hair, a Dreamsicle blend of ginger and white he usually found fascinating—in a high ponytail and a lab coat over a Nine Inch Nails concert t-shirt, faded jeans, and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots partially covered with blue papery slippers.
This room was more involved than a regular exam room. A full-size gurney stood in the center, with a steel tray beside it covered with blue paper. A large, round light fixture above the gurney shone down on it, bright as a star. Storage cabinets and medical gear rimmed the room, taking up almost all the wall space.
“Lay her here,” was the first thing Tasha said.
Zaxx obeyed; Zelda whimpered and remained in her stiff curl on the gurney, still holding the afghan to her like it was the only thing between her and certain doom.
It took a full effort of his will to step back from her, to take his hands from her, to give her over to someone else, even a doctor, even one he’d come to for this help. But he managed it, taking a single step back.
“Thank you for this,” Zaxx said to Tasha. “She doesn’t want to go to the hospital.”
Tasha acknowledged him with a brisk nod, then used her body to push him fully out of her way.
Needing to help in any way he could, Zaxx started to explain. “I got home from work, and she was lying on the sofa, just like this. Somebody hurt her like this. Somebody ... I think somebody ... “ The word lodged in his throat like a spiny bur, but he forced it out of his mouth. “I think she was raped.”
On the gurney, his sister moaned.
Tasha nudged Zaxx even farther back. “I need to hear her story from her.” She smoothed a latex-gloved hand gently over Zelda’s messy hair and leaned in. “Zelda? It’s Tasha Westby. Dr. Westby. Do you remember me?”
Zelda had been to parties at the clubhouse, and Zaxx had brought her to a few cookouts or birthday parties or whatever at some of the patches’ homes, including once out to Len and Tasha’s place, but he couldn’t be sure he’d ever actually introduced these two directly.
Her only answer was a whimper—and maybe a slight nod. But then Tasha pulled lightly on the afghan, and Zelda clutched it and let out something like a quiet howl.
Tasha let go of the cover. “You don’t have to talk yet, honey. But I need to see how you’re hurt. I have to uncover you for that. Okay?” Over her shoulder, she said, “Turn the thermostat up to 75, please.”
“Of course,” Gia answered.
Surprised to remember that it was Gia who’d let them in and led them to this room, and shocked that she was still in the room with them, Zaxx spun in that direction to see her go to the thermostat by the door and tap a button a few times. The air conditioner went quiet within seconds, and the deeper hum of the furnace kicked on.
“Thanks.” Tasha turned back to Zelda. “Now you won’t be cold, hon. I’m gonna take the blanket now, just for a few minutes, until I can complete an exam. If you need it, I’ll give it back as soon as I can.”
Reluctantly, Zelda eased her grip enough that Tasha was able to pull the cover off. She held it out, and Gia took it.
Zaxx saw the vague motions of that exchange at the corner of his eye; his attention was on his sister. Her shirt was much more torn than he’d realized, almost rent in half, and as Tasha got her to straighten out a little, he caught glimpses odd marks, deep purple and red, on her neck, her chest, her arms, her belly, her legs.
Bite marks. They were bite marks.
He didn’t have a word for the emotion that exploded through him, too powerfully to be contained. His right fist flew out, and an IV pole went over, crashing to the floor.
Zelda let out a frightened squeak and curled up tightly again.
Tasha threw an angry look at him. “You need to get out, Zaxx. Go to the waiting room.”
There was absolutely no way in hell that was happening. “No. I’m not leaving her.”
