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“We will.” I kiss her head, soothing, “Just lay down, relax; they’ll be here soon.”
“No, Ry.” She looks up at me, her eyes pleading. “Not in here. With all this stuff. And him. Can you just take me outside? Please?” Her cheeks flush, and she adds in a whisper, “And something to cover up with? I don’t want—”
“Ah, love.” Reaching behind my head, I pull off my shirt and carefully put it on Charlie. Then I gather her in my arms, making sure to keep her wrist protected, and lift her against my chest.
“I’ve got you.” Holding my heart in my arms, I carry her out of the basement, away from the terror and trauma.
Leaning her head on my shoulder, Charlie whispers, “I knew you’d come, Ry. I knew it.”
“Always, love.” My eyes burn as I kiss her head, so damn thankful I didn’t get here too late. “I’ll always come for you. Always.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHARLIE
I can’t bring myself to let go of his hand.
In the ambulance, I flat out refused. In the emergency room, when the doctor wanted Rylan to leave the room, I almost had a panic attack. Nothing like the strong woman I used to be, I sobbed until Rylan growled at the doctor, “I’m not leaving her. Period.”
When I had to have X-rays on my wrist, Rylan put on one of those lead aprons and stayed with me, still holding my good hand tightly.
Rylan stood by my side the entire time the police officer questioned me, stroking my hand tenderly even as he flinched at some of my answers. Features pinching, jaw like steel, his eyes black with anger, Rylan stood beside me and listened quietly as I recalled my horrific experience.
Although I could hear the growls rumbling deep in his chest, see the muscle working in his jaw, the obvious rage coursing through his body, his only concern was for me.
All the way home from the hospital, Rylan kept me tucked close to his side. His arm curved around me, gentle so he wouldn’t press on my bruises, still holding my hand with the other. Every minute or so, his lips would brush the top of my head, lingering there.
Every touch—his lips, his arm, his hand, his reassuring warmth seeping into me—keeps me from completely losing it. When a memory slams into me, I squeeze his fingers or lean my head on his shoulder and it brings me back to myself.
Right now it’s all so much. The van. The basement. The sets—oh, those horrible sets. The taser. Peter screaming at me. The pain. And the absolute terror.
I’m safe. I keep reminding myself after each breath-stealing memory—it could have been so much worse. He didn’t touch me, not the way he intended. After all of it, I’m bruised, battered, one bone fractured, but I’m not broken.
Thanks to Rylan and his team, I will recover from this. It’s just going to take time.
“Charlie. Love. We’re home.”
Blinking to awareness, I realize we’re stopped in front of Rylan’s apartment door. I was dimly aware of parking in the garage at Blade and Arrow and walking back to the building, but it’s been through a haze of scattered thoughts, whatever they gave me at the hospital for pain, and sheer exhaustion.
Rylan’s watching me with deep concern; his brow pulled down, lines of strain bracketing his mouth. He still has my hand, and his other arm has been around my waist, supporting me. When we first got out of the car, he wanted to carry me, but with all my bruises, it would be too painful.
“Are you going to be okay if I let go of you for a second? Just to open the door?”
I give him a jerky nod, easier than forming actual words.
Once we get through the door, Rylan wraps his arm around me again. When he touches one of my bruises and a hiss of pain slips out, he grimaces, gritting out softly, “I’m so sorry, love.”
He looks devastated, like he’s the one that put the bruise there. “It’s okay,” I tell him, hating the pain in his eyes. “I’m okay.”
His jaw clenches, lips pressing into a tight line. Rylan doesn’t believe it any more than I do. But he swallows hard and forces a tiny smile. “What do you need? I know you’re exhausted. But you should probably eat something, then sleep? Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure it happens.”
What do I want? For this entire experience to be a bad dream.
But I’m an adult and this is my reality.
I’m dragging, aching all over, the painkillers they gave me starting to wear off. Hunger isn’t even a distant possibility right now, my stomach is a knot inside a ball of rubber bands, so twisted I’m not sure when it’ll come loose again.
“I need a shower.” Yes. Before anything else.
