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I hesitated outside her door until I heard the shower turn on, then grabbed the sheets from the closet and made the bed in the guest room. It was too late when we arrived last night, so I’d put her in my bedroom and crashed in the chair while listening to her breathe.
I used the guest bathroom to shower and re-dress my shoulder. When I came back to my room, I expected her to be done—she wasn’t.
I walked over to the bathroom and knocked. “Babe?”
No answer, but the shower was going and steam seeped out from under the door.
I tried the door handle—locked.
I knocked again. “Rayne?” It had been twenty-five minutes, no way she could still be showering. “Open the fuckin’ door.”
I tried to unlock it using my mind—and normally it would take me two seconds—but with my lack of sleep over the last three weeks and my wounded shoulder, my abilities had shut down.
I slammed my good shoulder into the door and it groaned under the pressure. I drew back and did it again, harder. The wood frame around the lock splintered as the door flung open.
A wave of heated fog blanketed me. “What the hell?” It was so dense, I couldn’t see my own hand in front of me. I grabbed a towel off the hook on the back of the door, strode to the shower, and opened the door.
What I saw—it gutted me. I didn’t get fuckin’ gutted, but this… her, curled into herself on the tiled floor against the wall like she’d been when I found her, knees bent, face hidden in them, it was chaos inside me.
I walked in to the shower, the water soaking my jeans and T-shirt, and turned the knobs to shut off the water. Then I turned, crouched in front of her, and draped the towel over her naked, trembling body.
How could anyone break a girl so badly that she ended up like this?
“Rayne, look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Babe.”
The tips of her fingers holding the towel whitened as she clutched it against her. I reached forward, cupped her chin, and with a little pressure, urged her to look at me.
Her long, black lashes flickered before she glanced up, and I almost fell back on my ass when I saw her expression. It was a haunting desperation within her glazed, tear-filled eyes.
“Ah, fuck,” I muttered.
Lost. She looked so fuckin’ lost.
I knew about mistrust, about being lost and alone. But rage had filled me. It drove me, consumed me. Consumed all the pain and hurt and betrayal.
The one man in this chick’s life, who was supposed to protect her, destroyed her.
My jaw clenched and every muscle tensed. If I had the chance, I’d spin back time, draw and quarter her husband, and then release my Ink on his ass.
I was so not good at this nice shit, but this chick needed a shitload of it. “You don’t know me, babe. Sure as hell don’t trust me, and I don’t expect you to. But I’ll give it to you straight, whether you like it or not. Always.”
She licked a drop of water off her lower lip, but didn’t say anything.
“I fucked up before, that’s on me, and you won’t easily trust me. I get that. But you need something. Anything—ask me. Okay?”
Again she remained silent, but when I raised my brows she said, “Okay.”
“I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I want to help.” I was the absolute wrong person to help her. Fuck, I didn’t know how to help her. I was crass, rude, didn’t give a crap about anyone.
But her I did.
She tucked the towel under her feet and I caught a glimpse of purple marks in the crook of her arm. My eyes narrowed as my stomach twisted.
Reaching forward, I took hold of her wrist and turned her arm. Bruised skin and ruptured veins. “He gave you drugs?”
