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Put his scent and DNA and—
She cried out as I squeezed her shoulder too hard.
I ripped my hand away.
Fucking calm down, Ri.
Flexing my fingers, my nostrils flared as I did my best to tame myself.
To save her from the unleashed anarchy within me.
I didn’t trust myself around her.
Didn’t trust I could touch her kindly when every part of me was mean and nasty and noxious.
Never taking my eyes off her, I sucked in deep breaths.
I focused on her and only her.
She caused such chaos inside me.
Such awful things and precious things.
Shame filled me that I hadn’t protected her.
Despair that I’d been too late.
She didn’t look at me.
I really needed her to look at me.
I needed to know.
What did they do…?
Inhaling a shuddering gasp, she drew up her knees and hugged herself.
She looked so small, so fragile.
The killer inside me raged again.
My monster refused to back the fuck down.
I was feral and raw, and both man and beast wanted to gift her every gory trophy I could.
To present her with the cock that’d hurt her.
To give her the hands that’d dared touch her.
The tongue of those who dared taste her.
The motherfucking souls of any and all who dared possess her.
Including mine.
I shook as urges came too thick, too strong.
I looked over my shoulder at the third man. The man who Victor had ordered to fuck her in front of me when I’d done my best to convince him I wasn’t a cop.
He’s dead.
Shifting on my knee, I went to stand…
But two things happened.
One, the softest puff of air shot past my face and a tuft of earth leapt from the ground.
And two, Ily touched my hand.
I froze as our eyes met.
My ears rang as the guards on the wall yelled in their loudhailer, “That was a warning fire. The next bullet won’t miss!”
I glanced at the pockmark by my knee. I waited for a kick of concern that a sniper could so easily end me.
But I didn’t care.
All I cared about was my little nightmare.
She’s still alive.
With every blink of her golden stare, her emptiness filled with everything.
Anger, sorrow, hate, and pain.
I felt her emotions as if they were my own.
I felt her.
Tangibly, invisibly.
I shuddered with goddamn relief.
The unfightable connection was still there.
Still humming.
Still haunting my every thought and heartbeat.
Words felt foreign on my tongue. “Est-ce qu'ils t'ont violé?” (Did they rape you?)
Tears welled in her eyes but didn’t fall.
With courage that made me hers for fucking life, she shook her head. “He…Y-You stopped him before—” Her face tightened. “No, he didn’t.”
All my rage snuffed out.
I bowed with relief.
Not too late.
Not too late.
I wanted to snatch her into my arms.
I wanted to kiss her. Hug her. Never let her go.
But she shifted away from me and tore out my putrid heart.
The animal inside me howled.
It couldn’t tolerate her disgust of me when I’d done everything I could to deserve her.
I cupped her chin and tipped her eyes to mine.
She looked at me with sunshine all while I drowned in shadow.
I wanted to apologise.
I wanted to scold.
In the end, I just whispered, “Tu es en sécurité maintenant.” (You’re safe now.)
She winced and looked down.
Her lashes lowered, refusing to show me just how badly they’d damaged her.
I’d stopped him in time…yet he’d still hurt her.
Rage siphoned through me again. My vision hazed red on the edges. My humanness drowned beneath homicidal violence.
Others had put their hands on her.
Another had dared scar her soul.
The only one with that permission was me.
Me.
No one else.
Fuck!
My teeth clenched as I resisted the urge to know everything in explicit fucking detail. I needed to know what they’d done. Needed to make them pay. I’d rouse them from the dead and murder them all over again.
My fingers tightened, tightened around her jaw.
“Henri…” She flinched and grabbed my wrist. “Y-You’re hurting me.”
“Putain.” Dropping my hand, I let her bury herself into her knees. “Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry.)
I couldn’t seem to remember English. My first language thick on my tongue.
She shook her head, not saying another word.
In her silence, other things came to my red-coated vision.
The way she quaked with a thousand shivers.
The way she moaned as if she couldn’t breathe without mournful sound escaping.
But she didn’t cry.
Her eyes were dry even as raindrops poured over her strained, stunning face.
She rattled with aftershocks; goosebumps puckered her grass-stained skin.
Without a word, I undid my shirt buttons, yanked the hem out of my trousers, and tore the soaking thing off my body. As tenderly as I could, I draped it over her trembling form. Bundling her into the wet fabric, she gave the softest whimper as I pulled her arms through the sleeves and buttoned her from throat to core.
Only once her nakedness was covered in sodden black cotton did I stand and bend over her.
“We said don’t move!” ordered a guard on the wall.
