“What? No! They’ll hurt him!” Sylvie flies off the bed and over to the door. She shoves the dresser aside with hardly any effort and yanks on the door until realising she has to unlock it first. I grab her wrist and haul her backward, but she’s a woman possessed.Undeterred, she flings open the door and drags us both into the living room.
Her head moves fast. From left to right, she surveys the scene. The original male is on the floor in cuffs. One of Aiden’s men stands on his back; the sole of the boot will leave a print in the man’s flesh. Another, bigger man with a shaved head and tattoos is on his knees, growling curses under his breath as he glares at the floor. He’s clearly the muscle in this operation and makes the first guy look like a newbie. Something about the scene bothers me, but I can’t think what it is.
Sylvie sucks in a breath when she sees the blood covering the younger man’s hands. Her face pales, her hand trembles, but she screams with unfaltering intensity, “Stop!”
All eyes turn to her. The young man’s face pales further. The bigger guy’s eyes widen in surprise, where Aiden’s narrow with suspicion.
Despite demanding everyone’s attention, there’s a flicker of a moment where Sylvie looks like she doesn’t know what to do with it. Her determination dies, and she releases her next sentence in a shaking breath. “Please. Please don’t hurt them.”
“Why?”
“They…” she glances desperately between the two captives, with fear carving deeply into her features. “They’ll hurt Conner.”
The larger of the two men smirks and lowers his head to the floor again.
“We need to get Connor…they have him…and they’ll hurt him…if you…if we…” Her words unravel into a frantic babble as she turns to me as if seeking help.
“Connor’s here,” Aiden says gently.
“What?”
“He’s here. He’s in the back room,” he confirms.
“Is he…is he okay?”
“He’ll be okay. We’re looking after him now. How about you?Are you okay, Sylvie? Are you hurt?”
“What? No…I…I’m okay.” She doesn’t look too sure about that, and her bruises are so much more prominent in the daylight saturating the large living space.
“You look pretty banged up. Are you sure?” I ask more gently.
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” I’d believe her, but her eyes flick to the younger of the two men, the one still wearing only a towel, and then away again. Either she remembers or she suspects him of giving her those bruises. Asking her about it in front of them won’t help anything, though. Speaking your truth in front of the ones who hurt you is a trauma all of its own.
“You’re good, Sylvie. Connor’s safe. Let’s go get you something warmer to wear.”
“Don’t shower!” Aiden warns, and I shoot him a glare of fire. Way to tell the world you think she was raped. “Wait for debrief.”
He means wait for the psych to evaluate her. Wait for confirmation of rape so the rape team can get evidence. Wait for us to confirm she’s a victim. Why can’t they speak to her like she’s a survivor first?
Sylvie must understand what he means, too. As soon as we’re alone, she sinks onto the bed and closes her eyes.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re still standing,” I agree.
“I don’t need…I wasn’t assaulted in that way.”
“Would you admit it if you were?”
She eyes me angrily. “Would you?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “You’re in a hotel room with strangers—guys whotookyou—and you’ve not even had a moment to think, let alone come to terms with whatever happened here. I’d not be able to get my thoughts straight, no matter talk to anyone about what I went through.”
A long moment stretches between us. Sylvie seems to disconnect. She stares at the floor while I stare at her. I hear morepeople coming and going outside. Orders given, furniture moved, shouting, cursing; and yet in here there’s nothing but an expectant silence.
Sylvie breaks it first. “I’ll have to talk to them.” It’s a statement of fact. Not a question. She knows what will come.
“If you want to punish those who did it, yes. If you want to prevent something like this happening again, yes. If you want to move on without this dogging your thoughts…”
