I scrubbed a hand over my face, disgusted with myself. She was barely more than a kid, traumatized, and looking to me for safety—not whatever twisted desire was coursing through my veins. The way she'd relaxed under my touch, the small sounds she'd made when I stroked her hair...Christ. What kind of monster got turned on while comforting an assault victim?
The same kind who'd been watching her since the first time she walked into Salvation, a voice whispered in my head. The kind who couldn't take his eyes off her even when he knew he should.
I stood up, needing to put some distance between us before these thoughts went any further. Lottie slept peacefully, her blonde curls spread across my pillow, her lips slightly parted. Even with the bruise darkening her cheek, she was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
Moving quietly, I stepped into the hallway and pulled out my phone. It was just after five a.m., but Eric, our computer geek, was as nocturnal as they came.
He answered on the second ring. "What do you need?"
I wasn’t ever surprised at Eric. I kept my voice low, glancing back toward the bedroom where Lottie slept. "Info."
"Name it." No questions, no hesitation. That was Eric.
"Background check. Full sweep. Charlotte Mallory, goes by Lottie. Early twenties, works at Sunny's Mart on Nebraska. Lives in an apartment nearby."
"The Little from the club?" His voice sharpened with interest. "The one you spoke to tonight?"
I grimaced. Of course he'd know. "Yeah."
"What happened?"
I gave him the abbreviated version, my jaw tightening as I described finding her in the alley.
"On it," he said when I finished. “Is she staying with you?”
"For now." I leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "That's why I need the background check. Need to know what we're dealing with."
"We?" There was a hint of something in his voice—curiosity, maybe concern.
"Figure of speech," I muttered, though we both knew it wasn't. The team would go into immediate protection mode as soon as they heard of a Little in any sort of trouble.
"I'll have something for you in a few hours," Eric said, mercifully not pushing further.
"Thanks. Make it a priority." I ended the call and rubbed my eyes, the lack of sleep finally catching up to me.
In the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee, listening for any sounds from the bedroom. Nothing. Lottie was still sleeping soundly, which was good. Her body needed rest to heal.
I'd just poured my first cup when my phone vibrated. Eric already? That was fast, even for him. But the caller ID showed Dion's name instead.
"Everything okay at the club?" I answered, keeping my voice low.
"Yeah, all quiet after you left. " Dion paused. "I understand you’ve had some excitement, called in Doc."
I knew Doc wouldn’t have shared personal details, but our team didn't keep secrets from each other, especially when it came to potential threats or vulnerabilities.
"That Little from the club was attacked," I said simply. "Three drunk assholes cornered her on her way home."
Dion's sharp intake of breath was followed by a string of curses. "Is she okay?"
"Physically, mostly. Bruised cheek, bump on her head. Mentally..." I trailed off, thinking of how small she'd looked curled up in my bed. "She's shaken up. Scared." I also wanted to know where the rest of her bruises had come from.
"Where is she now?"
"Guest room. Sleeping."
The silence that followed was heavy with unasked questions. Finally, Dion said, "You bringing her in?"
It was our shorthand for offering protection, for bringing someone under the team's wing. I'd been asking myself the same question since I'd found her in that alley.
