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Her face was black and blue.
She had bruises all up and down her arms.
And her wrists had what looked to be rope burns on them.
Anger boiled in my gut.
“I can’t wait to make babies with you,” I whispered huskily. “Can’t wait until you grow big and beautiful with my boy. Or maybe a girl. I’m thinking boy, first. A boy will protect our little girl.”
She sniffled. “Little brothers protect big sisters, too.”
I grinned and leaned down, pressing my lips to her fingers.
Her broken fingers.
Motherfucker, she was hurt.
“Ambulance is on the way,” I heard Easton say.
I didn’t bother to look behind me to see what he saw.
I must’ve made a noise or something. Hell, I may have even commented on the state of her fingers. Because it was as if he’d heard my horror.
“And I’m going to have to eventually take you home,” he murmured. “Your dad is going to have to get over not liking me. Because I’m going to be there, for better or for worse, until death do us part.”
She drew in a shaky breath.
“Are they all gone?”
I paused. “The men that took you? The men that were in here with you?”
I looked over my shoulder at Easton.
He nodded then mouthed the word, “Dead.”
“Easton says that they’re all deceased now,” I admitted.
She scrambled up then, looking frantic.
“I need to see them.”
Before anyone could stop her, she was going to the sheets that were spread throughout the room and on the porch.
She went to every single one and looked at them all before coming to a stop in the middle of the room, looking frantic.
“He’s not here,” she gasped.
I frowned.
“Who’s not here?” I asked.
Her eyes looked sad all of a sudden.
“It was…” She coughed, and blood stained her hand from where she’d covered her mouth. “It was Toot. The man that did this was Toot.”
I stiffened.
“What?” I rasped.
“The man that took me. It was Toot,” she repeated for the third time, looking as if she was resolving herself to me not believing her. “He came by the house and said that you needed help. I couldn’t even think straight, Trouper. I just got in the car.”
Fire raged in my belly.
“There’s no sign of Cannel,” she whispered, shaking. “I didn’t see her anywhere in there. She’s already gone.”
I walked toward her, unable to stop myself, and pulled her shaking form into my arms.
That heartbreaking news would hurt worse later.
But all I could care about right now was the fact that Beckham was in my arms, safe if not unharmed.
“Let’s get you to the hospital, baby,” I urged. “Coughing up blood isn’t a good thing.”
“I’m sorry, Troup. I’m so sorry.”
She repeated herself a hundred different times on the way, and only when they sedated her almost completely did she stop apologizing.
• • •
Four hours later
“We’re going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” the nurse politely requested.
I looked over at my woman lying deathly still in the hospital bed.
She’d been through hell.
“I can’t stay with her?” I asked.
“No,” the doctor answered. “Hospital regulations.”
I gestured to the government agent that would be right outside her door. “You’ll take care of her?”
The FBI guy nodded his head. “She won’t leave my sight.”
I swallowed hard.
Then I left the hospital pissed as hell that I couldn’t stay.
I walked out of the hospital and was heading for my bike when a car pulled up.
Kansas.
But the person getting out of the passenger side was the one to set me off.
“Is she okay?” Toot asked.
I saw red.
PART III
CHAPTER 15
Not to brag, but when I push it, I push it real good.
-Text from Beckham to Sammy
BECKHAM
Four months later
It was the divorce papers that set me off.
I stared at the papers in anger, then up at the prison that I would be making my way inside later.
I looked at my watch.
I had ten minutes.
That should be enough time to go talk to the warden first.
A warden who owed me.
The last four months had been a whirlwind.
My two-week notice at the FBI had officially been served.
I’d recovered from a brutal beating.
Trouper had not only been arrested for beating his friend nearly to death, but he’d also been charged. The Air Force had dishonorably discharged him, he’d stood trial in a civilian court of law, and had received fifteen years for his misdeeds.
Oh, the week that he’d been sent to the hellhole of a prison, I’d found out that I was pregnant.
The final cherry on my bad year cake had been receiving the divorce papers in the mail, already signed, just waiting for me to sign them and be ‘rid of him.’
That would not be happening.
Not today. Not next week. Hell, not even next fuckin’ year.
It just wouldn’t.
Because I hadn’t ever given up on Trouper, and I never would.
Even if he didn’t want me to visit him.
Honestly, I’d tried to visit multiple times, but I was always turned away.
