Page 63 of Roman

I noticed that she gripped the back of the chair, her fingers pressing into the vinyl so tightly they were white.

“Effie?” I prompted, concerned.

“Yes. I’m done here. I need to order a few things, but I can do that later.”

I followed her upstairs. My men had already swept the place, so I knew it was safe. Reaching around Effie, I used the key they’d returned to me and unlocked the door. She hesitated, then stepped inside. I followed closely. She stopped in the small living area, looking around, frowning.

“I had it cleaned up,” I said.

“Thank you,” she responded faintly, not moving.

“Your plants?” I asked.

She nodded, walking toward the window. The little pots were wilted, and she touched the leaves on one, stroking the green. “They need water,” she murmured.

Something was wrong. Her voice was off, and she was stiff. Tense.

She turned, looking around the room, her gaze lingering by the sofa. Her breathing picked up, and her face turned ashen. I hurried toward her. “Effie. What is it? Tell me,” I demanded.

She didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure she could. She was almost panting in distress, and suddenly, it hit me. She was having a panic attack. This was the first time she’d been here since she was ambushed and taken. She was reliving it. No doubt every single moment of what occurred that night was replaying in her head. I pulled her into my arms, holding her shaking body close.

“It’s all right, Effie,” I soothed. “Nothing can hurt you here. I’m with you. You’re safe.”

“She tripped me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “She tripped me so I couldn’t get away.”

I tightened my hold. “I know, baby.”

“She was willing for me to be sold to God knows who.” Effie swallowed repeatedly. “She didn’t care what they did to me.”

“She’s a selfish bitch.”

Her trembling increased, and her rapid breathing became labored. I lifted her into my arms, and she buried her face into my neck. The trembling had become violent, and with a low curse, I carried her down the steps and out to the car. My men sprang into action when they saw us, opening the back door and making sure I got in quickly, still holding Effie.

“Get us back to the hotel fast,” I ordered.

As we pulled away, I looked over my shoulder.

Effie was never going to be able to live there again. She would never get over what happened in that room. She would never feel safe again.

I pulled out my phone and sent a text.