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This one in particular is known for its shady operations, but Elena wouldn’t know that, because I dropped her in the middle of my world and gave absolutely no explanation.
Took her from one cage and imprisoned her in another, possibly for naught, depending on what I find inside.
If they’ve touched a hair on her head, I’m not sure what I’ll do. It’s been a long time since my blood cried out for a massacre, and yet as I climb out of my car and head for the glass front door, that’s the exact image surfacing in my mind.
It would be all my fault, too.
That knowledge is a poisoned knife to my gut, hell-bent on a quick and painful demise.
All that talk about her being of no use to me dead, and yet I went and put her right in Death’s path anyway.
Jonas meets me just inside the door, a plastic toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He unzips his leather jacket, falling into step with me as we survey the area, searching for signs of distress or struggle.
I don’t see any, at first; he veers off without a word to check the bathrooms, leaving me to wonder if the noises and voices I’d heard on the other end of the phone had been my imagination.
A flash of dark hair catches my eye toward the front of the lobby, and I do a double take, not recognizing the form at first glance.
Elena lies across a plastic bench, the hem of her dress pushed up her thighs, hair matted with sweat, and...
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, rage burrowing into my bones, merging itself with the marrow. I stand frozen in place, my eyes roving over her unconscious form, my pulse speeding up as my anger builds.
The K carved into the inside of her thigh is visible the way her dress sits, and partly reopened; blood streaks across her skin, long and drawn out like her attacker dragged his fingers over her.
Touched what fucking belongs to me.
I hear Jonas’s footsteps approach as he leaves the bathrooms and hear his sharp intake of breath as he soaks in the aftermath.
“Bloody hell,” he says, carding a hand through his curls. “Is that...”
Swallowing over the disgust solidifying in my throat, I nod. “Looks like it.”
“How is this even possible?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “You were barely off the phone with her for ten minutes, and she’s accosted for the second time this afternoon?”
Violence vibrates off my body in waves, the urge to maim the men who did this to her overwhelming in its intensity; seeing her lying there, defenseless and used, elicits an entirely visceral reaction in me, setting my soul aflame.
Jonas glances at me. “Do you think they...”
Gritting my teeth, I cut him off with a quick shake of my head, unwilling to entertain that thought, although it certainly doesn’t look promising. “Let’s get her somewhere safe, and then I’ll worry about doing a full workup.”
“Shouldn’t she go to a hospital—”
My head snaps in his direction, nostrils flaring with the half-voiced implication. “Do you think there’s something they’ll find that I can’t? Something I won’t be able to treat?”
“No, I just think she might need a breather. You know, in case she wakes up and all she can remember is her attack, and the fact that you left her alone in a strange, frankly seedy, bar.”
Moving around the bench, I note every single abrasion, cataloging them for the future. A purple welt brackets her eye, while her neck is rubbed raw, as if someone had their hands around it. Shucking off my jacket, I pull her dress over her thighs and drape it across her, tucking it around her form.
“You think this place has a security system? Camera, audio?”
Looking around, Jonas frowns. “I can’t imagine they’d waste their time with that in a mostly abandoned building. You know crime isn’t the same here as it is in the city. It’s not… organized.”
Sliding my arms beneath Elena’s frame, I brace myself with my knees and lift her off the bench, ensuring the jacket covers any indecencies. Cradling her against my chest, I ignore the stench of the bodily fluids in her hair, carrying her to the front door.
My chest throbs as I walk, guilt blooming like a field of poisonous flowers inside me; one single indulgence, and I’m a goner. A slave to the aggression and pain I otherwise keep at bay.
Anyone who touched her will die.
“Anderson,” Jonas says as I reach the door. I cast a glance over my shoulder, seeing him standing in front of the ticket window, holding up what appears to be a note card with the Ricci insignia on it. He cocks an eyebrow.
Breathing heavily, I focus on the black piece of paper, shifting Elena’s weight so she isn’t slumping. My mind races, trying to settle on a single course of action, while the blood in my veins comes alive with electricity, singing as it pulses through me in a frenzy.
The note card taunts me, evidence that Rafael and Carmen are still trying to push the narrative that I stole their daughter, rather than negotiating her hand fair and square. I’m sure this was another ploy to play up my evil existence, whoever assaulted Elena probably taking the evidence with them in order to make me look worse.
But how did they know she’d be here?
My brain itches to figure it out, trying to determine whether Vincent was involved or if it was a single string of luck, but then I remember the broken goddess lying in my arms.
Right now, getting Elena medical attention feels more important, so I leave the building and tuck her into the back of my car, laying her across the back seat. When Jonas follows a moment later, he slips me the drive, before heading off in another direction.
