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“Were you bathing in bleach?” I ask as I look back at Sam, seeing the truth in her expression. Fuck, this isn’t good.
“I needed to get clean,” she whispers as a tear streaks down her cheek.
Shit. I hate it when a woman cries. Making my way towards Sam, I pull her into my arms. The strong smell of bleach assaults my nostrils and has me cringing, but Sam needs me. She’s just as fucked up as all of us right now.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper against her hair as her body starts shaking in silent sobs. It is heart wrenching to see the emotional damage that this poor girl has, all because of those sons of bitches that wanted to retaliate against us.
I stroke her hair, holding her close while she cries, not once saying anything. I’m not equipped for this kind of thing, I’m not a touchy-feely kind of guy. But for once, since all the killings started, I feel like I’m actually helping someone. Even though I haven’t stopped another woman from dying, I feel that I prevented Sam from hurting herself.
When she finally starts to calm, I take a step back, looking down at Sam’s downcast face. Her cheeks are blotchy from her weeping. My eyes continue down her body shocked at how red and coarse her skin looks. This can’t be only from today. “I think you need to talk to someone, sweetheart. This isn’t good for you.”
“I’m okay,” she says, still looking down at the floor.
“No, you’re not,” I state as I lift my hand, drawing my fingers through my hair, feeling a slight pain as my hair is pulled. “What you are doing is not healthy. How many times have you been doing this?” I have smelled bleach on her before, but I always thought she was cleaning. She shrugs at my question, confirming that she has done this for some time.
I thought for sure after the long session of crying she just had that all the tears would have been dried up, but there is another one sliding down her cheek. “Come on, get dressed. I’m going to take you up to the house.” Her teeth are biting her bottom lip in agitation, and I know that she’s worried that I’m going to tell the others what I found.
“King is looking for you. Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything.”
She looks relieved.
“For now,” I state, making sure she knows I will say something if it keeps happening. “But you need to tell King so that you can get the help you need.” She nods once, then steps around me to the bathroom to grab her clothes.
Walking towards a chest of drawers we have in the cabin; I look through the clothes in it. We always keep a change of clothes here just in case situations like this arise. Finding a pair of low-cut jeans, I pull them on just as I hear someone approaching.
Because of the strong bleach smell, it is impossible for me to tell who it is until Dash appears in the doorway. “Fuck, man, it stinks in here. What have you been doing?”
“Sam was cleaning the bathroom, and I came in to get some jeans after my run.” The men and I don’t usually lie to each other, but I promised Sam that I wouldn’t say anything. That I would give her the opportunity to tell King herself.
“Well, there is someone at the club looking for you.”
I frown at the reason for his appearance. “Who?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know, I just arrived from my run when King asked me to look for you,” Dash states, which has me scowling. Who the fuck is looking for me?
“Wait for Sam, make sure she sees King when you get back to the club.”
Dash’s expression changes to one of suspicion, but he nods as I walk past him in nothing more than the jeans I slipped on. My mood even darker than when I ran out on my run.
