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He couldn’t blame her. He’d barely spent ten minutes with her since they left his cabin, and they’d been fighting or fucking for all of them. She had a right to be upset. Even if he’d explained to her about Ronnie, she still deserved better. He let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t change what had happened over the past few days, so he’d make it up to her. After tomorrow, she’d have a couple days off. Maybe she’d agree to go back to his cabin where they wouldn’t have to pretend to be other people. For the first time in almost a decade, he’d rather spend a few quiet days at his cabin than in the bustle of Carlisle’s business, and he had Gretchen to thank.
He still didn’t see her as he scanned the club. Luckily, he didn’t see Ronnie either. With any luck, she had decided to head back to Miami. He shook his head. When it came to Ronnie, he had no such luck. The other woman had been fixated on Lilah the night before, wanting to know all about his relationship with her. She’d even asked him if he loved her. Of course, he’d said no, he wasn’t an idiot, but he hadn’t considered himself a liar either.
He needed a drink to erase the headache he had from trying to navigate whatever the hell he was doing with Gretchen. Amber looked up as he approached the bar, but she didn’t start preparing his drink like she usually did. Instead she watched him for a moment, before catching his glare and spinning around to reach for a glass with shaking hands.
“I’ll actually take a whiskey straight.” He leaned an elbow on the bar and scanned the crowd again. Still no Gretchen.
“Thanks.” He smiled when Amber slid his drink across the bar instead of handing it to him. “Everything okay?”
Amber nodded but didn’t meet his eyes.
“You sure? If something’s wrong, I’ll help you.” He reached out a large hand, and she jerked away.
He fisted his hand and pulled back. Amber was obviously terrified of someone or something. A woman’s fear was something he didn’t abide.
“Is there someone you’d rather talk to?” he tried. “I could get Lilah. Raymond won’t mind if you two go in the back and talk.”
Amber cocked her head and studied him through narrowed eyes. “You don’t know,” she mumbled.
“No, I don’t. What’s wrong?”
Her eyes darted to a place over his shoulder. Finn turned and tensed. Behind him, Grant looked defeated. His shoulders didn’t stand as rigid as they usually did, and his eyes were dark, haunted.
“What’s the problem?” Finn straightened, ready to take care of whatever issue had arisen.
“I’m sorry, boss,” Grant started. “Everything was fine when I left last night. I don’t know what happened.”
“Gre—” he stopped himself, suddenly feeling sick. If anything had happened to her, he wouldn’t survive it. “Where is she? What happened?”
“She’s backstage.” Grant swallowed. “I don’t know what happened. She talked to Carlisle. I haven’t spoken with her. She told Carlisle her boyfriend did it.”
Boyfriend? Gretchen didn’t have a boyfriend.
Amber’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought she meant you.”
Finn nodded, trying to contain the rage within him. He threw back his drink and ground his teeth as the burn worked its way down his chest. Then pushing past Grant, he headed backstage.
“Jay,” Grant called, taking his arm firmly. “She’s bruised up, whoever did it, he uh—”
“I’ll see for myself.” Finn spun and stomped backstage.
Gretchen didn’t turn when he came through the heavy curtains, she didn’t have to. Her face reflected back at him from the makeup mirror where she sat, trying to conceal the bruises that marred her normally flawless skin. Tears sprang to his eyes, something that hadn’t happened since his childhood. Gretchen dropped her head and put down the makeup brush. Then she sat, staring into her lap.
No. He had denied her for years, tried to keep her away from the trouble wrapped up in this world. And now . . .
He rushed to her and crouched beside her, reaching out to pull her to him. She jerked away and pushed up from the bench. On the other side of the room, she stopped.
Finn dropped his hands and watched her. “Baby, what happened?” His voice had grown thick with tears and fear, two things he no longer remembered how to live with.
She dropped her head, rubbing absently at her wrists. Vivid blue and purple bruises ringed the joints around the raw skin. Bile mixed with tears in his throat.
“Two guys.” Her voice came out stronger than he’d expected. “They got into my apartment last night. They tied my hands.” She bit her lip and looked away. The movement exposed a healing cut stretched across the skin of her throat.
No longer able to stay away, he stood and went to her.
When he reached for her, she pushed him away. “You did this,” she yelled at him. “You and that bitch you’re with. She wants me to know I’m nothing but a whore to you and everyone else.”
“What?” He stepped back as if he’d been slapped. “What are you talking about?”
