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“If I had to guess, she’s already into it,” I pointed out. “This isn’t just some girl working for the senator. She’s working for someone else already, and the information she had on those papers was much too pointed to be something she just fell upon.”
“We’ll figure it out soon enough,” my father said as if that wasn’t the most important thing right now, and to him, it probably wasn’t. I’d just handed him what he’d been searching for since before we were even born.
He had loved my mother, protected her. They weren’t mates, but he’d cared for her like one. When she died, he was devastated. We all were. My mom was the type of lady that nurtured, cared, and ensured we always felt safe despite having none of that before my father.
But she could also be distant, lost in her head whenever she thought no one was looking. Life had broken her on so many levels we couldn't comprehend. That damage had never truly faded, and I couldn't let Bailey fall to the same fate.
For the second time, something shattered in the background, but it was on my end, not his.
“What was that?” he demanded. “Is she okay? Don’t hang up on me.” I turned the call on speaker and tucked my phone in my pocket in case I needed backup, then I sprinted across the apartment. Her door was locked, and I could hear muffled voices, which meant Bailey was no longer alone.
“Weston and Sterling?”
“With me,” he confirmed. That was all the confirmation I needed to raise my foot and kick right next to the door knob, busting the feeble door off of its hinges—the beauty of new cost-cutting construction.
Bailey sobbed with relief when she saw me. A man hovered over her, holding a knife to her throat, but he pushed off of her the moment I busted in. His face was covered, so his identity was safe, but not if I caught him first. He ran for the balcony door, not caring that the glass left torn fabric and blood behind.
Amateur.
Since Bailey was breathing, I went after him first. My fingers brushed his shirt as he made it through the door and over the edge of the railing. We were on the seventh floor, and my heart dropped for a moment. Was this a fucking suicide mission?
Instead of stepping through the bloody glass, I unlocked and threw the half-empty door frame open. When I got to the balcony and looked over, I could easily see why.
The fire escape.
Someone had been careless, not noticing it had been unlocked. That, or whoever had sent this guy knew someone that worked for the building. Either way, this unit wasn’t safe anymore.
“I was just on the balcony. I needed some fresh air,” Bailey tried to explain. She sat on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, looking at me with wide round eyes.
I didn’t say anything to her as I walked back into the room and pulled out my phone, explaining to my father what I saw.
“Get down here. Things are escalating,” I finished, then I turned to my mate, fuming when I cataloged the purple and blue bruises forming along her upper arms and face. “Do you need a doctor?”
She didn’t hear me at first, so I continued.
“We might need to bring her in for this one. She might have a concussion, and there are some gashes and bruises.”
“No, no doctors,” she said almost hysterically, shaking her head. That scared her more than the attack, which I didn’t completely understand.
“The Family doctor it is,” my father said before hanging up the call.
With backup on the way, I was finally able to approach my mate. “Bailey are you all right?” I sat down next to her, trying to be gentle. The cold numbness I always adopted in emergencies had fallen away at the sight of her. Now, I was in calming beta mode, ready to make it better any way I could.
She adjusted her shirt, which immediately hid the bruises, but tears still tracked down her cheek. Her lip was swollen and bleeding, and her neck had been nicked in his hasty escape.
I couldn’t bear to see her like this.
I walked away from her, needing to do something, anything. I found a towel in her bathroom and ran warm water over it before returning, and even though I tried to keep my touch as soft as possible, I counted every wince as I tried to dab away the blood.
One look at her told me shock was setting in. Bailey was shutting down on me. Her eyes were now vacant and her reactions numb. She didn’t reply to any questions while I found her shoes and slid them on, grabbing an extra change of clothes and packing her a few things, including any papers I could find and her laptop.
I’d never noticed how little she actually owned. Five minutes and two bags, and I had nearly everything she owned outside of furniture and linens. There was nothing sentimental in the apartment, nor were there many decorative touches that could tell you anything about this woman and what she liked. How did an omega live like this? Even the bedroom was bland and lifeless. There was no sign of a nest or coziness. It was almost… sterile.
By the time my brothers arrived, she was in complete shock. I was waiting with bags and Bailey in hand. She was shaking uncontrollably, and I had bundled her in my arms with a blanket around her.
They held the doors for me as I carried her downstairs, glad for the private parking garage. We loaded her into the car and drove off. With my brothers around us, some of my vigilance had settled, and with that, came the guilt. One thought kept running through my head on a loop.
She’d been hurt on my watch.
