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There, in that big bed, Blossom lay curled on her side. She was in a long T-shirt that looked like it had blood soaking through in places. Her face was so badly beaten she was almost unrecognizable. There were cuts and scrapes all over her body. Bruises, red and fresh, seemed to touch every inch of her skin I could see. Even the bottoms of her feet were bruised. It looked for all the world like someone had tortured the girl.

“What the fuck is this?” Clutch demanded. Though his voice was quiet, there was fury on his face. “Who did this to her?”

Mrs. Watson shook her head slightly as if she couldn’t believe she was about to tell us. “Mr. Winston’s bodyguard. On Mr. Winston’s orders. Something happened at the gala tonight. Whatever it was… He’s never had her beaten this badly before.”

“What do you mean, this badly?” I sounded harsh. Felt harsh. I tried to keep my voice down but knew I hadn’t managed it when Blossom whimpered again and tried to curl her knees up tighter to her chest in a protective move. “It’s happened before?”

“No more,” she said weakly, her voice shaking. She was reacting to the tone of my voice. The fury in it I had no hope of concealing. She thought someone was going to hit her again, and I was making things worse. “Please.” It was a pitiful plea. The pup on the bed next to her crouched down beside her, facing us as if protecting Blossom. The little thing whined, then growled before whining again. Clearly, the puppy was just as scared as Blossom, but it wasn’t leaving her side.

“It’s OK, Blossom. It’s the men from your motorcycle club.”

“Pup.”

“Don’t worry about the dog,” Eagle said gently as he sat on the bed beside her. The puppy growled again before another round of whining. Still, it didn’t leave. Eagle rubbed its ears, trying to put the dog at ease before he tended to Blossom. “I’m here to help you.”

“We all are.” Atlas’s deep voice penetrated the dark like velvet. He was obviously trying his best to reassure Blossom. “We’ll get you to safety, but first Eagle needs to check you over. If there is anything urgent, he needs to know now.”

My mind was reeling. How the hell had this happened to her? Why? How could Atlas think there was anything about this that wasn’t urgent? And why the fuck was Eagle the one sitting on the bed beside her instead of me? It was me she wanted, not Eagle.

Except she likely didn’t want to see me now. Hell, with the way her eyes were swollen, I doubted she could see me at all. Who was I kidding? There was no way she’d want me anywhere near her, and I couldn’t blame her. I was a bastard. But seeing her lying there beaten and broken did something to my insides. I didn’t welcome it, but there was nothing I could do about it.

She didn’t say anything, but I wasn’t sure she could. Her face was so swollen, and I wasn’t sure her jaw wasn’t dislocated from the angle of it.

Eagle did a quick once-over, putting bandages over the worst of the cuts on her legs and arms. “What’d he use on her? A knife?”

Mrs. Watson shook her head. “I’m not sure. I came up here to check on her after Bruce left. Mr. Winston and he left the country with a political sponsor, so he won’t be back for several days. My guess is at least a couple of weeks. He always does after he loses his temper and has her beaten.”

“How often does this happen?” Atlas asked the question while Eagle continued to work on Blossom. “And why didn’t you call an ambulance for her?”

“Mr. Winston would kill us all if we made this public.” Mrs Watson paled even as she continued to dab her eyes of the tears continually leaking from her eyes. “A couple times a month or so. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. But never this violent. And never to her face.”

“Is there a pattern to the violence?”

“Usually, if he thinks she’s done something in public he wouldn’t approve of. It can be as little as using the wrong fork at a formal dinner. Anything he thinks reflects badly on him. It must have been something really devastating for him to do this much damage, but I can’t imagine what. Blossom knows his temper and does her best to placate him. Even when it makes her uncomfortable. She’s really a good girl.”

“I know she is.” Atlas put a hand gently on the older woman’s shoulder. “My wife is very fond of her. She made her gingerbread cookies and brought them to her today because she knew Rose has horrible morning sickness and the ginger helps. All our women love her.” Atlas gave me a pointed look. Like he knew what I’d done and we’d be having words about it later. Just now, I couldn’t blame him. I was still in shock at the violence of what I was seeing, and I had no idea why.

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