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I would like to say I relaxed, but I didn’t.
Just because she wasn’t dying didn’t mean she was okay.
If she was okay, she would have assured Josie that she was. She would have accepted her friend’s offer to bring her some food.
Something was wrong.
“Rynn,” I called, voice low, figuring maybe I could slowly ease her toward consciousness. “Rynn,” I tried again, getting closer to the bed. “Baby, wake up,” I demanded more firmly. “Rynn,” I tried, louder, this time reaching out to touch her shoulder.
That was the wrong move.
She snapped awake, moving almost in a blur she was so fast.
Clearly, she was on high alert, because no one moved like that unless shit had gone down.
One second, she was asleep.
The next, she was swinging a knife at me.
My own hand shot out, grabbing her wrist just before it could slice my arm, and holding it in a firm grip.
“Baby…” I started, then I actually got a look at her.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?” I asked, voice tight.
Josie was right.
Something was definitely not fucking okay.
Whatever “job” she’d been on had gone sideways.
Because someone had used her face as a punching bag. She was swollen and bruised, purple and blue mottling her jaw and cheek, and encircling her eye.
There was a small slit in her lip.
Below that, the bruises on her neck told a very clear fucking story. Someone had strangled her.
Mother fucker.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out with my free hand, whipping the blankets off of her.
I don’t know what the fuck happened, but there were bruises on her knees and lacerations all over her arms and legs.
“Cato?” she asked, voice so small that I barely even heard it.
As quiet as it was, though, I could tell from the wince on her face that it hurt.
I carefully pulled the knife from her hand, setting it on the nightstand.
“Josie sent me,” I told her. “We were both worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, voice like gravel.
“You’re not fine,” I said.
She was going to be difficult about this. It was her nature. And I had to roll with that.
“Hold on. I got you a drink,” I told her. “The cold might help that throat,” I added, turning and going into the hall to grab the soda, but not before I shot a text to a worried Josie.
