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Rafael
I walkout of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. As soon as I’m outside, I drop to a crouch, dragging my hands through my hair. I thought when I got her back, this unbearable fucking pain would ease, but it’s worse than ever.
They didn’t just break her. They destroyed every last vestige of what she was. Rage and heartbreak blend together until I’m fighting back tears and wanting to tear everything apart. When I close my eyes, I can still picture that completely devoid look in her eyes. My Anna is gone. I didn’t get to her fast enough. I didn’t do enough, and I couldn’t save her.
“Rafe.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I try and pull myself together before I stand and face Samuel.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Honestly? I’ve never been this far from okay.”
He frowns. “She’ll pull through. She always does.”
I shake my head. “This is different. It’s like…like she barely recognizes me.”
“Give it time,” he says quietly. He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me towards the stairs. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.” I do. An entire bottle of the stuff.
* * *
I never could stay awayfrom Anna for long. Sitting in the corner of my room, I watch her sleep as I tip back brandy. She’s on her side, curled into a tight ball, her bandaged hand pulled against her chest. She always used to look so peaceful in sleep like the years of bad memories had been wiped. Now though…she looks tense and haunted, even at rest.
A small whimper slips from her, and then she flips on her back and lets out a single cry. “No.”
I’m up and crossing the room in a heartbeat, sitting on the mattress beside her. I stroke my fingers over her face and she settles, leaning into my touch slightly. After a few moments she wakes up, and for a second, just a second, I see my Anna. But then her expression shutters, as though something is pulling her away from me. Her eyes grow cold, and she shifts away.
“You were having a nightmare,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
Fuck, I can’t take this. How am I supposed to fix this? She’s worse than when I first got her from the Sinaloa. Or maybe she’s not, and it’s simply that I didn’t love her then. Her pain didn’t hurt me then. I need to know what’s made her this way.
I close my eyes, gritting my teeth. “Anna, I need you to tell me what happened to you…in that place.”
She looks at me blankly. “Why?”
“So I can help you.”
“You can’t help me.”
I fear more than anything that she’s right. “Please. Just…let me try. I need to know.”
Her gaze pulls from mine, and she focuses on the ceiling. “They tried to get me pregnant,” she says, completely emotionless. Bile rises in my throat, and my fists tighten. “And then Una cut off my finger.” There’s the slightest waver, the tiniest hitch in her voice.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my chin to my chest, feeling like I’m literally buckling under the weight of everything. “I promised to protect you, and I failed.”
“You can’t protect me. You can’t save me.” I fucking hate this. I hate the resignation in her voice. I hate that she’s given up. My little warrior has laid down her weapons and surrendered.
Pushing to my feet, I swipe the bottle of brandy from the side table where I left it. “I love you, avecita.” And then I leave the room because I need a minute.
