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35
Willow
Camdyn’s furious muscles crackle like raw energy preparing to detonate. With fury darkened eyes, he unravels himself from my embrace and places his detached hands on my shoulders. Speechless, I’m swept back into the hallway.
“Stay. Please.” He punctuates the command by brandishing a switchblade. The zip tie hardly hits the ground before the door slams in my face. I’d been knocked out cold until I awoke minutes ago with JT flinging me against the wall near his bed. My entire life flashed before my eyes until Camdyn arrived, a welcomed ghost. The sound of his gun echoes in my ears. Now, I’m staring at chipped wood in a stranger’s house.
While TJ moans, I hear Camdyn on the phone, giving out an address, presumably this one.
Seconds later, TJ repeatedly groans, “What are you going to do to me?”
I place my ear to the chipped doorframe and hold my breath. Camdyn’s lowered, apathetic voice chills me to the bone. “I like cooking. Cooking, drawing too. Have you heard of julienne . . .? C’mon, talk, we aren’t at that point in my torturing you where you’re incapable of speech yet.”
I gasp, trembling hands flying to my mouth. Cam sounds deathly serious.
“I’m gonna julienne that tiny pecker and your balls. You will eat them. A little sustenance before we continue. Then your toes, calves, legs until you’re no longer fucking there!”
I scamper away from the door, hurrying down the hall. At the front door, I pant on fragments of oxygen. He’s crazy. He’s going to kill him. Minutes later, I come to, and the front door is caving in.
“Hi.” A huge bear of a guy with a beard offers a sadistic smile. “My bràthair’s here, aye?”
Heart faltering, I nod profusely.
He walks inside. He’s so huge his entire body seems to pitch with each movement.
I meander over to the concaved door, stumbling backward when another guy, who has Camdyn’s strawberry blond hair, holds his hands up.
His voice is soothing, deep. “I’m Leith, that wee bawbag was Brody. We don’t take kindly to rapists, ma’am.”
Air clogs my throat. “He didn’t . . .”
While I stumble on verbiage, Leith’s entire demeanor is confident and sincere. “Ye wanna sit down?”
I nod. His palms box me in, a fraction away from me, though not touching. I draw comfort from the warmth of his nearness. My heart stirs for the same tender affection from Camdyn.
“Ye mind telling me what happened then?” Leith asks. “Only if you are up to it.”
I choke on a sob, folding my arms around myself. The steel bars in the cheap futon dig into my rear.
Sniffling, I mumble, “I was visiting my mom. She’s in a coma at Orange Blossom Nursing Home.”
“Lassie, I’m so sorry.” His consideration reminds me of Jamie.
“JT was . . . watching a porno,” I murmur. Leith’s summertime gaze comforts me. Somehow, I spill my guts, including my suspicion of Dr. Eaton. I find myself telling him everything.
When I finish, Leith waits a few sympathetic beats. “So, there’s another lad? Do you know his name?”
“Yes. The security guard. Sterling.”
“That’s good. We’ll have a . . . word . . . with him too.” He cushions the lie by offering a fractional smile.
Brody stalks into the room with JT hog-tied over his shoulder, followed by Camdyn holding a sheet.
“Brody,” Leith says. “Our friend told me this arsehole has a mate. They might be doing inappropriate shite with some of the lassies at Orange Blossom Nursing Home.”
“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Brody grouses, his piercing eyes paralyzing my entire body until he stomps out the door.
“Leith, take this and burn it.” Camdyn gestures toward the dingy linen in his hand. His attractive eyes flicker in my direction, yet his gaze never truly collides with my tear flushed face. “Willow, let’s go.”
