by Tate James
"Do you need help?" he offered hesitantly when he was done and I struggled to get up. Groaning, I held my ribs. Doc hadn't been able to do anything for them except offer painkillers. Which, knowing how many drugs my body had processed lately, I was reluctant to take.
"No," I grunted. "I'm fine."
I wasn't fine.
Lucas knew it, too, because despite what I said, I leaned into him when he put an arm out for support. My feet were purple with bruising, and just walking across the carpet to the bathroom felt like I was walking on broken glass. But eventually I made it, and Lucas set me down on the closed toilet.
Cass had his hand under the water, testing the temperature, but when he saw me sitting there, he scowled once more. No doubt I looked like something the cat had dragged in. Then shit on.
"Back in a minute," he muttered, leaving the bathroom and leaving me alone with Lucas.
I blinked a couple of times after Cass, then looked at Lucas. "I've got it from here."
He bit the side of his lip, giving me a look that said he didn't believe I really did have it. I needed to regain some of my mental fortitude, though. I needed to stand on my own two feet, even if that was metaphorically and not physically.
"Please, Lucas," I whispered. "I need a minute. I'll stay sitting."
His frown dipped low, his eyes searching my face. Then he sighed and ruffled his fingers through his hair. "Okay. I'll wait outside. If you need me, just yell. Please don't try getting in the shower alone, though. If you fall, Cass will skin me alive"
I assured him I would behave, then just sat there for a moment in silence after he'd gone. Cass had said he'd be back in a minute, which implied he was fetching something. But when he didn't return, I figured I needed to get on with things.
My ribs ached as I carefully tried to pull my T-shirt off, but my shoulder wasn't messing around. The moment I tried to lift my arm to take the garment off normally, sharp, hot agony lanced through me. I cried out before I could stop myself, and the door immediately popped open.
Cass was right there in the doorway with a stool in his hands and a panicked look on his face.
"What happened?" he demanded, his eyes sweeping the bathroom like he was searching for an attacker.
I rolled my eyes. "Nothing fucking happened," I muttered. "I just got stuck."
His brow dipped low, and his piercing gaze ran over me. I had one arm out of the T-shirt but the other was still trapped in the sleeve. How the hell had Lucas just accessed my wound to apply that shower guard? Oh wait, he'd pulled the loose neckline down.
Cass moved past me, placed the stool inside the shower for me, then reached for the hem of my shirt. I flinched back and slapped his hands away harder than necessary.
He froze, scowling. "Red, you need help."
"Fuck off," I growled. "I can do it myself."
One of his brows twitched with something bordering on amusement, and it just pissed me off. Vaguely I acknowledged the fact that I wasn't afraid of him. His huge, strong frame didn't shoot fear through me. No part of me thought he would hurt me in any way, but... my body just didn't want to be touched.
"You're being an asshole, Red," he drawled, crouching down in front of me but not trying to force the situation. "You need help, and you damn well know it."
My temper flared, but better that than to be a cowering mess. "I'm being an asshole?" I hissed back at him. "You're being an asshole. I'm not a fucking invalid; I can get myself undressed just fine."
Cass glared hard, then shifted his gaze to Lucas, who hovered in the doorway. Seeking backup, no doubt.
Lucas just shrugged back at him. "If she doesn't want your help, that's her choice."
The wave of frustrated anger that rolled through Cass was obvious as he squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Lucas. "You can't be serious," he rumbled. "She's been in that sick fuck's hands, beaten, tortured, stabbed, drugged, starved, and fuck knows what else, for twelve goddamn days, Lucas." He shifted his furious glare back to me. "You are an invalid, Red. Suck it the fuck up and accept some help."
My mouth had dropped open in surprise, though, as I processed his words.
"Twelve days?" I croaked, feeling my stomach clench and twist with nausea.
Cass's eyes softened in a flash, all traces of frustration gone and replaced with sympathy. I hated it.
Lucas was the one who answered me, though, his voice soft as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Twelve days, four hours, and fifteen minutes. That's how long he had you."
I blinked up at him in shock. "It felt like longer," I finally whispered.
"It was twelve days, four hours, and fifteen fucking minutes too long," Cass growled. His hand was balled into a fist as his side, and I could see the violence etched across his whole body. Without a doubt, he would hunt Chase down and kill him with his bare hands if they found out even a fraction of the details.
Which was why I would tell them nothing. I had my own revenge plot already in the works, and I refused to be cheated out of that.
"We know you're not an invalid, Hayden," Lucas soothed, shooting Cass a warning glare. "But you are hurt. Let us help you. Please?"
I gritted my teeth and shook my head.
Cass blew out a frustrated breath, pushing back up to his feet. "You're so goddamn stubborn," he snapped.
"Screw you, Saint," I snarled back. "I just need space. Help me get this arm out of my T-shirt, then back the fuck off."
I could practically hear his teeth grinding together from where I sat on the toilet lid, but after a breath he sank back to his knees and gently reached for my T-shirt once more.
Holding my breath, I braced for the pain. But he stretched the T-shirt fabric out enough that my body barely needed to move to get free. The only touch between our skin was the accidental brush of his knuckles when he maneuvered the shirt over my head, but then it was gone.
"Thank you," I whispered as I instinctively held the fabric to my chest.
His dark eyes took in the defensive gesture, and his jaw tightened. "Any time, Angel," he murmured in a husky voice, his focus locked on my wrist. My right one was bandaged heavily from where I'd cut it, but my left showed all the clear signs of my restraints: scabs and bruises in a near perfect band, the same width as the straps that had held me immobile. Without looking, I knew my ankles would show the same marks.
When I said nothing more, he shook himself and surged back to his feet.
"Don't fucking leave this room," he ordered Lucas. "If she slips—"
"Yeah, I know," Lucas cut him off. "Spare me the threats. I've got this handled."
Cass shot me a warning look, then disappeared out of the bathroom once more. As much as I loved him, I also felt like I could breathe easier with fewer people in my personal space.
Lucas came closer and offered me his hand. "I'll just put you on the stool," he said softly, nodding to the chair Cass had placed inside the shower, "and you can tell me what you need help with. What you're comfortable with. Deal?"
I nodded, swallowing my own refusals because contrary to what Cass might think, I wasn't a total idiot. I could recognize when I needed some help. So I took Lucas's hand, letting him pull me to my feet once more.
Not meeting his eyes, I dropped the T-shirt, then wiggled out of the sweatpants. He'd already seen all my injuries, the physical ones, anyway. So there was nothing to hide from him as he guided me into the shower stall, yet I still kept my gaze locked on the tiles.
"Thanks," I breathed as my butt reached the stool. Cass had put it out of the direct spray, but it'd be easy enough to move the direction of the shower head.
"Stop thanking us," he murmured back. "There is literally nothing we need thanks for here." He straightened up and grabbed the soap, shampoo, and conditioner from the shower caddy, placed them on the floor beside my stool, then sat back on his heels in the open shower doorway. "Can I wash your hair?"
I liked the way he phrased that, like he wanted to do it, rather than was offeri
ng me help. A faint smile curved my lips because, holy hell, my hair needed washing so freaking bad. It was a tangled, greasy, mess. The swim I'd taken in the river during my escape was the only reason it wasn't crusted with blood and semen.
"Sure," I agreed, wrapping my arms over my chest. I didn't need to hide from Lucas, but it was a self-comfort move.
He flashed a reassuring smile back at me, then stepped fully into the cubicle with me. His T-shirt soaked through in an instant, but he made no move to take it off as he reached over to angle the shower spray toward me.
The first warm droplets to hit my skin were soothing, and I shifted on my stool to get my hair wet. The moment it touched my face, though, I was plunged right back into that dream Lucas had only just pulled me free of. The sensation of being drowned was so fucking fresh in my mind that all logical thought flew out the window when the shower cascaded over my face.
"Shh, babe," Lucas's soothing voice cut through the rushing in my ears. His hand stroked ever so gently down my arm, and it took me a second to realize my head was between my knees. "Hey, I'm here. Just take it slow, babe. Deep breaths, okay. In and out. Don't rush. We've got all the time in the world."
Panic attack. I'd just had a motherfucking panic attack over a shower.
Oh, hell no.
No freaking way was Chase taking showers away from me. No way, no how.
"I'm okay," I mumbled, lifting my head ever so slightly. The water was off, and Lucas was on his knees in front of me, totally saturated. "I'm okay."
"You're not," he argued, "and that's okay."
I wrinkled my nose. "Nothing about this is okay, Lucas." My voice was hollow and bitter. "But this is something I can and will push through. My desire to clean his touch from my skin is stronger than my fear of drowning. Just... stay with me."
A thousand emotions flashed across Lucas's face, but the one that remained at the end was the only one that counted. Admiration. With a small nod, he sighed. "Alright. Let's take this slow. Can you turn around?"
Gritting my teeth, I did as he suggested, spinning on the stool until my knees were against the cool tiles of the wall and my back was to Lucas. With a murmur of warning, he turned the water back on.
This time, it didn't touch my face. He kept the pressure gentle and used the handheld attachment instead of the full shower head. It meant that at any given time, only a small part of me was under the spray, and it helped.
Adding my anxiety to the mess of injuries, I ended up relying on Lucas a lot to get clean. He was gentle and respectful as he helped wash me, and bit by bit, the lingering, repulsive sensation of Chase was washed down the drain.
By the time Lucas started washing my hair, my breathing was almost back to normal and my spine no longer as stiff as a board. Lucas's long fingers caressed my scalp, sliding carefully between tangles to work the shampoo in, and I sagged back against him in relief.
"Will you be okay if we leave this conditioner in for a bit?" he murmured in my ear as his hands smoothed the cream through my tangled—but clean—tresses. "It'll be easier if we try and brush it through before rinsing this out."
Words were too freaking hard, so I just mumbled a noise of agreement. He twisted my conditioner-slick hair into a loose knot to marinate. Using a washcloth, he went back to my skin, soaping me up a second time.
I appreciated the hell out of him for it because it would still take a shitload more scrubbing before I truly felt clean. Tired or not, I took the cloth from him to clean my own vagina. That would need to be scrubbed with sandpaper and still might not ever be clean enough.
"Hayden," Lucas said softly as I bit my cheek against tears and handed the washcloth back. "Did he..." His question died out, and I knew he'd changed his mind—not because he didn't want to know but because he thought he was crossing a line by asking.
I loved Lucas. Really, honestly loved him like I hadn't known I was capable of, and I knew in my bones that our relationship needed—deserved—total honesty. But I didn't trust him not to do something stupid. Like tell Cass. So I lied.
"No," I murmured back, my eyes locked on the shower wall.
I felt the tension sag out of his body behind me, and his long exhale of relief. It made me feel worse, but I just tightened my jaw and pushed the ugly feeling aside. Some things were more important than honesty. Like my carefully planned revenge. I couldn't risk that all going to shit, not now, not after all I’ve suffered at Chase's hands. Now, more than ever, I needed my plan to succeed.
Chase would pay. Dearly. But it'd be on my terms and no one else's.
8
The expedition to the shower had exhausted me more than I liked, but I was powerless to fight the lull of sleep as Lucas laid me back down in bed and started changing my dressings.
He talked to me softly as he worked, about everything and nothing. The words themselves weren’t important, it was just the soothing sound of his voice that mattered, and he clearly knew that. At one point I think he told me about his economics exam that Cass had forced him to attend.
But that quiet chat stayed with me as I dozed and kept me free of the darkness lurking behind my eyelids. He’d grounded me and saved me from backsliding the moment I fell asleep.
The alluring scent of food was what woke me again, and I took a moment to wake up as the rumble of Cass's voice joined Lucas's.
"...she said he didn't do that," Lucas was saying, his tone determined and defensive. "I asked, and she said no."
Cass gave a humorless snort. "Gumdrop, you believed that? Chase psychotic-fuck Lockhart didn't abduct her and drug her mindless so they could play Monopoly and have pillow fights."
There was a pause while guilt and shame damn near choked me. "She told me he didn't," Lucas said again, quiet and firm. "Until she says otherwise, then that's the truth. Clear?" There was a thread of pure steel in his voice that would have filled me with pride under any other circumstance. Lucas was standing up to Cass, and Cass was actually listening.
"Sure," he grunted back. "Whatever you say, Gumdrop."
I thought maybe Cass would leave after that, but a moment later he gusted a sigh as it sounded a lot like he flopped down into the armchair beside the bed. Deciding it was time to quit eavesdropping, I yawned and let my lids open a crack.
Sure enough, Cass was right there beside the bed, his long legs kicked out and a weary look on his face. His eyes were soft as he gazed back at me, though.
"Angel," he rumbled. "You hungry?"
My stomach howled loudly, answering that question for me. Lucas moved into view, holding one of those little trays with legs.
"That smells so good," I murmured, wincing as I pushed myself to sit more upright. Both of them watched me like damn hawks as I huffed and shifted, but they let me work it out. When I was sitting, Lucas placed the tray on my lap, and I got a good look at the soup and freshly baked bread laid out for me.
My stomach rumbled again, and a wave of nausea made me sweat. But I knew it was hunger making me feel so sick. Hunger, drug withdrawal, exhaustion... Food would help.
I picked up the spoon, then paused before dipping it into the soup.
"Zed's still here," I said out loud. This food had his fingerprints all over it, and neither Lucas nor Cass could bake bread from scratch, as far as I was aware.
Cass dipped his head in confirmation. "He won't leave."
That didn't surprise me. Or it wouldn't have... before. But now? Why the fuck was he hanging around now? Was he just here to put me back into custody the second I had recovered?
Bitterness swirled through me, and my heart ached inside my chest. He'd fucking betrayed me.
"Eat the food," Cass rumbled. "I watched him make it. It's safe."
Lucas scoffed. "Watched? You ate about three bowls of soup and six slices of bread just to test it."
Cass gave an unapologetic shrug. "Dead-man De Rosa is a good cook."
I bit back all the poisonous, sour emotions welling up inside me and dipped my spoon into the soup. If C
ass had already eaten it, there was no reason why I shouldn't. My body needed the nutrients, and Zed was a great cook.
That first taste almost made me forget how much I now hated my second-in-command. Almost. Wordlessly, I made my way through the bowl—as much of it as I could handle, anyway. Which wasn't much.
I stopped the second my stomach tightened, though. The last thing I wanted to do was vomit it all up again because I'd pushed too hard too fast.
"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Lucas asked as he took the tray away. "Or watch a movie or something? Or—"
"No," I cut him off a little too sharply. "No, sorry. I want you to get me up to speed on everything I missed. What happened after I was arrested?"
I shifted against my pillows, trying to get comfortable. My ribs hurt like a bitch now that the harder painkillers had all worn off.
"You're in pain," Cass announced, and I rolled my eyes.
"No shit, Captain Obvious."
Cass glowered and reached out for one of the pill bottles beside my bed.
"She won't take those," Lucas murmured, seeing which pills Cass had picked up. "I tried last night."
Cass arched a brow at me, and I just met his stare impassively. Lucas was right, though. Unless I was damn near dying, I wasn't putting any hard drugs back into my system. Not until I was sure I'd dried out fully from the shit Chase had shot me up with, and that could take weeks for all I knew.
"Fine," Cass growled, slamming the pill bottle back down and snatching a different one. He shook four pills out into his huge palm and held them out to me with a glass of water. "It's Tylenol, Red. You need something to take the edge off."
I sighed because he was right. Sulking a little, I took the pills and swallowed them down with a gulp of water.
"Where do you want to start?" Cass asked, sitting back in his chair and looking satisfied that I'd taken the medicine.
I drew a deep breath, looking over to Lucas. "Timber," I told him. "When Jeanette was stuffing me in her car, I saw..." A wave of disgust and stale fear rolled through me. Maybe I wasn't ready to unpack everything that’d happened. Not yet.
