by Tiffany Snow
“I imagine they’ll have your boyfriend awake in no time,” the man sneered. “Let’s give him a little motivation, shall we?”
That was all the warning I had before his boot slammed into my side. I choked on a scream, pain lancing through me as I curled into a ball.
“I barely heard that, love,” he said. “Try a bit louder.”
Another kick, this time in my back and I couldn’t stop the scream that clawed its way up my throat.
“There. That’s better.”
He kicked me again. And again. I screamed, the pain excruciating. As small as I tried to get, he still found a way to hurt me.
I was suddenly hauled up by a hard grip on the back of my neck. I scrambled to my knees. My body hurt everywhere and tears leaked from my eyes.
The door opened, giving me a moment’s respite from whatever my torturer had planned. That was when I heard the yell. A man’s yell of pain.
Devon.
“Is he talking yet?” my captor asked.
“No, but he reacts when she screams, so keep it up.”
They were using me against Devon. Using my pain to force him to cooperate. I heard another guttural yell from behind the closed study door.
I could be quiet. God knows, I’d had enough practice. Jace had taught me well.
The next blow elicited nothing but a grunt from me, as did the next and the one after that.
I was lying on my side again, my breath heaving and my entire body broken out into a cold sweat. Pain radiated from everywhere now and I tasted blood inside my mouth.
“She’s clamming up,” the second guy said. “Try something else.”
“Take her shirt off.”
I had no energy to move away from the hands grasping at me. “No, stop,” I mumbled through stiff and swollen lips. But my turtleneck was pulled over my head and tossed aside.
He grabbed my arm and hauled me to my knees, my back to the other guy. His hand held the back of my neck in a tight grip, the fingers bruising my flesh. I heard the rasp of a lighter, then nothing. I trembled all over as I waited. The familiar sense of impending pain made my mind go blank in search of a way to disconnect, the same way I had so long ago.
“Hold her,” the guy said.
I braced myself, but nothing could have prepared me for the feel of the white-hot steel of the knife, heated by the flame, as it pressed against my back. A scream of pure agony tore from my throat.
Relief came when he finally lifted the blade. I choked on a sob, tears streaming from my eyes. My throat was raw from screaming.
“Please, I’ll do whatever you want,” I begged. “Please.” But I had no idea what they wanted from me. They hadn’t asked me a single question. All they wanted from me was my pain.
“Enough, gentlemen,” a new voice said.
I heard another yell from Devon and it made me want to die. He was being hurt, I’m sure worse than me, tortured just steps away. And I could do nothing. My very presence had put him in this situation. It was a very real possibility that neither of us would survive the night.
The hand holding me up disappeared and I folded limply to the floor. Staring up, I saw a man I hadn’t seen before. He was dressed expensively and was smoking a cigarette.
“Please,” I managed to croak. “Please don’t hurt him anymore.” Just talking made pain ricochet through me and I swallowed on a dry throat.
“Devon Clay, you mean,” he replied before taking a long drag.
I gave a fractional nod and forced my lips to move again. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, don’t kill him.”
Another muffled yell from across the hall that I felt down to my bones.
“Will you?” the man asked, eyeing me. “Will you really?”
Pain wrenched a moan from my lips and I tried halfheartedly to get away from the hands lifting me. A stab in my side forced a hoarse scream from me.
“Shhh, it’s all right. I’ve got you.”
It took an act of will to pry open my eyelids, and when I did, I saw Devon above me. He was carrying me.
“Devon,” I croaked, hardly daring to believe my eyes. His face was bruised and bloodied. I lifted a shaking hand to touch him, wanting to make sure he was real.
“Don’t try to talk,” he said, laying me down on something soft. I didn’t care enough to try to figure out where I was.
That’s when I heard the sirens. They were loud and coming closer. I focused on Devon, though, his eyes so blue even in his battered face. He was looking me over and his jaw was clenched tight, a nerve pulsing in his cheek.
“Ah, my sweet Ivy,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing my hair. “What have they done to you?”
I sighed at his touch, my tired eyes drifting shut. I wanted to stay conscious, to be with him, but the pain in my body was dragging me back under.
“You’re okay,” I mumbled, my thoughts a twisted jumble of relief, fear, and pulses of agony.
The sirens were really loud now and so close. I heard a door crash open just as Devon pressed his lips to my forehead, then I knew nothing.
Fog seemed to cloud my mind as I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn’t open. As hard as I tried, everything stayed cloaked in unrelenting darkness. My body felt simultaneously heavy and empty, and I recognized the effects of powerful pain medication.
I relaxed, the absence of pain made me realize I was probably in the hospital. Listening closely, the noises around me confirmed it—the soft whirring of machines, the muted voices from outside the room, the soft yet scratchy linens covering my legs, and the pillow underneath my head.
Someone was with me, holding my hand, but I couldn’t squeeze or do anything to let them know I was aware of their presence.
I heard the sound of a door opening, the whoosh of air, the scuff of a shoe. The hand holding mine tightened its grip.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
It was Logan who was next to me and it was he who spoke. His hand dropped from mine and I heard a chair scrape the floor as he stood. He sounded very upset, very angry. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I want to check on Ivy. You don’t have an exclusive right to care about her.”
My heart leapt in my chest to hear Devon’s voice. I hadn’t been hallucinating. He really was okay.
“This is how you care about her?” Logan spat. “Look at her! She’s in the fucking hospital, you piece of shit!”
I didn’t like to hear him getting so angry with Devon. It hadn’t been his fault. He had a dangerous job. I’d been the one to follow him, to tell him I wanted to help.
“Stop yelling,” Devon ordered. “You’re upsetting her.”
“She’s asleep,” Logan said defensively.
“Look at her heart rate.”
They were both silent for a moment. The modulated beeping I’d heard earlier had indeed sped up.
I felt a hand lightly brush my cheek and forehead before sliding into my hair. Devon. The beeping slowed again.
“Don’t you think I know what I’ve done?” Devon asked quietly. “I never meant this to happen. Never wanted her to get hurt.”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it,” Logan retorted. “You’ve done nothing but fuck her over since you met her.” The acid in his tone hadn’t changed; he just kept his voice down.
“I’m not going to abandon her, just because her guard dog says so,” Devon snapped.
“Oh yes, you are,” Logan hissed. “If you care anything about her at all, you’ll walk out that door and never see her again.”
There was silence and I wanted so badly to tell Logan no, to stop, but the drugs were dragging me down again even as I tried to stay conscious. I had to hear what Devon said. He cared about me, I knew that, but was it only skin-deep? A sense of responsibility easily sloughed from his shoulders as he mov
ed on? Or did it go deeper?
But I didn’t get to hear what he said as the arms of the drugs pulled me back into darkness and silence.
When I woke again, the drugs weren’t nearly as heavy-duty and I could move. I opened my eyes to see I was in a small hospital room. It was dark outside, and, as before, I wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t Logan or Devon in the room with me.
“Who are you?” I asked the woman who stood in the shadows near my bed. My voice was scratchy and hoarse from disuse.
“Good. You’re awake,” she replied. It was obvious she wasn’t a doctor or nurse, or if she was, I would hate to be her patient.
Tall and forbidding, her face was all sharp planes and angles. Her lips were flat and her eyes lacked any warmth or humor. It was hard to determine her age, but I guessed late fifties or early sixties. An expression of mild irritation seemed permanently etched on her face.
“You’re Ivy Mason,” she continued, taking a step closer to the bed.
“Who are you?” I repeated.
“You could say I’m Clay’s boss.”
Clay. She called Devon by his last name. Devon was a spy and this was his boss? I suddenly wondered if I was safe in her presence. Would she want to eliminate me for what I knew about Devon? My hand groped for the call button.
“I’m not here to harm you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said dryly. “Besides, my guard at the door wouldn’t let anyone through anyway.”
Okay then.
“What do you want?” Somehow I knew this wasn’t a friendly getting-to-know-you chat and I was instinctively wary and distrustful of her.
“I want you to tell me exactly what happened the other night. Specifically, what you told them.”
“I didn’t tell them anything,” I said. “They didn’t ask me anything.”
“Given your injuries, I find that hard to believe.”
I’d been awake for all of thirty seconds and this lady was already starting to piss me off.
“Believe what you want,” I retorted. “They wanted me to scream. That’s all.”
This made her pause and her dark eyes narrowed as she studied me.
“Is that so?” she murmured, almost to herself.
I squirmed under her penetrating gaze. God, what I wouldn’t give for a drink of water.
“You should leave,” I said, resting back against the pillow and closing my eyes. “I know nothing else to tell you.”
“My dear, you’ve told me more than you even realize.” Her dry condescension made my eyes open again, but she was already walking out the door. It swung shut behind her and I let out a deep breath.
I lay awake until morning, wondering about the woman and what had become of Devon.
“You’re conscious! Finally!” Logan said as he walked into the room around seven in the morning.
I smiled, glad to see him. I vaguely recalled he and Devon arguing that one night, but it was like a half-remembered dream.
The aroma of the coffee he carried made me long for a cup, the smell only intensifying as he sat in the chair by my bed.
“When can I go home?” I asked him.
“Since you’re awake, I’m guessing today or tomorrow,” Logan replied. His tone was light but his eyes were serious.
“What day is it?”
“Wednesday,” he said. “Been here since Sunday night. The night you got mugged.” He looked away from me, taking a sip of his coffee.
So that’s what Devon had told everyone. I hadn’t thought that far.
One look at Logan’s face and I knew what he was thinking, the worry and panic I’d no doubt put him through.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” I said.
His gaze flicked back to mine. “Don’t apologize, Ives. This wasn’t your fault.” And he didn’t have to say any more for me to know whose fault he thought it was. Speaking of which—
“Where’s Devon?” I asked, because I couldn’t go any longer without knowing.
“He left,” Logan said. “Early Monday morning, I think.”
I stared at Logan. “When is he coming back?”
“Ives . . . he’s not.”
Shock rippled through me, followed by the tearing agony of despair. My throat thickened and my eyes burned. It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have left me for good. Not really. Devon cared about me. We had something—something more than just sex.
I turned my head away from Logan, swallowing down the tears that threatened. Maybe I’d been wrong. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t told me flat out that our relationship, such as it was, would be anything long-term. Though after what had happened the other night, what we’d gone through together, I’d thought—
I cut that thought off. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, and I shoved it to the back of my mind. I was being ridiculous. I’d only known Devon a couple of weeks. The heartache I felt was too acute for such a short period.
Then why did my chest feel like someone had a vise around my heart, slowly squeezing until it hurt to breathe?
Logan left for work shortly after that, brushing his lips to my cheek and promising to call me later. A nurse came in to check my vitals and, at my request, she helped me into the shower. Everything ached and the hot water helped to ease my cramped and abused muscles. Two cracked ribs made every movement slow and painful. A good look in the mirror made me wish I hadn’t.
Bruises decorated my torso and back, deep purple and black against my skin. My face still had a faint bruise from where the guy had hit me the first time. If I turned just right, I could see the scar from the knife on my lower back. Livid and about four inches long, seeing it made me shudder at the memory of what it had felt like. Yet, I was grateful that all they’d done was hit me. I’d rather that than rape, though neither was preferable.
True to his word, Logan called me late in the afternoon. He asked if he could bring me dinner, but I refused. I wasn’t hungry and told him to go home.
“You’ve been here every day,” I said. “They’re letting me out tomorrow anyway. I’m fine. Take it easy tonight.”
He protested but I insisted, and in the end he didn’t come. I was glad of it. I didn’t want to have to try to put on a happy face. I lay in bed and stared out the window, picking at the watery Jell-O on the hospital dinner tray.
They put me on a lighter pain medicine to help me sleep and I welcomed the oblivion. It meant I didn’t have to think about Devon. I hadn’t cried again. I just buried my heartache deep inside, in the same place I put everything that made me hurt.
But I couldn’t stop my subconscious from dreaming about him.
I felt his touch, the warm brush of his fingers on my arm, my shoulder, my cheek. His smell surrounded me and I heard the low murmur of his voice. Unable to make out what he said, I just listened to the timbre and cadence of his words. His hand clasped mine, our fingers slotting together, and the emotions I’d tried to ignore surged to the surface. Then he was pulling away. I reached for him, but he was gone, leaving me cold and alone.
I gasped, coming awake with a start. Tears pricked my eyes and streamed down the side of my face into my hair. I stared up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply as I struggled to control my emotions.
Then I caught a scent in the air.
Without even thinking, I jumped out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest. A moment later I was at the door and flinging it open. I looked expectantly down the hallway, first to my right, then my left.
He was gone.
Logan wanted me to take Friday off work, but I refused. I felt like I needed to get back to my life, back to being normal, because “normal” was the last adjective I’d use to describe how I felt.
I’d never been so at sea before or felt so lost, and I never would have thought that losing someone would make me feel that way.
Being in a relationship—
caring for someone, being sexually involved with them—had always been a vague, distant sort of thing to me. Yes, it would happen to me . . . at some point. The fact that it had happened, and so suddenly, made its loss that much more acute and I didn’t know how to handle it.
“You okay?” Marcia asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee. We were in the break room grabbing a refill, and she was watching me stir my coffee while I absently stared off into space.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, giving her a wan smile.
“Uh-oh,” she said, eyeing me. “I know that look. I’ve had that look. It’s a guy, isn’t it. Tell me.” She leaned back against the counter expectantly, taking a cautious sip of the hot coffee.
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
“Try me,” she insisted.
I heaved a sigh. Maybe it would be good to talk to someone. Lord knew I couldn’t talk to Logan about it. We’d been carefully polite since I’d gotten back home, neither of us bringing up Devon or what had happened.
“Remember that guy?” I asked. “From the robbery?”
“The one who was all about protecting you that day? The guy you can’t stand?”
I nodded. “Well, he and I kind of got . . . involved.”
“O. M. G.,” she said, her eyes wide. “I’m so jealous right now. Not only gorgeous, but a badass, too.” She grinned and winked at me. “You go, girl.”
“Yeah, well, I thought we kind of had something, you know?” I continued. Talking about it did help, and now that I had started, I wanted to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. “But then he just . . . ended it. And now, I just feel so alone and I-I really miss him.” I cleared my throat past the lump that had formed and blinked back the tears that threatened.
“Did he say why he ended it?” Marcia asked.
“No. Not really.” I didn’t want to voice the fear inside my head—that he’d tired of me.
“Have you tried calling him? Texting him?”
