by S. J. Drum
I opened the door and…there was someone…
Shit, she couldn’t remember.
I know I saw someone. Then something hit me…
Lucy placed a shaking hand on the large lump behind her right ear. She winced as the featherlight touch sent a jolt of pain through her skull. Her fingertips came away wet and she groaned again at the sight of the deep-ruby liquid slicked across her skin. With Lucy’s history of injuries, she no longer had an aversion to the sight of her own blood.
The apartment was silent and somehow Lucy knew she was alone. Not that she thought she possessed some kind of sixth sense or anything, but she knew well the difference between lying on a bed in an empty room and lying on a bed in a room filled by an evil presence. Just to be sure, she lay still for a few more minutes, listening intently for any indication someone lurked within her apartment.
Slowly, she pushed up onto her elbows, then sat up and scooted until her back was against the wall at the head of her bed. Nausea swirled and flipped her stomach. When the feeling passed, she carefully slitted her eyes open again and was relieved when the room appeared only slightly rocking instead of spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.
If Ross had found her, why simply whack her over the head and leave her alone? That wasn’t like him. Her heart stopped and her lungs froze. Had he…? She fumbled with the buttons on her shorts, too panicked to accept the lack of soreness between her thighs as an indication she hadn’t been sexually assaulted. She slipped a hand beneath her white cotton panties, finding herself dry and untouched.
Tremors wracked her shoulders and quiet tears slid down her pale cheeks. Relief and confusions swamped her. It made no sense for Ross to break into her apartment only to hit her over the head and place her on her bed alone. But who else could it have been? As far as she knew, she had no other enemies.
She zipped and buttoned her shorts before slowly sliding her feet to the cool hardwood floor. Her sandals had either fallen off or been removed. She forced herself to stand, made difficult by the tremors shaking her limbs and the once-again spinning room.
Fuck.
Lucy knew head injuries weren’t something to mess around with, especially if you had a history of past head injuries like she did. She’d have to make a trip to the hospital, but who could she call to take her? She didn’t want the embarrassment or hoopla of an ambulance ride and she sure as hell couldn’t drive herself.
Dalton…
No, she wouldn’t let herself run to Dalton at the first sign of trouble. She needed to keep him away from danger, not draw him into it.
Resigned, she stumbled into the living room and found her purse tossed unceremoniously onto the couch, the contents spread across her weathered coffee table as if someone had been looking for something. The shiny black surface of her cell phone gleamed in the dim light coming through the cheap plastic blinds.
From the center of her living room, Lucy could see most of her small apartment. She glanced around, doing a rather poor survey of the space because her eyes still wouldn’t focus. Still, she was reasonably certain nothing had been damaged and she didn’t see any sort of vandalism. She’d half expected to find spray-painted profanity on her walls or drawers and cabinets ransacked. Instead of being comforted, the orderly condition of her apartment disturbed her even more because she hadn’t a clue why someone had knocked her unconscious, then simply left her alone.
She spotted her wallet on the coffee table, picked it up and dropped to sit on the couch cushions while thumbing through the contents. Everything was there. They hadn’t taken the five bucks she’d had tucked inside her old leather wallet or touched the two credit cards.
Tossing it on top of the pile that had been dumped out of her purse, she snagged her cell phone with a trembling hand and brought the thin object close to her face, squinting to make out the names on her contacts list to find Hart’s Ink. She’d just have to ask Abigail if she or Jed would give her a ride to the emergency room.
As the phone rang on the other end of the line, Lucy had second thoughts. If she didn’t want to draw Dalton into danger by asking for help, how could she ask Abigail to endanger herself or her husband?
“Hart’s Ink.” Jed’s smooth southern voice made Lucy’s heart speed.
She jolted off the sofa, standing too quickly, intending to end the call and figure out another way to get to the hospital without drawing attention to herself or endangering any innocent citizens of Clifton.
The fast move from sitting to standing was a terrible idea. Before Lucy could say a word to Jed or end the call, darkness crashed over her and she fell to her knees between the couch and coffee table. The phone clattered against the table and, though she struggled against it, the world faded away and she slumped to floor.
Chapter Seven
Dalton’s phone vibrated, sliding across the bathroom countertop as he stepped from the shower. Though he wanted nothing more than to rush straight to Lucy’s after work, he’d punished his body so thoroughly with physical labor in the summer heat that he’d had no choice but to go home and shower.
With a dark-navy bath towel wrapped low around his waist, he peered at his phone. His brows drew low as “Hart’s Ink” flashed across the screen. After hastily drying a hand on the towel, he answered, holding the phone slightly away from his ear to keep it dry. “Hello?”
“Dalton, I need you to go check on Lucy.” Jed’s voice rumbled across the line, his words causing Dalton’s back to snap straight.
“Why? Did something happen?” Dalton was already on the move, ditching the towel and yanking on a pair of faded jeans. He struggled, contorting his muscled body to hold the phone to his ear with his shoulder while forcing the jeans over his damp legs.
“I’m not sure. I got a call here at the shop. I thought it was a prank or something because no one spoke on the other end. Then I heard a gasp, something that sounded like a crash, and the phone went dead. When Abigail looked at the number, she said it was Lucy’s cell. We called back but it went straight to voice mail.”
“Damn it, you’re closer than me, why aren’t you over there right now?” What the hell was wrong with Jed? Lucy could be in trouble.
When Jed spoke, his voice sounded strained with worry. “I don’t know everything going on with your woman, but Abigail said Lucy wouldn’t want the cops called and she also said Lucy would be more comfortable with you barging in instead of me. Abigail is with a client right now but she’ll go check on her if you can’t.”
Dalton didn’t bother correcting Jed over the “your woman” bit. The tires on his truck spun and squealed, leaving thick black marks on the pavement as he sped toward Lucy’s apartment. “I’m already on my way.” He snapped his phone shut without giving Jed a chance to reply.
Luck was on his side as Dalton drove toward Lucy’s apartment. He’d only been stopped at one red light and traffic moved smoothly despite the after-work rush of cars on the road. He spun his truck into the lot beside the two-story Victorian and slammed it into park. A few seconds later, he was rapping on Lucy’s apartment door with a fist clenched so tight white shone over his knuckles.
He paused, leaning close to the door to listen for any sign of trouble, but the only sounds he heard were his loud, forced exhales and gulping inhales. He pressed an ear to the sun-warmed surface of the door. Still, no sounds of an altercation, no voices, no sign of life…
Dalton stopped the thought as it formed. He didn’t want to go there, needed to believe Lucy was all right.
After knocking again and getting no answer, he plucked his cell from the back pocket of his jeans and dialed her number. Straight to voice mail. He glanced around, noting no one in the area except a lone man in an idling sedan halfway down the block. Dalton had a decision to make.
Before his mind had worked through the reasoning, his heavy-booted foot crashed into the door just beside the knob. Apparently his instincts and body weren’t content to wait out his mind’s careful planning. The sound of the door busting open,
the lock breaking, seemed too quiet, like his sense of hearing no longer worked as Dalton’s entire being focused on what he’d find inside Lucy’s apartment. The door swung and bounced once before he pushed it open again and stepped over the threshold.
Dalton’s lungs seized and blood rushed to his head as tunnel vision closed in on the pale, limp hand visible on the floor in the living room, as if someone lay sprawled between the couch and Lucy’s heavy wooden coffee table.
No, no, no.
His knees nearly gave out when he stepped forward. Then he was kneeling beside Lucy’s body with no memory of closing the space between them. Dalton’s hand shook as he reached out and pushed the stubborn curl which always seemed to fall into her face back behind her ear. His hand slid through the length of her hair and he swallowed hard at the sight of a small pool of blood, black and shiny in the dimly lit apartment.
Time to stop being such a pussy. Get control. Assess the situation. Get help.
The apartment was empty, at least it must have been because Dalton hadn’t yet been clubbed over the head by whatever intruder had done this to Lucy. Her chest rose and fell in a comforting rhythm. The only comforting aspect of the entire situation. He placed two fingers over the pulse beating in her smooth pale-skinned neck and relief cascaded over him as the steady beat of her heart thumped against his fingers.
Lucy had a golf-ball-size lump behind one ear but blood no longer flowed from the gash there. She appeared otherwise unharmed but the fact she hadn’t woken at the sound of Dalton kicking in the door worried him.
“Lucy. Lucy, wake up, darlin’.” He squeezed her small hand with his larger, callused one, the contrast between her unnatural paleness and his deeply tanned skin made his heart skip a beat. “Lucy,” he called with more force, drawing upon the dominance inside him he was so careful to keep hidden from her. “Wake up. Open those pretty eyes and look at me.”
Dalton watched a slight shudder work through Lucy’s soft body and knew she was beginning to come around. He unleashed his darkness—though now it felt more like strength than anything dark or ugly—and used the voice he reserved for his submissives. “Open your eyes and look at me, Lucy. Right now.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Do it now or I’ll take down your shorts, lay you across my lap and spank your ass like I’ve wanted to since you ran away from me at the shop. I’ll watch as your delicate skin turns pink and stroke my fingers over your sensitive flesh until you beg me to let you come.”
Blue-gray eyes the color of a summer storm snapped open and regarded him with a sweet mixture of fear, relief and sexual heat. Dalton leaned in and placed a tender kiss to Lucy’s forehead. “Welcome back, darlin’.”
* * * * *
Lucy fidgeted, tugging and smoothing the scratchy hospital gown, trying and failing to find a comfortable position on the unforgiving emergency room bed. Sandpaper would make finer bedding than whatever hospitals used to cover their plastic mattresses. At least the vile, thin sheet provided a bit more modesty than the gown alone. She wondered why the hell the standard hospital gown was open in the back. Were there that many people needing a close examination of their asses? Why not have the gowns tie at each side, over the ribs?
“…not listening to me.”
An unfamiliar masculine voice brought Lucy back to the present, exactly where she didn’t want to be.
She blinked, wincing at the pain that shot through her brain whenever she opened her eyes. Though the nurses had dimmed the lights inside her ER cubby, it still felt as though she was staring directly at the sun. A groan escaped her before she could smother it and her left hand was soon encompassed in a much larger, calloused hand.
Forcing her eyes to focus on Dalton’s face, she felt a pang of regret for the position she’d put him in. His dark brows were drawn together, strain lines feathered out around his navy-blue eyes and his usually sensual lips were pressed into a tight line. He looked worried, concerned for her. He was angry at whoever had hurt her and pissed off at the fat-bellied cop standing at the end of the hospital bed with a tiny notepad in his pudgy hand. What Lucy didn’t see in the emotions scrolling across his handsome face was fear. Fear for himself. Fear that the person who did this to her would come after him. Dalton, the idiot, didn’t have sense enough to fear for his own damned life.
“I told you already, she’s not up to it. Come back later.” Dalton growled the words at the cop without taking his gaze off of Lucy. His barely leashed rage was apparent in the way his words rumbled from his chest, sending a vibration through their linked hands and up Lucy’s arm.
The cop made an attempt at hoisting his belt over his gut, but with the notepad and pen in one hand, he only had one hand free to do the hoisting. Obviously, raising this man’s belt above such a mountain would require more muscle power than a single hand could provide. He gave up with an extended huff and curled his thin lips into a snarl.
Lucy shivered. She hated cops, and with good reason. Even though this cop was from a station a few hundred miles from her ex-husband’s station, she knew it wasn’t safe to talk to him. Even if two cops didn’t know each other, they stuck together like barnacles on a boat, their bond surviving on principle alone.
“The problem is, the little miss here originally said she’d fallen down some stairs.” He stared hard at Lucy and she focused her attention on the ugly mole on his left cheek to keep from looking away from him entirely. “Now, that’d be all right and well, if the doc hadn’t found those ugly fingerprint bruises on her breasts.”
When the cop leered at her chest a little longer than was proper, Dalton’s hand squeezed Lucy’s and he growled, a real, honest-to-God growl. The obviously dense cop smirked as if the whole situation amused him.
Yeah, asshole, battered women are real fucking funny.
“Then there’s the issue of those giant letters written in what I’m told is permanent marker on the skin between her belly button and her—”
Dalton cut him off. “We know damned well where it is.”
The cop finally had the good sense to drop some of the amusement from his tone. “Right. Well, between the concussion which I’m told is as near a skull fracture as it can get without bein’ one, the bruises on her chest and the big block letters declaring ‘YOUR MINE’ written on her, we’re gonna need to file a report.”
Suddenly, a hysterical laugh bubbled up through Lucy’s chest. The bastard couldn’t even use enough care to spell “you’re” correctly. Why she found this so funny, she couldn’t say. Being bashed over the head will do crazy things to a person’s emotions, she knew from experience.
A tall, thin nurse sashayed into Lucy’s cubby, ignoring the cop and pressing her bony hip against Dalton’s arm while pretending to check over Lucy’s IV and pulse oximeter. The blatant display, however inappropriate and inconsiderate of the nurse, gave Lucy a great idea. She remembered one other time she’d seen Dalton next to a model-perfect blonde.
“Rough sex.” Lucy’s voice came out way louder than she’d anticipated. Heat bloomed on her cheeks and, fuck, even blushing hurt.
All eyes turned to her. The nurse took a hesitant step back, maybe thinking she’d bitten off more than she could chew by trying to entice the giant, tattooed dude with a shaved head.
Dalton’s eyes were wide with a shocked expression she hadn’t thought him capable of. He whips and binds women for fun, how could the words “rough sex” be any kind of shock to him?
The cop merely cocked his head to the side and studied Lucy as if he’d stumbled upon an interesting moth he’d like to pin to a board at home for later dissection.
“Sure, rough sex. Sometimes things get a little out of control in the moment, you know?” Lucy indicated the bruising on her breasts. “The writing on my stomach was just a joke. We thought it was funny at the time, though I didn’t realize it was permanent marker.” She mock glared at Dalton. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous light dawning in his dark eyes.
“And the fall down the stairs? What was that? Forepl
ay?”
Lucy really wanted to punch this cop, right in his fat gut. She turned a real strike-’em-dead glare on the man at the foot of her bed. “No, asshole, they were separate incidences. Dalton would never seriously injure me, make me bleed, on purpose or otherwise.” The conviction in her voice shocked her. Did she trust Dalton that much? She must, the words had simply come spilling forth from her heart. Damn.
The cop tapped his cheap pen on the miniature notebook. Tap. Tap. Tap. She watched Dalton’s jaw harden and knew he was probably thinking about snapping the pen out of his hand and shoving it someplace unpleasant, exactly what Lucy was wishing she could do.
She cleared her throat after noticing the flirtatious nurse had taken her leave, and used all her remaining willpower to meet the cop’s gaze head on. “So, there won’t be a report, because there is nothing to report. I won’t be pressing charges because there is no one for me to press charges against.” Proud of how strong her voice sounded, she continued, wanting to get the damn cop far away from her so she could have herself a little breakdown and think about what her next step should be. “Are we done here?”
With awesome timing, another nurse entered the cubby, pushing a wheelchair and nudging the cop further towards the curtain which served as a door. “Your room is ready for you, Miss Ellingsworth. The doctor would like for you to be settled there as soon as possible.”
The older, motherly nurse’s brown curls bounced atop her head when she turned to spear the cop with a look only nurses can perfect, and only after a solid decade of dealing with jerkwad patients and pushy visitors. She said nothing, but the message was clear. The cop had overstayed his welcome.
“Keep yourself out of trouble, Miss Ellingsworth.” He grunted and spun on the heels of his shiny black shoes before disappearing past the curtain.
Lucy glanced at the wheelchair, not ever wanting to sit in one again. “I can walk.”
