Cold-Blooded Beautiful (The Beautiful Series)

by Christine Zolendz

  I held my forearms tightly over my face, trying desperately to shield the blows, but David was vicious and unrelenting. Frantic panic bubbled up through my chest as I tried to kick out my feet and crawl away from the torment. My boots slipped and slid against the ice and frost, and its brittle crunching sounds cracked under our weight. It drenched my clothes and skin, until the stinging bitter cold bit into my shoulders and spine with sharp needle-like pinches.

  He didn’t stop. He just struck and struck, over and over; until I watched the whiffs of twisting smoke around him churn and spin like the waves on the ocean. Through my blurred vision, David’s eyes looked empty, his face focused and sweaty with effort. Eyes the color of oily black pools.

  “You. Pathetic. Brainless. Bitch,” his words burst through the sounds of fists hitting flesh. Each word bit off, chewed up, and spat in my face. Jerking back, he grabbed for something I couldn’t see, and swung it towards me, slamming it hard against my face. A white-hot explosion of gripping pain ripped across my skull and down my spine, as his fist, holding my goddamn rock shattered my right eye socket. I just prayed for unconsciousness.

  It didn’t come.

  I felt it all.

  I shoved at his hands, pushed against his face, and raked my broken ragged nails across his eyes. The rock flew out of his hands, but it didn’t even cause a moment of pause. He counterattacked like a statue, hard and cold, and then hit me with muscles, fists, elbows, and palms, with such puissance it felt like he really was made of stone. A colossal mountain towering above me, too steep and impossible to conquer. An avalanche of crumbling rock pounding and crushing my bones and flesh.

  Breaking his bloodthirsty frenzy, a high-pitched squeal reverberated off the trees, and the pounding of his fists suddenly ceased. His body moved and shifted into the heavy smoke, and relief crashed against my chest in a wave of hope. Yet, it was short lived, because I tried to move and claw myself through the wet mud and snow, but my body wasn’t receiving the right signals. I frantically tried to tear up the earth beneath me, and crawl away, but the moment I reached up to drag myself away, unconsciousness took hold. Bittersweet numbness.

  Darkness.

  A loud thunder of short explosions ignited in my head, one after another, after another. CRACK…pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop!

  Someone was crying.

  I hoped it was David. I hoped someone, some day, would make him cry, but right now, I just want to float in this painless existence.

  A scorching heat enveloped my body, yet I still trembled with a deep bone-chilling coldness. I felt the sensations of my body moving, being carried somewhere.

  Warm breath fell against my neck. A soft tender weight lay delicately against my chest. Something intense and burning was happening with my leg, but I tried to concentrate on the sweet beautiful warmth that I felt lying against my heart. I basked in the touch, the heat it offered, and its comfort. And the smell, God, it smelled like home. I tried to breathe it in deeper, but my chest, just wouldn’t let me. The pain was too hot, too real.

  Suddenly, a tightening wrapped around my thigh and a sharp explosion of agony surged through my body. Someone was trying to put on a tourniquet. Someone found me.

  Someone found me.

  That means David was…

  Oh, God, please let the police find him. Please don’t let him loose on any other human beings. Please.

  My hands grabbed and slipped out of someone’s hold. I fought a war with my eyelids to get them to open. Lumps of thick saliva caught in the back of my throat, and I coughed, wheezed, and gagged back the metallic taste of blood.

  “Sam, don’t move, baby,” a deep tremulous voice mumbled. Hot breath against my skin, arms held around me in a vice grip.

  Kade?

  Kade!

  Kade. Tears stung at my eyes. They burned to open, but no matter how hard I tried, they would not budge.

  His strong chest inhaled a deep breath and I heard the harsh exhale of a choked sob. My Kade was crying for me. “Don’t move, please. I got you now. I found you. Just feel me, Sam. Feel me. I’m wrapped around you, baby. Feel me. Hold on to me and don’t you bloody let me go.”

  Oh, Kade, don’t look at me like this. Just go, Kade, don’t remember me like this, leave me here. Let me die. He’s going to kill me one day. David will never let me be. I’ll never be free from the hole he dug for me and tossed me in.

  “Don’t give up on me, Sam.”

  I got nothing left Kade, nothing left in me.

  “You can’t let that piece of filth take away who you are, baby.”

  You did, Kade, you let Thomas take everything from you.

  “Yeah, but then I met you and I took everything back. You got me, Sam. You own my soul, baby. You got me…and you healed me. Just hold on for me, please.” His sobs shattered my heart. Through a choked mumble, his warm lips whispered against my cheek, “I won’t do this without you.”

  “That’s it, Kade, keep her talking,” Jen’s voice uttered from somewhere in the darkness.

  Jen was there? Did she wrap the tourniquet around my thigh?

  David! I tried to scream. Kade. David’s in the forest!

  Silence answered me. Then, a low deep breath of heat came near my ear. “He’s dead. I killed him.”

  My body felt brittle and dry, and pain and heat engulfed me, pulling me under. My limbs would not respond. My lips would not move, and my beaten eyes could not open. I was powerless against it.

  Now, because of me, Kade was a killer. How heavy was that going to weigh on his soul in the end? I let the pain yank me further down, waiting for the numbness, picturing myself standing in front of the fiery landscape, clutching my hands to my chest while yellow crime scene tape fluttered like party ribbons in the wind. Would this be our life, everything around us wrapped up in pleasant little yellow crime scene bows? My God, how will Kade live through this? How will Kade be, if I never wake? I’ve lost a lot of blood. I know the tourniquet is not tight enough. I know he’s going to lose himself, lose himself completely because of me.

  Chapter 19

  Through the clink and hiss of the automatic doors, I carried Samantha’s limp body in my arms. I screamed for help as Jen ran ahead of me and grabbed a clean white gurney that sat vacant in the hallway. I followed her, running at full speed, until my eyes dropped down. Until I saw Sam, and I mean really saw Sam, in the bright lighting of the hospital emergency entrance, and I stumbled, falling to my knees.

  My God. In the light…in the light, she was broken, ravaged, dying in my arms. The cut on her leg ripped out my heart, shattered me. Spectacular hues of bruises marred her skin, her eyes and lips swollen a deep angry red. My baby. He fucking tortured her. My tears fell like rain against her chin, but she didn’t move, she didn’t feel a thing. She didn’t feel me dying with her.

  The doorway to the trauma unit exploded with panic and chaos. Doctors, nurses, and paramedics, ran towards me and emptied my arms, leaving me there alone and broken on the ground. My clothes were drenched with her blood.

  I watched helplessly. Defeated.

  Another trauma team was assembled for George, who had been dragged in by Dylan, but I saw none of it. I was just focused on Samantha, on a metal gurney in the next room getting tubes shoved up her nose and down her throat. I heard them page the neurosurgeon, and my throat closed up as I began to sob. They yelled for things, medical terms were screamed, drugs were called for, and her clothing was ripped off her body and flung onto a tray for evidence. Then the doors closed and the sun of my world just blinked out of existence.

  “Kade?” Jen’s voice spoke softly beside me. “Kade, before this place gets over run with the sheriff’s office, let’s go give blood. It’s the only thing we can do to help her right now.”

  I think I might have nodded at her.

  My eyes were still focused on the closed doors. Jen gently placed her hand on my shoulder and spoke once more, “Kade? Come on. She’s going to need blood.”

  I blink
ed up at her, “She’s going to need a lot more than blood, isn’t she?”

  Jen’s chin quivered and her eyes welled with tears, “Yeah, Kade. A whole hell of a lot more than blood, but it’s what we can do now to help her, so let’s go.”

  I squeezed my eyes closed and hung my head, “How bad is she, Jen? I want the bloody truth.”

  “I don’t know…,” she mumbled.

  Dylan was beside me in the next instant, hand held out helping me to stand. He grabbed me by the back of the shoulders and walked me to the triage station where we could give blood. Everything seemed so surreal.

  You know, I gave so much damn blood that I passed the fuck out, and got a bloody cookie and a shot of orange juice shoved down my throat. Then it was just a waiting game. She needed surgery, immediately. There was too much brain swelling.

  The three of us sat silently on the pale green leather benches of the waiting room. I spent hours staring down at my hands, clenching and knotting them trying to control the panic bubbling inside my chest. Each time I glanced up and out over the waiting area, the stench of utter despair and hopelessness was overwhelming. In the far corner, a television played the breaking news of the forest fire and the shootings in low, barely audible sounds. No one seemed to know the bloody facts, yet they made sure to blast their idiotic opinions. All I drank was burnt flavored hospital coffee, which somehow was always ironically cold by the time it reached my lips.

  Shadows of people rushed and moved around me. The Sheriff asked his questions. My head fogged up with questions, accusations, words, and answers. Truth vomited past my lips, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I was arrested for what I did, because in my eyes, I did nothing wrong. I was protecting what was mine.

  What is your relationship to the victim? Mine.

  How do you know Deputy George Tatum? Friend.

  How do you know David Stanton? Sam’s ex.

  Why were you there? To look for her.

  You just happened to be on the same road as the deputy? Yep.

  Do you have a license for your firearms? Yes.

  Did you go there with the intent on using your firearm? Yes. They were in trouble. I have a license. I saved your cop. Leave me the bloody fuck ALONE.

  Whispered voices, hushed cries, and I held them all at an arm’s distance. Nothing penetrated me. I allowed nothing to come in. The only thing that stood center stage in my brain was the sound of Samantha’s voice the last time I slept next to her. My lips on her skin. “You know when I was younger, I used to lick anything I didn’t want taken from me.” My lips were always on her skin. Our bodies tangled in sheets, her breath in my ear, soft sighs, and wet lips.

  “Mr. Grayson? Hello? Mr. Grayson?” a deep voice broke into my thoughts. A heavy hand clutched onto my shoulder and squeezed, dragging me from my daydreams.

  “Mr. Grayson? I’m Doctor Barns. I’d like to gather Samantha’s family members to go over her condition and where we can go from here. I know how devastating this is for everyone here. Samantha was a cherished part of this hospital.” The voice spoke to the air; the words floated around in my head aimlessly, and then dropped off into the darkness. I blinked my eyes until the doctor came into focus, and I concentrated on the dreadful grim twist of his mouth. He waited for me to speak, to acknowledge him in someway, with an unnatural stillness about him.

  My brother’s arms were on me next, helping me to stand and steer me into a room that was somehow starker and whiter than the waiting area. My eyes zoned in on the small colorful dots of the impressionistic painting that hung on the wall directly across from me. It was slightly askew, making me want to rip it off the wall and smash over the twisted lipped doctor’s head. “Right now, Samantha is in ICU in critical condition. You’ll be able to visit her for a short time when we’re finished discussing my initial evaluation. As you are well aware, she sustained a massive amount of injuries, one a severed femoral artery, the large artery in the thigh. We were able to save her leg and deal with the damage because of your quick thinking, and the type of tourniquet that was used. And you did a tremendous job in protecting her neck and keeping her immobilized on the way to the ER. However, what we are most worried about is the blunt force trauma to her head and the swelling of her brain.” The doctor used his clipboard and hands to speak, obsessively clicking the end of a pen throughout his conversation. CLICK. CLICK. “Right now, she seems to be in a vegetative state.” CLICK. CLICK. “We attempted to lessen the swelling of the brain, and now we will monitor her closely. It’s too early to say what we are dealing with.” CLICK. CLICK. “Over the next few days, we will give careful clinical examinations and additional tests such as brain scans, a CT, MRI, most likely a perfusion scan, brain wave tests, an EEG – electroencephalogram, spinal taps among others to assist us in making a diagnosis.” CLICK-FUCKING-CLICKY-CLICK.

  “Is she going to be okay? Just tell me if I get to take her home. Just bloody tell me if I get her back,” I asked, the words dribbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “The chance of her recovery is dependent on a number of factors, including the cause of the brain injury, and how it heals, Samantha’s age and her associated medical conditions. From what we could see, there is a closed wound and a fracture to her skull from a direct trauma.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “A direct trauma is any force that penetrates the skull, one that has the possibility to cause severe brain injury, as destructive shock waves travel through the brain matter.”

  I blinked rapidly. I knew what he was saying, but my emotions were too high, my face was on fire, and my damn chest ached with loss.

  “Uh…Direct trauma occurs when it’s struck with something, for example, the floor when a person falls, or a steering wheel in an accident. In this case, we believe a, uh…a rock was used to strike the head. The strike fractured part of her skull and caused the brain to collide against the inside of her skull. This violent movement may cause a contusion of the brain, which means bruising and hemorrhage. Samantha was also showing signs of edema, which is a swelling of the brain, as I explained before her surgery. We had to drain the fluids.”

  He hit her in the head with a rock. Contusions. Hemorrhage. Swelling. My head pounded and it felt hard to breathe.

  “When the swelling causes a rise in intracranial pressure, it becomes very dangerous to a patient. It prevents blood from entering the skull and stops the delivery of glucose and oxygen to the brain. The only ways to relieve the pressure is through medication, or draining some of the high-pressure cerebrospinal fluid. She’s going to need around-the clock observation in our intensive care unit. It’s necessary right now to control her breathing by a respirator. She’s been given very strong medications to temporarily paralyze her, and make her as comfortable as possible.

  He leaned forward in his chair and spoke more solemnly, “The truth is, we don’t know how this will affect her. We can’t say whether she will wake up or not. We need to run many tests and monitor her brain functions. A young healthy patient like Samantha, although they also will typically have little chance of recovery from a vegetative state, may be kept alive for decades as she is right now, or she could wake up tomorrow. She may have to learn to walk and talk again. Or she might stay as she is for the rest of her life. We’re not fully sure. We’ll do the tests, take it hour by hour, and see the best plan of action. However, I do think it’s always best to prepare for a loved one to…”

  “Don’t finish that motherfucking sentence,” I growled, slamming my hands down.

  The wanker looked at me as if he were terrified, like I was about to snap his neck, and he was so damn right. So I wanted his mouth closed before I could lose complete control. This shit was making me spiral out of it faster than I’d ever been. I needed Sam. I needed her, and I wasn’t making any plans for anything but taking her the bloody hell home.

  “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll just give you some time to yourselves, and if you have any questions, o
ur team is here to answer them for you.”

  Dickbag.

  Giant emotionless hole of limp dicks, motherfucking little bitch.

  Then the dickbag walked out of the door like his life depended on it.

  “Kade,” Jen spoke softly, “we’re going to need to listen to what those doctor’s say, because…”

  “No.” I shook my head at her vehemently. “No, I’m not listening to them tell me to make plans for her dying,” I said, rubbing my hands over the back of my neck. My eyes blurred, and thousands of rainbows reflected across my vision. “I don’t want to say goodbye to her. I don’t want to let her go. I can’t breathe without her.” I walked out of the small office, ready to see her, ready to do whatever was needed to have her come back to me.

  Doctor Barns was standing out in the hallway surrounded by two other rigid looking men dressed in scrubs. “Mr. Grayson, I understand how hard this is for you…”

  “Do you?” I snapped. Hell, I was going to lose it right there in the corridor of the hospital, and they’d have to take me out in handcuffs. Again. “So, you have a woman that you were going to propose to, get kidnapped and tortured for over a week, and then got told you should make plans for her to…” Yeah. I couldn’t even get the word out. I sucked my lips in between my teeth so the sobs wouldn’t escape, and inhaled deeply through my nose. “No, I don’t think you have a goddamn clue what I’m going through. However, I know if you are half as good a surgeon as Samantha said you were, you will do everything you bloody can to get her back to me.”

  He smiled tightly and nodded, “Yes, Kade, I will.” He walked closer to me and held an arm out in front of him, “Come, why don’t we see how she’s doing right now.”

  The walk to the Intensive Care Unit was silent. Dylan and Jen followed closely behind us, hands clasped tightly between them.

  Nurses spoke in low whispers, flipping through charts at the foot of her bed. The low hum and whoosh of the life support machines serenaded me like my own funeral procession. I had to hold on to the bedrails to keep myself vertical. Bandages covered the majority of her head, and tubes were just everywhere. A thick one ran out of the corner of her mouth, thin ones jammed up her nose, medium sized ones inserted into the veins of her hands. Perfect white bed sheets tucked up around her chest. Under the bruises and wounds, her skin was a frightening shade of white to match the sheets encasing her tiny broken body. Her beautiful green eyes were closed, and all I wanted to do was take her in my arms and hold her.