by Maya Banks
“But—!”
Gavin held up a hand to his wife, something he never did, though God knew he’d never raise his hand to her in violence. He’d never before given her the disrespect of cutting off anything she chose to say by being so dismissive as to reject her words with his body language or to so abruptly call a halt to her words or argument.
In this moment, he didn’t care. He wanted compliance. Instant and unquestioning obedience. He locked his fierce gaze with his wife’s equally fierce stare. Because if by forcing her compliance, she stayed alive—unharmed—she could be pissed at him for the next twenty years and he’d be more than happy to grovel every single day of those two decades.
“I can’t lose you both,” Gavin said hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay where you are, Ginger! Let me see to Ari. I can’t afford to have my concentration split between you and our daughter. I need to know you are out of harm’s way. Do this for me. Please.”
Some of the stark, vulnerable fear that weakened him to his knees must have shone in his face because Ginger’s eyes softened, and she simply nodded, though her gaze immediately flitted beyond Gavin, her eyes anxious and seeking now as they awaited their daughter.
For one brief moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes. His sweet, loving and forgiving wife. It was bad enough that she’d endured such torment over the last days. But now these fuckers had Ari? The only solace they’d found was in the fact that Ari hadn’t been taken. Despair shoved aside the hope that she was someplace safe. Out of harm’s way. Because she wasn’t. She was here. In this hell with him and her mother and he’d never felt so goddamn helpless in his life at his inability to protect the people who mattered the most to him.
He reluctantly broke away from his wife, but he had to see what had been done to his daughter. He rushed back to the bars, straining forward to better see in the dimly lit hallway. The cell was lit by only a single bulb, one he purposely turned off at night when he slept, Ginger between him and the wall so he was a barrier between her and anyone coming into the cell.
His reason was twofold. One, in the darkness, holding, touching his wife, he—they—could forget for the space of a few stolen moments that they were being held captive by unknown people for an equally unknown reason. And two, darkness bothered Ginger immensely, except for at night when she slept, curled into his protective embrace. If he left it lit all the time, it would eventually burn out and it was doubtful it would be replaced, especially if Ginger displayed any sign of distress over the loss of the single source of illumination.
He strained his eyes, only seeing what Ginger had seen. The unmistakable color of Ari’s hair, though her head was downcast, only the crown of her hair visible. He tensed, realizing she was being dragged between two men and neither was taking the slightest bit of care in their handling of her.
He bit back a string of oaths, knowing that they would derive great pleasure in giving him even more reason to protest, and the last thing he wanted was more hurt for his daughter.
He watched for any sign of . . . life. Movement. His chest burned, oxygen trapped in his lungs as they compressed and squeezed even tighter in sheer, gut-wrenching panic.
She was listless. Unmoving on her own. She was jerked along like a puppet or rather a doll being dragged behind a child by a single arm. Her hair was tousled, strands going in a dozen different directions. It looked tangled and in complete disarray.
His gut clenched even harder as he imagined all the possible reasons for a woman to look as she did. He turned, ensuring Ginger was heeding his order, something he never gave his wife unless it had to do with her or Ari’s safety.
Her gaze leapt to his in question, her entire body surging forward, though she gripped the edge of the cot with her fingers as though to prevent herself from flying forward to see for herself. God, if he could only shield her from this. If he could have only shielded her and Ari both. The weight of his mistakes, his failures, weighed heavily on his heart and mind, but for now he had to push past his guilt and overwhelming sense of helplessness and figure out a way to get his family out.
Finally the long path down the hallway brought Ari close enough for Gavin to look closer. Still unmoving, hair in disarray, bruises . . . He bit back a savage oath as he took in the purple blotches, the size of fingerprints, on her arms and shoulders. She was wearing only a thin tank top and then he froze when one of the guards jerked her in his direction so the other could unlock the cell.
The movement sent the hair that tumbled forward over her shoulders, covering most of her chest, to the side and he saw the white tank top turn scarlet before his very eyes. His heart seized, terror slamming his airway shut.
It—and she—were bathed in blood.
“Back up!” the guard with the key barked at Gavin.
As if reinforcing the other guard’s demand, the man holding Ari hauled her more upright, shaking her like the rag doll Gavin had likened her to as she’d been dragged down the hall. Behind him, Ginger gasped in horror and then cried out in utter despair, “Ari!”
His wife’s agonized cry shook Gavin from his momentary stupor and torment. He lunged for the bars, hitting them so hard they shook and rattled as he roared his rage, forgetting all about his worry that his reaction would incite them to further malice.
Desperately, he thrust his arms through the thick bars, straining forward, trying to reach his daughter. Trying to get his hands on the men responsible.
“Get back!” one of the men snarled, though he took a hasty step backward even as he uttered the command, ensuring he was well out of Gavin’s reach.
The one not holding Ari brandished a stun gun, the same one he’d used on Gavin before. This time he aimed it not at Gavin, but at Ginger, who now stood upright beside the cot, her face sheet-white as she stared at her bloodied daughter.
“Perhaps you forgot what happened last time you forgot your place,” the guard said in a menacing voice. “Get back or I’ll shock your wife, and you can forget seeing your precious daughter.”
It took every ounce of Gavin’s discipline to simply stand down, to slowly back away, ensuring his body once more stood between Ginger and the guard holding the Taser. He wanted to go after them both as soon as the door was opened, wanted to take them apart, piece by bloody piece. Spill their blood as they’d spilled Ari’s.
When the guard was satisfied that Gavin was a sufficient distance back, he inserted the key into the lock, but his gaze never left Gavin and Ginger, and the hand holding the gun was steady, never lowering.
With a groan, the cell door strained to open, years of rust and neglect eating away at it. Gavin had spent the entire first forty-eight hours of confinement ruthlessly and tirelessly testing every square inch of the cell, looking for any deficit, any weakness to exploit. Anything that could prove a possible escape route. Only to come up empty-handed.
Not even entering the cell, perhaps rightfully wary of Gavin’s savage rage that Gavin knew was clearly outlined on his face and in his eyes, and evidently not wanting to afford Gavin any opportunity to lash out, the guard holding Ari stopped just shy of the open doorway while his partner took position between them, the Taser pointed in Gavin and Ginger’s direction.
Then the guard simply propelled Ari forward, her slight weight momentarily becoming airborne at his vicious shove. She hit the floor with a resounding thud that made Ginger cry out again, and Gavin flinched at his daughter’s motionless body lying on the floor like a broken doll.
She lay there, eyes open, but completely unaware. Blood streamed from her nose, her mouth. God, it looked like it was coming from her ears and even her eyes.
The guards beat a hasty retreat, closing and locking the cell door before hurrying away, disappearing from sight.
Gavin rushed the few feet over to Ari, sinking to his knees, his hands automatically running over her body, afraid of what he’d find. Ginger joined him, her eyes red and swollen, so much worry reflected in her tor
mented gaze.
“There’s so much blood!” Ginger choked out around a sob. “Oh God, Gavin, is she . . . Is she even alive?”
Gavin’s eyes briefly closed even as he carefully smoothed Ari’s hair from her neck so he could check for a pulse. His own heart was about to beat out of his chest. His hands were shaking so badly that his fingers kept glancing off her skin before he could ascertain the strength of her pulse. Or if she even had one.
Finally he forced himself to calm enough that his hand steadied, and he pressed the area over her carotid artery. He sagged, nearly toppling over with relief when he felt the erratic flutter against his fingertips.
“She’s alive,” he said quietly.
“Oh thank God,” Ginger whispered brokenly. Then she touched his arm to get his attention, her terrified gaze finding his. “How can we know how badly she’s injured? What if we do her more harm by moving her?”
Gavin had the same fear but he’d be damned if he left his daughter on the cold, hard floor of the dank cell. He would certainly handle her more carefully than the guards in their brutal treatment of her.
“Let me lay her down on the cot, darling,” Gavin said, forcing calm into his voice he neither believed nor felt.
Just as much as he didn’t want to panic Ginger, neither did he want her to see how precariously close he was to becoming utterly unhinged and losing any semblance of control.
He cursed softly as he began to shake again when he slid his arms underneath her body with frustrating slowness. His instincts screamed at him to gather her in his arms, hold her close and never let go, never let her back into the hands of monsters.
He was genuinely worried that his legs simply wouldn’t support Ari’s slight weight, much less his own. He sucked in several steadying breaths, trying valiantly to calm the raging fury storming through his veins.
Gently, he lifted, still crouched in a kneeling position. He drew her up and into his arms, cradling her against his chest. For a moment he paused, praying he wouldn’t falter when he tried to stand. Never had he had a more important reason to be so patient and careful.
“Here, let me help you,” Ginger said anxiously, anchoring her entire body, stiffening with all her might as she attempted to help haul him to his feet as he held Ari the entire time.
Though his petite, delicate wife, so much like Ari, despite not being her biological mother, hardly had the strength to accomplish such a task, he didn’t deny her aid because he sensed she was on the verge of completely falling apart and needed to do something—anything—to remain stalwart. A feat he admired since he was just as close to breaking down himself as he stared down at his bruised and bloodied daughter.
Tears burned the corners of his eyes as he ever so carefully placed her on the cot, inching his arms from underneath her. Though her eyes were fixed and glassy, she didn’t seem remotely aware of anything, almost as if she were unconscious despite her eyes being wide. But still, he didn’t want to do anything that would inadvertently cause her more pain, which was why he moved with extreme slowness, careful not to jostle her.
“Oh Gavin,” Gingerly said tearfully as she settled just above Ari’s head. “What did they do to her?” She shifted her pleading gaze to her husband, anger, fury and utter despair burning brightly in her brown eyes, which that were now nearly black. “What did they do?”
Sorrow was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the entire cell. Gavin couldn’t even form the words to offer his wife comfort when he had none to give. He couldn’t give her an answer that would appease her because he was afraid he would be telling her a complete lie.
There was so much blood. It soaked the entire front of her shirt, streaked from her ears down the sides of her neck, where it collected in large splattered spots atop the ridge between her shoulders and base of her neck. More blood covered her mouth, was drying in her nostrils and now that he was studying her closer he was able to confirm his earlier suspicion that she’d even bled from her eyes.
Had they beaten her so badly?
Despite the fact he’d already checked her pulse, his hand found its way to her neck again, seeking reassurance that he hadn’t imagined feeling the soft flutter of life beneath his fingertips. As before it was erratic, but it was strong against his touch. But his fear was of internal injuries, things he couldn’t see.
Despite his fear that she’d been badly beaten, he couldn’t find evidence of swelling or bruising on her face or head. The blood seemed inexplicable because the only bruises he found were those on her arms, as if she’d been grasped roughly. Ari had always bruised easily, and these somewhat small bruises looked to be fingertips. Nothing that would account for the blood so stark against her skin.
Ginger’s hand hovered over Ari’s face, her features rigid with consternation as she sought somewhere—anywhere—she could safely touch her daughter. Finally she laid her hand over Ari’s forehead, gently stroking up and over her scalp in a soothing motion.
Ari immediately flinched as though Ginger had struck her. It was the first time Ari had made any sort of movement or signaled any awareness of what was going on around her.
“Ari?” Gavin said urgently. “Ari, can you hear me? Are you awake? Please, sweetheart, open your eyes so your mother and I know you’re all right.”
To both their surprises, Ari brushed away her mother’s hand and then rolled away from them both to face the opposite direction. She pulled her legs up—a protective measure—to her chest and wrapped both arms solidly around them, seeming to pull herself into as small a ball as possible.
An agonized moan escaped her lips, and Gavin’s position was such that he could still see her face, even though she’d turned away from him and Ginger. Her eyes briefly closed as though she were battling . . . agony? Fear? Awareness? Or perhaps she merely wanted to escape her present reality. Maybe she was in so much pain that she simply wanted to slip away to someplace where it wasn’t so sharp and unbearable. Gavin hastily wiped the corner of one eye and blinked rapidly to maintain his tenuous grip on his composure.
“Ari?” Ginger started to touch her again but stilled her hand and let it drop away, anguish flashing in her eyes.
“Don’t,” Ari begged. “Oh God, please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Gavin asked urgently. “Ari, can you talk to us? Can you tell us what happened? What did those bastards do to you?”
He choked off, unable to go on any further. Tears clogged his throat, rendering him temporarily incapable of speech. Ginger thrust her fingers through his, curling them around his hand, holding tightly, so much tension radiating through her body.
“Don’t touch,” Ari said, another moan escaping, her words so low, Gavin could barely make them out. “No noise. Please. I can’t bear it. Hurts. Hurts so much. Please, just don’t touch me. Don’t say anything.”
Ginger’s hand flew to her mouth and tears slipped from her eyes, more appearing as soon as the others slithered down her cheeks.
Ari reached up to cover her ears and then began slowly rocking herself back and forth, locked in her own private hell that Gavin and Ginger were helpless to soothe, calm or take away.
Ginger stood, honoring her daughter’s broken request, her eyes grief-stricken in a manner Gavin hadn’t seen in nearly twenty-five years. Not since the last child they’d lost had she looked so heartbroken.
Gavin jerkily rose, his fury mounting with every passing moment. Rage smoldered through his veins like a potent drug, his vision growing dim and hazy. He turned his back to both his wife and daughter, not wanting either of them to see the terrible thoughts reflected in his eyes. The thirst for vengeance. For violence. To destroy every last person involved in this whole sordid mess.
He let out a rumbling sound of pure male fury, one he instantly tried to quell when he saw Ari stiffen.
“The light,” Ginger said suddenly. “The light probably hurts her too.”
Ginger hurried toward where the single bulb hung from an electrical wire and fiddled with it a mom
ent, loosening it just enough so that it flickered off.
Gavin turned, closing his eyes as grief and helplessness washed over him like a tidal wave. He hit the iron bars caging him, needing an outlet for his savage rage. Pain didn’t even register as he rammed his fist over and over into the groaning metal. The acrid smell of blood arose and it slid warmly over his fingers, dripping onto the floor below him.
Ginger threw her arms around his side and then slid around him until she separated him from the bars he’d been pummeling. Reverently she took his now-swollen hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the torn knuckles.
Then she buried her face in his chest so her sobs were stifled. Her entire body shook, and Gavin wrapped his arms around her in response, anchoring her. Then he buried his face in his wife’s hair, his own tears dampening the silken strands, as his heart, like his wife’s, simply broke in two.
They held on to one another for a long moment before Ginger’s muffled voice rose. “What did they do to our baby, Gavin? What do they want?”
Gavin ran his hands up and down the length of her spine, trying to offer her comfort when there was none to be had. “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “Damn it, I don’t know!”
“How can we protect her when we’re helpless?” Ginger asked, her distress becoming more pronounced.
“We aren’t helpless.”
Gavin and Ginger both whipped around in shock as Ari’s dull, toneless voice reached them. She sounded almost . . . robotic.
“What, baby?” Gavin asked softly, though he’d heard her clearly. He just wasn’t sure what she had meant.
“I’ll bring down the entire house,” she said softly, turning over so she faced her parents willingly for the first time.
Power snapped and sparkled around them, electrifying the very air in the damp cell. Where before the air had always been stuffy, hard to breathe, now it seemed charged, particles shimmering, a breeze suddenly shifting, restless, blowing a chill through as if a window had been opened to allow fresh air in.
The bars began to rattle ominously. The cot shook beneath Ari. The concrete floor trembled beneath their feet. Outside the cell, in neighboring ones, pillows, blankets, even an old, discarded shoe rose into the air, spinning rapidly before slamming against the iron bars caging the small interiors.
