I'm going to find him and I'm going to make him suffer.
"I'm going to get the first aid kit," I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though everything inside me is screaming. "Don't move."
"Garrett—"
"Don't move."
I find the kit in the bathroom and bring it back, along with a wet washcloth and a glass of water.
Vanna's sitting up now, her back against the headboard, her knees pulled to her chest.
She looks so small.
So fragile.
Nothing like the fierce woman who walked out of that rehab facility two weeks ago.
This is my fault.
I should have been there.
I should have gone into that pharmacy with her instead of letting her walk into an alley alone.
I sit on the edge of the bed and start cleaning the blood from her lip.
She winces but doesn't pull away.
"Tell me again," I say quietly. "Everything he said. Everything he did."
"Garrett, I already?—"
"I need to hear it again." I meet her eyes. "I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with. Every detail.Everything."
She's quiet for a long moment.
I can see her replaying it in her mind, see the fear flickering across her face.
Then she starts talking.
She tells me about the alley.
About Virgil appearing out of nowhere, blocking her escape.
About the things he said—the debts she supposedly owes, the years he "kept her high."
About the way he slammed her against the wall, wrapped his hand around her throat, touched her.
My hands are steady as I clean her wounds, but inside, I'm on fire.
"He put his hand between my legs," she whispers, and I have to close my eyes for a moment. Have to breathe through the rage that threatens to consume me. "Over my clothes, but—he was rough. He squeezed. It hurt."
"I'm going to kill him."
The words come out flat.
Matter-of-fact. Not a threat. A promise.
"He said I belong to him." Her voice cracks. "He said when he comes to collect, I'll have to do whatever he says. That I'll have to—" She can't finish, but she doesn't need to.
