We race along the hallway behind Denver, pushing through double doors into the rear lobby, and out through another set of doors which brings us into the garage. I run to my left, following the exit signs, presuming she went this way. When I round the next bend, I almost trip over my own feet as I hear someone screaming for help. All the tiny hairs lift on my arms as I push my limbs harder, running in the direction of the voice.
Fear pummels my body, and I try to force myself to calm down, but my heart is racing crazy fast, and the pressure in my chest is intense. When I round the next bend and find a stranger crouched over Zeta’s prone body, I almost lose the contents of my stomach.
She’s lying against the wall, on her side, with her hands clutched around her neck. Blood trickles between her fingers, and black mascara streaks have dried on her cheeks.
“I’ve called an ambulance,” the strange woman says, trying to disguise the little gasp of recognition she emitted when I sank to my knees beside her.
I don’t even acknowledge her, focusing on Zeta. “Zeta, honey, it’s me.” I press my lips to her forehead, almost collapsing in relief at the feel of her warm skin against mine.
“Jesus Christ.” Scott crouches down beside me, alarm etched across his face. Mike is already on his cell, calling for assistance. “Who did this?” Scott asks the woman.
“I didn’t see. I was driving past when I spotted her lying unconscious on the ground. I pulled over and called nine-one-one.”
“Thank you,” Scott says.
Zeta stirs, and a strangled moan slips out of her mouth.
“Baby,” I choke. “Can you hear me?”
“Ryder?” Slowly she blinks her eyes open, and it’s the most beautiful view.
The woman and Scott stand, moving over to talk to Mike.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper. “I left you unprotected.”
Tears well in her eyes, and she shivers all over. I only then notice her state of undress. All the blood drains from my body, and my stomach lurches violently. Removing my jacket with trembling hands, I cover her up. “What happened?” I whisper.
“He … he …” She bursts out crying, and I’m imagining all kinds of horrors.
I carefully pry one hand off her neck so I can inspect the damage. “Let me look.” I tear off the bottom of my shirt, gently cleaning the exposed area of her neck so I can assess the depth of the cut. It’s only a surface wound, the blood making it appear so much worse, but it does little to comfort me.
She’s not saying anything, just looking straight ahead, tears rolling down her face, as if she doesn’t even see me. Wresting her other hand off her neck, I place her trembling hands at her side, kissing her cheek. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here now, and I’m gonna take care of you.”
Like I should’ve been doing. Instead of acting like a giant bag of dicks. But I push my guilt and remorse aside to revisit later. Because right now, Zeta needs me. There’s nothing more sobering than finding the girl you love bleeding and broken. Especially knowing it’s all your fault.
I clean the other side of her neck, staring at the small, thin line sliced across her throat, with barely restrained rage. I want to believe this is a random attack, but I just know it isn’t.
I rip another strip off my shirt, wadding it up and pressing it to the wound, as Zeta stares blankly off into space. I quickly scan every inch of her, looking for signs of other visible injuries, but I don’t see any.
At least not on the outside.
Nausea swims up my throat at the thought of him touching her in places I can’t see.
Mike crouches down on the other side of me. “Is she okay?” he quietly adds, his voice laced with guilt.
“The cut isn’t deep.” My voice is raw, my throat clogged with heavy emotion.
“I’ve called the cops and the hotel has a medical team en route. They’re also cordoning off the garage, and they’ll ensure no one gets through.”
I nod, but I don’t take my eyes off her. She’s still staring straight ahead, saying nothing, and it’s really scaring me. I sit down beside her, carefully taking her into my arms, grateful she doesn’t resist. She’s shivering, and I hold her tighter as turmoil twists and turns in my gut. I press a kiss to the top of her head, almost crying in relief when she leans her head on my shoulder, turning into my body for comfort.
I glance at Mike, gesturing with my eyes, and he nods, walking off to give us some privacy. “I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Tears flow freely down my face as she fists a hand in my shirt, clinging onto me.
“I thought he was going to rape me or kill me,” she whispers, and I openly sob.
There are so many things I want to say to her, but this isn’t the time. Now, she needs me to support her and take care of her, not listen to my pitiful apologies. So, I force my tears back inside, strengthen my resolve, and wrap my other arm around her front, keeping her real close. “You’re safe now, baby. No one is going to hurt you.”
I don’t get to ask her anything else because the medical team arrives then, and I step aside to let them do their work. I watch as they perform a variety of physical checks, clean the wound on her neck, and apply paper stitches before bandaging it.
