What if she has a man in there with her?
My blood starts boiling. “Either open the door, or I’ll kick it in. Your choice. One… two…”
The lock clicks, but she takes her time to open up. I discover her one bit at a time: bruises around her eyes, a swollen nose, split lips. No wonder she can’t speak clearly.
“Who did this to you?” I can barely whisper, but even that makes her flinch. I fully realize how dangerous I sound right now, just as I know there’s no hope of making myself sound any other way. Somebody beat the shit out of her.
Somebody beat the shit out of what’s mine. Nobody touches what belongs to me.
I step into the apartment rather than have this conversation out in the hall, careful to close the door behind me. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She lowers her head, letting her hair fall across her battered face. “It’s nothing.”
I bark out a laugh, making her flinch again. “Don’t waste your breath on that shit. This is nothing? You look like somebody used your face for a punching bag. Who did it? Where are they?”
She backs away, eyes as wide as she can get them. He didn’t strike her directly in them—it was a man, it had to be—but the swelling of her cheeks gives the illusion of them being swollen. “Please, let it go. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Stop wasting my fucking time, Rowan. I’m going to get answers out of you. Either you can provide them without upsetting me any further or you can continue to test my patience until it shatters. Your choice.”
Her chin trembles. Only now do I notice the bruising around her throat, too.I’ll kill the motherfucker who did this if it’s the last thing I ever do. “It’s… he’s…” She raises one hand, covering her face, and now her shoulders shake as she begins weeping.
He did this to her, whoever he is.
But I’m not making it any easier. Even now, seeing red, my blood boiling over, I know I’m not helping. So I force myself to draw a deep breath, and when I speak again, my voice is a tad more controlled. “Get some things together. You’re coming with me.”
“What?” Her head snaps up, her mouth hanging open. I can’t help but remember those lips wrapped around my cock. Now they’re swollen, ugly. I’ll kill him with my bare hands, the son of a bitch.
“You heard me. Get your things, you have two minutes—otherwise, you’re coming empty-handed, but you are coming with me. I’ll have Rick come back to carry you out if need be.” I level a hard gaze at her, arms folding. “Now, Rowan.”
It seems I finally got through to her. She disappears into the bedroom, and I hear drawers opening and closing in a flurry of activity. A minute later, she emerges with a duffel bag which I take from her before ushering her out the door.
Once we’re in the car, with Rick at the wheel after a few murmured instructions from me, Rowan covers her face again. “I can’t stand anybody seeing me like this.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” I’m gentle but firm, pulling her hands away so I can see her. Now in daylight, it’s so much worse. There are finger marks on her throat. He squeezed her that hard. I’ve had my hand there and manage to avoid leaving a mark—and I wasn’t exactly gentle, either. How vicious is this bastard?
“You don’t know how it feels.” She sniffles, head hanging low. “I was so afraid you would want to see me before I healed.”
“Don’t worry about that now. You’re safe with me.”
She snorts, then looks at me in obvious fear. “Sorry. I believe you. It’s just that you don’t know him.”
My left hand is out of her field of vision, and it tightens into a fist. “Who is he?”
She releases a shuddery breath, obviously arguing with herself. It’s either that or the habit of concealing him is so deeply ingrained that she has to fight against the knee-jerk impulse to cover for him. Regardless of why, it takes a moment for her to answer. “My ex-boyfriend. Eric.”
Shitty name. “Does this Eric have a last name?”
“Walters.” Then she looks at me. “Why?”
“I like to know the full names of the people I want to hurt.”
“No, no, you can’t do anything.” Her eyes well up again. “Not because I’m afraid he’ll get hurt. I wish he would. But that’ll only make things worse for me in the end.”
“Do you believe I have anything to fear from him? Seriously.” I glance toward Rick, and she seems to get the hint since her head bobs up and down. “Tell meabout Eric. And you. What’s the story here?” I want to hear every word, unvarnished. I want her to tell me everything, every last detail.
I want to play it over in my head as I watch him die.
Her hands twist in her lap. She stares down at them while speaking. “He’s the reason you couldn’t find anything about me online. Remember? When I first came to the club?”
