“Abigail,” I say loudly so she can hear me. “Talk to me, baby. You said you’re hurt. What hurts?”
“Between my legs,” she sobs. “And my bottom.”
My grip slips on the handlebars, and I barely keep the bike upright.
Fuck. She was raped.
“What else?” I force myself to ask. “You said there’s blood. Is it just between your legs?”
“No,” she whispers. “My belly. My legs. My arms.”
Rage detonates in my chest.
“I’m one block away,” I tell her. “You hear me? What room are you in?”
“Tank,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please… don’t push me away.”
That nearly drops me to my knees.
“Room number, baby,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “What number?”
“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I’ll open the door.”
“No,” I bark. “Don’t open that fucking door.”
Too late.
I swing into the parking lot just as a door creaks open.
And there she is.
Naked. Shaking. Cuts scattered across her skin.
My vision tunnels.
She wasn’t just raped.
She was tortured.
She may not remember it yet…but one day, she might. And the thought nearly breaks me in half.
“Back up,” I tell her as I rush to the door. “Don’t move. I don’t want to touch you yet. We need to wait for Patch and Spike.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries, folding in on herself. “I know you don’t like touching me. Can you… Can you call me a taxi so I can go home?”
“Abigail,” I say, shaking my head as I grab the sheet from the bed. “I want nothing more than to pull you into my arms, but there isn’t a single spot on your body that isn’t hurt. We need to get you to a hospital…and I’m on my bike.”
I start to wrap the sheet around her carefully, my hands shaking despite my effort to stay steady, when the door bursts open.
Spike.
I step in front of her instinctively, shielding her from view…but judging by the sharp gasp he lets out, I’m already too late.
“Is this okay?” I ask her quietly as I adjust the sheet, making sure she’s covered.
She nods.
I step aside so her brother can see her.
