She walks over, lifting the clothes and running the fabric through her hands.
“If you want to get changed, there’s an en suite over there.” I point to the door at the other side of the room.
She nods, before hobbling over to the bathroom.
A few moments later, she reappears in the clothes that almost bury her. I move over on the bed, patting the space beside me, she takes a seat. Her back rests against the headboard as she hugs her knees.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
Her eyes are sunken, with some swelling around her left eye. She shakes her head like a scared animal.
“You’re safe here, but we’ll get the doc to check you over. You’re covered in bruises.”
“I’m fine,” she rushes out, panicked.
I place my hand on her arm. “Relax, no one will hurt you here. How old are you?”
She rests her head on her knees and a lone tear sits on her lashes. “Nineteen,” she whispers, and I place my hand over my mouth in shock. I knew she was young, but looking at this poor girl battered and bruised makes my blood boil.
“How long have you been with the Steel Delinquents?”
She clears her throat. “Two years. I ran away from home, and initially, I thought they were looking out for me.” She goes quiet, then a small sob escapes her lips. “I was so wrong. After the first week, they told me I had to earn my keep, fuck the brothers. I refused, but it didn’t stop them . . .” Her voice trails off as she stares into the distance.
I rub my hand up and down her arm, attempting to offer her some comfort. A girl of nineteen should be enjoying her life, not sitting here battered and bruised with the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“You can stay here as long as you need. None of these men will touch you,” I reassure her. She swallows hard and her eyes find mine.
“But––”
“No fucking buts. That is not how we work here. Fuck, I’d stab any of these fuckers for forcing themselves on you. I promise you’re safe here.”
She closes her eyes as her bottom lip trembles, then she lets out a long, drawn-out breath. I wipe away her tears with my thumb.
“I’ll get Drifter to set you up a room.” I throw the duvet back and go to stand, but I get a sharp stabbing pain, which I can only describe as fanny daggers.
“Drifter,” I shout, and he pushes open the bedroom door. The second he spots me hunched, he comes flying across the room.
“You need to rest,” he orders, grabbing hold of my hand and lowering me back onto the bed.
I pat away at his arm. “I’m fine. Could we set up a room for Marissa, get her checked over by the doc, and make sure she gets some food in her?” He lifts my legs onto the bed, and I frown. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I know,” he says, pulling the duvet back over my legs. “Doc’s already en route, and Red is setting up a room for her up here.”
“You don’t have to do all this,” she cries.
“Yes, we do. You need somewhere safe to heal, physically and mentally. If you need anything at all, you come find me, night or day,” I add. Drifter frowns but doesn’t say a word.He knows better.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DRIFTER
Igrab the loaded breakfast tray. I want Hell doing absolutely nothing today. I’ve seen how much she’s been struggling lately, and it’s starting to worry me. She needs to rest.
I head upstairs and knock gently on her bedroom door. If she’s asleep, I don’t want to wake her.
Balancing the tray in one hand, I carefully press the handle down and ease the door open with my shoulder. It squeaks loudly, and I grimace. I need to fix that. She needs all the rest she can get.
She stirs, stretching out and yawning.
