“Mickey,” she groans, and she tries to sit up, but winces.
Fucking Mickey motherfucker.At her words, a fire-hot anger rushes through my veins but it’s mixed with guilt as well because this…this is on me. I caused this.
“Help me,” she whispers, holding up one of her hands that’s most definitely broken, and I lean down to pick her up. One arm under her knees, one under her back and I lift her easily. I walk back into the living room, kicking the door closed loudly, before rushing to my room and setting her on the bed as gently as I possibly can. My room’s untouched. He really only came for her.
“Where else are you hurt?” She’s still wearing just my shirt, so I can see the bruised handprints along her thighs and that fire in my veins turns to ice. “Did he touch you?”
“No,” she croaks out hoarsely. “I stabbed him in the hand before he could.”
“Good girl,” I say softly, swallowing a lump in my throat. “Who was it? Mickey?”
“His goon. Cory.”
Cory. Count your days, motherfucker.
“Where are you hurt?” I ask again, and she lifts her hands gently, trying to have me help her take her shirt off. When I slide it over her head, I see. There’s a long gash along her chest, the dark shirt was hiding it. The blood’s dried, but it’s from armpit to armpit. It doesn’t look like it’s deep, but it’s going to hurt for days. I take a deep breath, and push myself up to get the first-aid kit.
“Don’t leave!” she cries out, grabbing my hand quickly. The terror in her voice breaks my heart. My expression softens in an instant and I cover her hand with mine.
“I’m not, I promise. I’m going to go get the first-aid kit though. I need to clean these and splint your fingers,” I say, gesturing with my head to her other hand. “I’m not leaving you again. I swear it.”
Roxie blinks slowly, swallowing hard before nodding once. She’s putting on a brave face and I fucking hate that she feels like she has to.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise. Running to the other side of the room, pulling out the meager first-aid kit I keep at my desk before going back to her side as fast I can and I grab the supplies I need.
Wetting a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol, I turn to face her.
“This might sting.”
“You and I both know it’s going to. Just get on with it,” Roxie says quietly, bracing herself for the bite of the antiseptic. I start with her hands, gently wiping away the blood there and focusing on the torn skin. “Goddamn it, fuck,” she hisses.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper over and over, every time she’s in pain. Like the more I say the words the more I’d be able to take her pain from her into my own body.
I wish that’s how it worked.
I keep moving, gently cleaning the gash on her chest so I can see if I need to get Asher to stitch her up. I don’t think I could stomach stitching her up myself when she’s already in this much pain. She clenches her teeth and her eyes screw shut.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat.
“Stop saying that.” And that makes my mouth snap shut.
“I don’t think you need stitches. It looks shallow, like you were able to get away.” I try to keep the heat out of my tone because I don’t want her to think I’m angry with her. Never at her. Forever at him.
“He’s a big fucker, but I got some good hits in. He definitely won’t look the same after I slashed his face.”
Holy hell.
“You what?”
“I got’em good,Daddy,” she says faintly, a small smile on her lips. “I made sure that if he was going to hurt me, he’d remember who he messed with.”
“That’s my girl.” I can’t help the pride I feel. Roxie’s smart, quick, strong. She did what she could with what she had and protected herself when I should’ve protected her. The smile drops as the tension leaves her body and she melts into the mattress, eyes closing and her breath evening out.
“Roxie?” I say gently. “Baby?”
When she doesn’t answer immediately, terror fills my entire body. I put my fingers to the already bruising flesh on her neck to check her pulse. It’s there, thank fuck. Strong and steady.
She already has a mild concussion, this probably pushed her into dangerous territory.
