My heart stops.
I’m across the room before the thought even finishes. I hit the tub hard enough to send water sloshing over the edge and get both hands under her, hauling her up out of it in one violent motion.
“Ayla—”
She breaks the surface with a gasp.
Air punches back into my lungs so hard it feels like I got hit.
She coughs once, sucking in breath, and I’m holding her against my chest with water running everywhere and my heart still trying to beat its way out through my ribs.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” It comes out harsher than I mean it to. Rough. Shaken. “What the hell are you doing?”
Her skin is hot from the water. Her body too loose in my arms. Too tired.
Then I get a good look at her face.
Everything in me goes still.
Bruising.
Swelling.
Blood crusted under her nose.
A split in her lip.
Something black and murderous tears open inside my chest.
“What the fuck, Ayla.”
I reach for her face without thinking, thumb angling toward her jaw, and she flinches.
Flinches.
From me. That does something ugly to my head. My hand curls into a fist before I force it open again.
She tries to push up out of the tub on her own. Doesn’t get far.
I catch her under the arms before she can slip.
“Easy,” I snap, like she’s the one pissing me off. Like I’m not one second from losing my fucking mind. “Stop.”
I get her out of the tub, water pouring off both of us, and grab the towel hanging nearby. Wrap it around her. Dry her fast, rougher than I should, gentler than I know how to be. Her wrists are raw too. Rope burns. Deep ones.
My vision goes white for half a second.Someone tied her up in her own kitchen.
I get the towel around her properly and back her toward the wall, bracketing her there without touching more than I have to. My forehead drops to hers before I even think about it.
She’s breathing.
That’s all my body seems to care about right now.
She’s breathing. She’s warm. She’shere.
“Please,” I say, and the word feels wrong in my mouth. Rusted. Foreign. “Please just tell me who did this to you.”
Her breath stutters.