“Baby, you okay?” His tone changes instantly. Softer. Worried.
“No.” For the first time, I feel myself on the verge of breaking down. Really breaking down. But I can’t. Because Dad doesn’t like to see—or hear—me cry.
“Where are you?” Now he’s on alert, ready to burn down the city.
“County Medical.”
“I’m on my way!”
He disconnects before I can tell him to come alone.
Shit. This is the last thing I need tonight. Dad and his brothers, storming the hospital in their leather cuts, dusty boots, and rangy beards.
Before I can contemplate any of that, the cops arrive. I have to talk to them, but I’m not sure I can accurately relay the story. Or put into words the things I endured the last two days.
I’m not a child, nor am I naïve. I was a model based in Los Angeles and New York all through college and up until about a year ago when I realized I loved being behind the camera more than I liked being in front of it. So, I quit and changed jobs. It’s been the best decision of my life.
Until the day before yesterday.
The police try to ask Grim to leave, but I shake my head. “No. He stays. He was there for the last part of it anyway.”
I don’t dare look at him because we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. He’s been this strong, quiet presence at my side simply because I asked. I don’t know why he stayed, but at some point, I need to express my gratitude.
“I’m Detective Roswell and this is Detective James. Do you think you’re up to telling us what happened?” A no-nonsense woman who introduces herself as part of the sex crimes unit asks in a level tone.
My body reacts at the very thought of giving those horrible acts verbal confirmation. A shudder that chills me to the bone. Slight shaking of my hands. The blood coursing through my veins suddenly feels like it’s going to explode out in every direction.
Maybe I’m not as strong as I thought I was.
Because I can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe.
Then two big, warm hands cover one of mine. “I’ll be right here, Allora.”
Chapter Three
Grim
I don’t know why I’m still here other than needing to give my statement to the cops. But I could have done that separately. Gone down to the station tomorrow. Let Daniil handle it with his fancy lawyers and shit, especially since I’ve kept him updated via text.
Chris met up with Rage and they went in search of the guy driving the van, but he seemed to have disappeared into the woods. And it’s deserted out there. Which is probably why he went in that direction. I’m not sure why he just abandoned both Allora and the van, but hopefully, we’ll figure it out.
Instead of joining the chase, I haven’t left Allora’s side except for a brief time while they did the rape kit or whatever it’s called these days. Got her comfortable. Took pictures. Asked her a million questions. Did test after test. And now she’s recounting a story that makes me waffle between wanting to vomit and rage at the world. What they did to her is…unimaginable. And hearing her recounting it makes me sick.
That’s probably why I can’t leave her.
Nother—Allora.
Her name is Allora.
It’s a beautiful name for a woman I can already tell is stunning. Even with the big purple bruise over one eye and the bruising on her neck. The tangled, ratty hair that’s in desperate need of washing. Her soft but filthy skin. Under it all, I know the woman from two days ago is beautiful.
And she will be again on the outside.
I have no idea what might happen on the inside, though.
“They took turns,” she says in a flat voice, not looking at anyone. Her voice is neutral, like she’s talking about the weather. “When they were done, they chained my ankle to the bedpost and left me there all night.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
