All fight leaves her as her muscles relax against me. I strum my fingers in hair, combing through her curls. Eventually, her breathing evens out. Her body softens beside me, warm and real and breathing steadily. Peace washes over her features. I keep stroking her hair, and at some point, I realize my fingers have drifted down her back. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Not since I was a kid. Hell, maybe never. Protective, but alsoangry enough to rip the world apart. I want to annihilate every last Juarez and wipe them clean from this earth for what they’ve done to her. I want to keep holding Hope, Daisy, whatever name she claims. I want to be responsible for her in a way that makes no damn sense.
I want to hunt down every man who has ever used or hurt her and make them pay. I want to snuff the light from their eyes like they have hers.
The minutes seem to tick by until sleep starts to claim me. When I go to move back to the floor, she stops me. “Don’t go,” she whispers.
So I don’t. I hold her closer. Her face buried against my chest. “Don’t let them take me back. Please don’t make me go back.”
“I promise. You’re safe with me. No one is ever going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”
My words seem to soothe her, and eventually sleep finds me.
When the sun comes up, I open my eyes to find her curled in the crook of my arm, clutching my tee to her face. She’s got that post-dream confusion, blinking, piecing together where she is and what the fuck she’s meant to do look about her.
I keep my voice low. “Morning.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t move away, either. I let her have a minute. I know she’s disoriented and needs a second to get her bearings.
“Hey,” Daisy croaks, rubbing her eyes.
“You sleep okay?”
“Better than expected.”
“Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?”
She shakes her head, and I shift out from under her.
In the morning light she looks softer than yesterday. Slightly rested.
But it won’t last. She’s going to be sick soon. Judging by the marks on her arms, she’s going to need a fix. When someone has an addiction like hers, it could mean life or death.
A fist bangs on my door. It’s Tyrant. “Prez wants a word. I’ve got her.” He nods to Daisy.
I hit the head and get dressed.
Daisy is rolled toward the wall as if she’s gone back to sleep.
“Didn’t take you as the type for a slumber party,” Tyrant says, snorting at my pile of blankets on the floor.
“I’ll invite you next time, but you’ve gotta wear some cute PJs.” I flip him the bird and grab the tracker I fished out of Daisy’s hand.
I meet Prez in his office. “You found out anything?”
I place the chip on his desk. “Dug that out of her hand.”
“Figured she’d have one. She tell you what their plan is?”
“They’ve got her kid.”
“You believe her, or is that part of her sad story?”
I shake my head. “You didn’t see her face when she told me. Whether it’s true or not, she believes it is. Got track marks on her arms. She’s going to get sick as fuck.”
“I’ve already got a call in with Doc Stevens. He’ll assess her and we’ll see how bad she’s got it. He’ll do a full workup and test for STDs.”
Shit. I didn’t even think about that.
Prez takes a hard look at me. “You fuck her?”
