“See what happens when you fight me.” He shoves my face into the cool floor. “Next time, you might not wake up.”
I can only hope that happens sooner rather than later.
I wake in the hospital, the cold antiseptic scent greeting me. I don’t remember getting here, but I’m sure it wasn’t Elias. Hopefully, it was Leo, my security, coming to check on me.
Doctors ask questions, wanting to call Elias, but I beg them not to. I tell them I slipped on my heels and fell down the stairs. They believe my story based on the amount of alcohol in my system, and I hate this version of myself.
I replay every detail in my mind, the images burned into my memory. The rage in his eyes every time he looks at me, the weight of my body crushing on the stairs, and the bruises blooming on my skin.
But it was the last time. With broken ribs, I found my way out of the rubble. The day he left for a bachelor party in the Caribbean, I took it as my sign.
“I was terrified to tell anyone. Terrified to admit the abuse because I was afraid no one would believe me because of who his family is.”
Soft thumbs brush my cheeks. I open my eyes and find Jett kneeling before me, wiping away the tears I didn’t know I was shedding.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers.
I nod. “I am.”
And for the first time in a long time, I feel all the dark, twisted carnage I’ve been carrying lift away.
I’m alive. I’m breathing. I’m Wren Drummond.
Chapter 36
Jett
“I’msoproudofyou, baby,” I praise the woman standing next to me. The survivor.
She turns her gaze to me, and it’s enough for me to see the storm in her whiskey eyes. The light that was starting to spark has dimmed. It makes me want to find Elias and destroy him. “Take me home, Jett.”
“My place okay?”
“Anywhere with you is perfect.”
I nod, chest warming as I wrap an arm over her shoulder and guide her toward my truck. I help her slide into the passenger seat, clip her seatbelt, and watch her eyes stare through the windshield. I want to say a hundred things, but nothing feels right in this moment.
On the way home, I run through The Willow—a local fast-food restaurant—and pick up a couple of cheeseburgers, some fries, and two milkshakes. Strawberry for her and chocolate for me.
When we pull into my driveway a few minutes later, I can’t help but pause; the weight of the day, the therapy, the truths are weighing me down. I glance at her, forehead resting on the window as the sun shines into the cab of my truck. She’s lost in her own thoughts and on the verge of breaking.
“What do you need?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She startles, almost as if she forgot I was sitting here. “Can…can I shower?” Her voice cracks. “I feel dirty. Like I can feel his hands on me.”
My chest aches at that. “Of course you can.”
We both open our doors and slip out of the truck. I carry the bag of food and tray of milkshakes as I follow her up the front porch. She steps aside for me to unlock the door. As Wren passes by, our shoulders brush and heat ignites from where our skin touches.
Placing the takeout in the kitchen, I walk back into the living room where Wren is staring at framed photos, lost in thought.
“Ready?” I ask, and she nods.
We head upstairs toward my bedroom. Flipping on the light to my en-suite bathroom, I pull out a fresh towel and washcloth, placing them on the sink. With a glance around, I mentally pat myself on the back for remembering to clean up all the little hairs from shaving.
“I’ll get you something comfy to wear.”
She gives me a small nod, avoiding my eyes. “Thank you.”
