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“Eight…n-nine, maybe?” Becky’s brow furrowed as more tears leaked from the corners of her clenched eyes.
I hugged her closer.
“Let’s get you in a bed,” the nurse said, standing. “Do you need a wheelchair?” she asked me as I stood.
“I’ll carry her.”
Nothing but a hanging sheet separated the bed I laid Becky on and the neighboring person moaning in misery on the other side.
I stepped back, hands clenched, my guts a riotous mess of burning rage.
The nurse pulled back the comforter from Becky’s torso. “God,” she whispered, gaze trailing over Becky’s chest and the dozen or so cane welts, a couple of which oozed blood. She grabbed the blood pressure cuff, ignoring my presence.
A doctor appeared at my elbow, and I forced myself to take a step back and give them room to work.
He looked her over, asking questions—getting the gist of the story he could from her shivering body. The female nurse started an IV while I filled in the blanks for the doctor. While tending to the bleeding welts on her thighs, he asked if we’d called the cops.
I told him we hadn’t a moment to spare, that all I’d cared about was removing her from the abuser's house without delay.
Hooked up to fluids, wounds tended to, and waiting for the police to arrive, Becky lay pale and unmoving.
Once the doctor and nurse left us, I pulled a chair forward and sat beside her, brushing dark strands of hair behind her ears.
She shifted her face toward me, and I cupped her uninjured cheek, allowing myself to finally breathe.
My body finally settled, and I sagged against the hard-backed chair, drained. My chest ached, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap Becky up in my arms and hold her to me. Block out the memories of her last twelve years up to that moment. Fill her mind and heart with laughter and light. I leaned forward and kissed her brow, nose, and cheek.
“D-don’t leave me,” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“Never,” I promised before gently brushing my lips across hers.
It wasn’t until two in the morning that they released Becky into my care. Welts, bruises, and a few lacerations along with a slight concussion…shit could have been a hell of a lot worse.
She decided to press charges.
Personally, I wanted the fucker shot as did her cousin who I’d taken a few minutes to finally update. She’d cursed me out for waiting so fucking long—for silencing my cell so I hadn’t even been aware she’d been attempting to get in touch with me for hours.
I felt like an asshole, Chantelle labeled me as such, but I knew once shit calmed down, we would be good again.
Cops had asked a million questions. Paperwork required my signature since Becky couldn’t grip a pen. Exhaustion lay heavy on both our shoulders by the time I got us into my house and up the stairs to my bedroom.
Becky passed out on my mattress, the skin between her brows unlined, face relaxed in sleep aided by some heavy-duty medication.
I stripped out of my clothes and crawled under the blankets beside her, keeping my body away from her bruised and battered form. Threading my fingers through hers, I brushed my lips over her forehead. “Sleep, sweetness. Rest and don’t worry about anything. I’ll be here.”
Her lips parted with a sigh as though she’d heard me.
I relaxed my head onto the pillow to watch her sleep, determined to watch over her through the night.
Chapter 24
Becky
Daniel roused me from sleep every two hours like he’d been instructed to do, blessedly tearing me from haunting dreams every single time.
I’d been able to do little more than stagger along behind Stephen as he had pulled me from the car and into his house after abducting me. Dizzy, confused, and unstable, I hadn’t thought to fight or cry out for help.
God knew he didn’t have Daniel’s strength to lift and carry me down the stairs into the playroom. Had I gone willingly? I couldn’t remember through the fog in my brain