Page 99 of Rampage

A familiar figure breaks away from the crowd, moving toward us with quick, determined steps. Meadow. She clutches a medical bag, her professional demeanor barely concealing the worry in her eyes.

"Mason called ahead," she says briskly, looking me over with a critical gaze. Her calmness is infectious, soothing my fraying nerves. "Glad you're here in one piece.

"Upstairs," she directs just as quickly, her tone stern and nonnegotiable. She leads the way to the blue bedroom where Reid and I had sought refuge after the bakery attack, the place that had briefly been home until this all began.

Reid follows close behind, unwilling to put me down, his grip on me as fierce and unyielding as if I might still be torn away from him. The room is just as we left it—familiar, safe. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now.

He sets me gently on the bed, his arms reluctant to release me. I sense the conflict in him, the protective urge to stay, to shield me from any further harm.

Meadow approaches with a reassuring smile, touching his arm softly. "Give me fifteen minutes with her," she says, her voice firm but kind. "Just enough time for you to clean up and for me to check her over."

Reid hesitates, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I'll be fine," I promise.

He doesn't want to leave my side. His eyes are wild, haunted by what could have happened.

"Fifteen minutes," he says finally, the words rough with emotion. He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering against my skin. "I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

When the door closes behind him, Meadow sets her medical bag on the bed and begins removing supplies with practiced efficiency.

"I need to see what we're dealing with," she says gently. "Can you take off Reid's jacket?"

I hesitate, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my torn clothing underneath. Meadow seems to understand, her expression kind.

"I brought clean clothes," she says, gesturing to a small pile on the dresser. "And I promise, whatever I see stays between us."

Slowly, I slip Reid's jacket from my shoulders, wincing as the movement pulls at my sore muscles. Meadow's face remains professionally neutral as she takes in my exposed skin, the torn shirt revealing bruises forming across my ribs and collarbones.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asks, her voice steady as she begins cleaning the cut along my collarbone.

"They ambushed me at the apartment," I explain, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "Three men. Walter Dawson, Frank's brother, was waiting at the house they took me to."

Meadow nods, her hands gentle as they work. "Any loss of consciousness?"

"Briefly, when they first grabbed me."

She checks my pupils, her movements methodical and reassuring. The clinical nature of her examination helps ground me, pulling me back from the shock.

"You're going to have some impressive bruising," she says, applying antiseptic to my wrists where the zip ties cut into my skin. "But nothing's broken. The cut on your collarbone isn't deep enough for stitches."

"Thank you," I whisper as she helps me into a clean t-shirt.

She pauses, meeting my eyes directly. "Lily, I need to ask, did they sexually assault you?"

"No," I answer truthfully. "They threatened to, but Reid got there first."

Relief flashes across her face before she nods professionally. "Good. That's good."

When she finishes, she packs away her supplies and heads for the door. "He's going to be a mess," she warns, her hand on the doorknob. "I've never seen Reid like this, not even when his mother was sick."

"I know," I reply softly.

The moment she opens the door, Reid is there, freshly showered but with tension radiating from every line of his body. His eyes immediately seek mine, scanning for any sign of distress.

"She'll be okay," Meadow tells him quietly. "Nothing's broken. Keep the cuts clean and watch for signs of concussion, but physically, she'll heal just fine."

Reid nods, barely registering her words.