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Then an image of Ryker flashes through my mind.
He was here. His face was right in front of me, only inches away. The expression in his features, the tightness in his jaw, and the red tinge that colored his tanned cheeks showed hisanger. But the look in his eyes… They looked so sad. So pain-ridden. Tortured and heartbroken.
Aiden’s dad was behind him. Forcing himself inside him, hurting him in horrific ways. And Ryker was just lying there. Instead of fighting him off, he was comfortingme. He was letting that man do those things to him because he…was…worried…about…me.
My mind fractures and a gapping hole splinters open in the center of my chest. A searing pain like I’ve never felt before forges a path from behind my sternum over every inch of my body.
Another sorrowful scream fills the air at that memory. Then it’s abruptly cut off. The burn in my lungs intensifies, but when I try to pull air in through my mouth this time, there is none. I open my mouth wider and suck harder, but it doesn’t work.
I can’t fucking breathe and panic waits on the edges of my subconscious.
“Savina,” someone barks off in the distance. I can barely hear the voice, but it sounds familiar.
I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I open them and get blinded by something bright. There’s a shadow that blocks the light, but it halos around whatever it is. I blink, and the object comes a little more into focus. It’s a person.
Ryker. My husband.
Something is around my throat restricting my airflow. This time, when I lift my arms to try to bat it away, they actually work. As soon as my fingers dig into something firm with a slightly forgiving surface, the pressure is gone, and I’m able to suck in air. I do so with great gulps.
“Savina, baby,” Ryker’s deep voice comes again. He puts his face so close to mine that it’s all I can see.
“Ryker,” I croak. My throat hurts, and I’m not sure if it’s from screaming—I’m fairly certain the screams were comingfrom me—or if it’s from his hand that was just wrapped around my throat. “Wh-what’s going on?” I frantically look around the room. The last thing I remember is seeing Aiden’s father over Ryker’s shoulder.
Tears flood from my eyes and fall down my cheeks, and my stomach spasms painfully. I’ll never get that image out of my head for as long as I live. “Ryker,” I sob, clutching his shoulders.
“Jesus,” he mutters. His forehead touches mine, but he doesn’t leave it there long. When his head lifts and his eyes meet mine again, there’s so much pain etched on his face.
I swallow, trying to wet my dry throat and push away my tears. “Where is he? Aiden’s dad, where is he?” I ask, panic nearly stealing my voice again. My eyes dart around the room frantically.
His jaw clenches, and his voice is flat when he replies. “He’s dead.”
I close my eyes and let that knowledge wash through me. I hope his death was painful. “Good.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
I latch onto Ryker’s deep voice and focus my attention back on him.
“It’s over,” he says, his voice strained, smoothing his hand over my cheek. “It’s over, baby. They won’t ever hurt you again. Nothing will ever hurt you again.”
I lick my lips, and there’s a slight sting in the corners. “What about Aiden?”
He jerks his head to the side, and it’s then that I notice a rustling coming from my right. Dad is on the other side of the bed, jerking up a whimpering Aiden. When I see Ryker’s brother, a fresh wave of fear courses through me, and I start to tremble. I shouldn’t, I know I’m safe now, but I can’t help the utter alarm that tries to cripple me.
There’s a soft press of his lips against mine, and then Ryker’s moving away. My eyes snap open, and I latch onto his arms with both hands. “No!” I say loudly. “Don’t leave me!”
His expression softens, and his body relaxes back on mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Vicious. I’m only grabbing a blanket, and then I’m taking you home. Dr. Bale will be there waiting for us.”
I still don’t want him to go anywhere. I want him as close as possible. I’d crawl inside his body if I could. But I know he’s right. I want out of this fucking place.
I reluctantly let him go, and as if sensing my need for some kind of physical contact, he stays close as he snatches up a blanket from somewhere and drapes it over me. It’s warm and soft and feels comforting.
There’s a man I’ve never seen before near the bed, and he hands Ryker a pair of pants that I think are Ryker’s. He’s tall and built with muscles that are easily defined under his shirt, but they aren’t bulky. His hair is solid black, kind of long on top and cut closer to his scalp on the sides, and he has tattoos covering every bit of skin exposed, except his neck and face. His expression is blank, and his eyes look almost dead.
After Ryker slides the pants over his hips, he only bothers with the zipper, leaving the button unsnapped, before he’s bending and scooping me up into his arms. I loop my sore arms around his shoulders, briefly noticing that my wrists are bloody, trying to wedge myself as close to him as I can get, and bury my face into his neck.
There are murmured words that I don’t fully hear, and something soft presses against the side of my head. I know it’s Dad because I can smell his cologne. I wish I was in the right frame of mind to look at him, to offer him something to let him know I’m okay, but I just can’t. Mental exhaustion, physicalpain, and emotional turmoil has drained me from any kind of strength.
My eyes stay closed as I feel Ryker carrying me from the room. I don’t look as he walks through whatever house or building we’re in. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I have the strength or will to even open my eyes, let alone move my head from where it’s laying. Fatigue and the adrenaline dump has claimed me.