Page 16 of Property of Brute & Axl

“Drink,” Brute says, handing me a water bottle.

My eyes are swollen while watching Brute retrieve his phone and make a call, setting it on my thigh.

“I’m on my way back now. Should be there tonight.” Axl’s voice comes through the line, and I release an involuntary sob. “What’s happening?” His tone is stressed.

“Car backfired outside the clinic. Brought her back to that night,” Brute explains better than I could even try. My body still crawls with the feeling of unwanted touches.

“Fuck. I’ll get there as fast as I can. Can she hear me?” Axl seems pissed now.

“You’re on speaker,” Brute tells him.

“Princess, you’re strong. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I nod at his promise, throat too tight to speak.

“She’s nodding,” Brute says.

Shutting my eyes as he hangs up, I slump against the seat only for those eyes to invade my mind again. My breathing accelerates, and the panic grows. Will that be the vision I see every time my eyes close?

That thought elicits an outcry, and Brute settles me into the truck but doesn’t close the door.

“Go grab her something to eat and electrolytes,” he says. “We’re heading home.”

Disappointment and anger slam into my chest like a wave of grief. Today was a good day. I was working towards a balance of discovering the old me and figuring out who the new me is becoming. Now I’m paralyzed by an invisible fear because, even if I bumped into the men who hurt me, I’d never recognize their faces.

Brute encourages me to remove my shirt, and it’s not until I glance down that I notice I vomited from my hysteria. “God.”

Sitting there, I watch as bystanders whisper and point at the crazy lady sitting in the truck covered in her own sickness. I feel like I’m on display, with the world witnessing my trauma, and the depression I’ve been battling seeps into my bones, taking root and progressing with every passing second.

Chapter 10

Axl

Barreling through the door, the wood panel smashes against the wall, silencing the noise of the club and its members and guests. I don’t fucking care. “Where is she!” Multiple arms raise and point to the second floor.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I enter our apartment with more finesse, not wanting to startle Finleigh more than she’s already been.

“Princess.” She sleeps in the middle of the bed, her head poking out of the blankets. Brute sits in one of the armchairs by the window, eyes on Finleigh. “How’s she been?” I broke several speeding laws to get here as quickly as possible.

“She ate on the way back, drank a little, but she’s been out for hours. Hasn’t even moved.” There’s an unfamiliar note to his tone.

“You’re holding something back,” I say accusatorily as Brute shoots to his feet and storms over to me. I hold my ground as he breathes as heavy as a raging bull, allowing him the time he needs to get his head on straight, because I wasn’t here for her today; he was. He was the one who witnessed her trauma response and deserves a minute to express his fear about the whole situation.

“She shut down.” He finally backs down but doesn’t step back. We’re toe-to-toe, chests brushing against each other as we breathe. “On the way home, I couldn’t get her to say a fucking word. Barely moved, and I had to check if she was breathing fucking twice.” His eyes stray to her resting form when he quietly shares, “She was so terrified, man, she didn’t realize she’d vomited on herself or pissed her pants.”

“Fucking hell.” The only thing I want to do is crawl into bed with her, but I need to wash the death off first. “She bathed since you got home?”

“No.” His eyes narrow on me.

“Give me five, then bring her in.” With a final glance at Fin, I begin stripping off my clothes on the way to the bathroom, tossing them into the hamper in the corner.

I step into the shower and get the water running, keeping it cool to wash my hair and body before upping the heat to room temperature so it’s not too shocking. Brute walks in with Finleigh naked in his arms. He removed her sling, wrapped her cast, and put a shower cap on her head so her bandages won’t get soaked.

“Hey, princess.” Her eyes are half-mast, and she looks zoned out.

Brute gently helps her stand as I grip her waist to keep her upright before taking a second to remove his own clothes before joining us. The water splashes down on them from over my shoulder as Fin leans back against Brute’s chest. He holds her in place while I wash her body, massaging tensed muscles and brushing my fingers across a few sensitive areas. Remembering how her body felt when she would melt for us.

“Tell me about your appointment today.” My demand is temporarily ignored before she shutters when I kneel at her feet.

Her eyes remain closed, and her chest nearly heaves with the effort of fighting back what I assume are tears. She’s a jumble of emotions that likely feel like an attack on her system.