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fifteen

MEADOW

All of us girls are half asleep on the couches in the main room of the clubhouse.

Over the last couple of hours, more of the women seemed to drift in.

Mia joins us with Trixie and Cassandra, and they plop down on the couch with us.

Alisha, Techy’s ole lady, comes in next with Shaylin and Tianna right behind her.

Lily is super shy and Reid decided to stay here with us girls just in case someone tries to mess with us.

My phone goes off and I answer without looking to see who it is. “Meadow, the shit we just found.” Caiden sounds shaken.

We all sit up a little at the sound of his voice, and I look to my mom and her eyes are wide.

“We found where Peterson has been hiding but we found a secret room and a dozen women. I can’t fucking say the shit we just saw, but they won’t go to the hospital.” He talks so fast that I can barely understand him.

Lily joins us. “I’m not medically trained, but I’m a good hand-holder. But from what it seems, these girls have been treated poorly and need a good hot meal.” She smiles at us sweetly and I look at Reid behind her.

“We need all the help we can get and a hot meal would be perfect for them.”

The front door opens and Aiden runs to the door, holding it open while Mason’s brothers, Cole and Harlan, are carrying in two women with others barely walking in behind them.

At the back of the line is Sarah.

My heart stops as I see Sarah stumble through the door. Her face is a map of bruises, eyes sunken and haunted.

“Oh my God, Sarah,” I breathe, rushing to her side.

She flinches at my touch, then recognition flickers in her gaze. “Dr. Beckham?” Her voice is a raspy whisper. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” I assure her, fighting back tears. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

The clubhouse erupts into controlled chaos as more women are brought in. My medical training kicks in, overriding the horror threatening to overwhelm me.

“Mom, we need blankets, water, anything you can find,” I call out. “Lily, start that meal. These women need nutrients.”

I turn to Elle, her own eyes wide with shock while taking in the sight of the women.

I’m worried about her, at her pale complexion, and I look around for her mom or Amelia. “Can someone take her?” I ask, and Amelia runs over to help Elle onto the couch.

As the others spring into action, I begin triage. Some women are barely conscious, dehydrated, and malnourished. Others bear signs of torture—burns, cuts, broken bones set wrong.

Sarah clings to my hand as I examine her. “He… he kept asking about you,” she mumbles. “Wanted to know your schedule. Your routines.”

Ice floods my veins. “Sarah, I’m so sorry,” I choke out. “This is all my fault.”

She shakes her head weakly. “Not your fault. His. That monster…”

A sob escapes her, and I pull her close, mindful of her injuries. “You’re safe now,” I promise. “We’ll make him pay for this.”

As I work, my mind races. Where is Mason? Is he still looking for Peterson?

But I can’t dwell on that now. These women need me. I push my fear aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Hours pass in a blur of bandages and pain medication.

I step back, surveying the room. Women huddled in blankets, sipping broth and water. The haunted look in their eyes speaks of horrors I can’t begin to imagine.

They’re terrified and there is nothing I can do to take away their pain.

Across the room, Lily ladles steaming broth into bowls. The rich aroma fills the air, a stark contrast to the stench of fear and unwashed bodies. Some women eye the food warily, as if expecting a trick. Others gulp it down, desperation overriding caution.

My mom appears at my side, arms laden with blankets. “How are they?” she asks softly.

I shake my head. Words fail me. How do I describe this level of trauma? The physical wounds will heal, but the scars beneath the skin… those might never fade.

“Any word from Mason?” I ask, voice low.

Mom’s eyes darken. “Nothing yet. But they’ll find him, sweetheart. They’ll make him pay.”

The rage in her tone startles me. Gentle, nurturing Mom, transformed by this horror into something harder. I recognize that fury. It burns in my own veins, a constant simmer beneath the surface.

A whimper from across the room draws my attention. One of the women—God, she looks so young—curls into herself, rocking back and forth. I move toward her, heart aching.

“Hey,” I murmur, crouching beside her. “Can you tell me your name?”

She flinches at my voice. Her eyes, when they meet mine, are wild with terror. “Please,” she whispers. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

My vision blurs. Tears threaten to spill over. I blink them back. These women need strength now, not my weakness.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” I promise. “You’re safe here. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She shakes her head frantically. “Everywhere,” she chokes out. “It hurts everywhere.”

I reach for her, moving slow. She tenses but doesn’t pull away. My fingers brush her arm, featherlight. “I’m going to help you,” I say. “Is it okay if I check you over?”

A long moment passes. Then, a tiny nod.

I work my way through examining the young woman, my touch gentle as I catalog her injuries. Bruises mottle her skin in various stages of healing. Some cuts look infected. Her left wrist is swollen, likely broken and improperly set.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly as I clean a particularly nasty gash on her arm.

She hesitates, eyes darting around the room. “Emily,” she finally whispers. “I’m Emily.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Emily,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m Dr. Beckham, but you can call me Meadow.”

Emily nods, wincing as I apply antiseptic. “Are… are you really going to help us?”

The vulnerability in her voice breaks my heart. “Yes,” I promise. “We’re going to take care of you. All of you.”

As I finish bandaging Emily’s arm, Sarah approaches us. She looks steadier now, some color returning to her cheeks.

“Dr. Beck—Meadow,” she corrects herself. “Can I help? I may not be in the best shape, but I’m still a nurse.”

Pride swells in my chest. Even after everything she’s been through, Sarah’s first instinct is to help others. I nod, grateful for the assistance.

Together, we move from woman to woman, treating injuries and offering what comfort we can. Some are more responsive than others. A few remain almost catatonic, curled into themselves.

Hours pass in a blur of bandages and quiet reassurances. My back aches from bending over patients. My eyes burn with exhaustion and unshed tears. But I can’t stop. Won’t stop. These women need me.

Mom appears at my side, pressing a bottle of water into my hands. “Drink,” she orders. “You can’t help them if you collapse.”

I obey, suddenly aware of how parched I am. As I gulp down the water, Mom’s eyes roam the room.

“Any word?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head. “Nothing yet. But don’t worry. Mason and the others will find that bastard.”

A commotion at the door draws our attention. Lily bursts in, face flushed with exertion. “They’re back!” she calls out.

I lock eyes with Mom, a silent conversation passing between us. What fresh hell awaits us now?