I walked in to the shower, the water soaking my jeans and T-shirt, and turned the knobs to shut off the water. Then I turned, crouched in front of her, and draped the towel over her naked, trembling body.
How could anyone break a girl so badly that she ended up like this?
“Rayne, look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Babe.”
The tips of her fingers holding the towel whitened as she clutched it against her. I reached forward, cupped her chin, and with a little pressure, urged her to look at me.
Her long, black lashes flickered before she glanced up, and I almost fell back on my ass when I saw her expression. It was a haunting desperation within her glazed, tear-filled eyes.
“Ah, fuck,” I muttered.
Lost. She looked so fuckin’ lost.
I knew about mistrust, about being lost and alone. But rage had filled me. It drove me, consumed me. Consumed all the pain and hurt and betrayal.
The one man in this chick’s life, who was supposed to protect her, destroyed her.
My jaw clenched and every muscle tensed. If I had the chance, I’d spin back time, draw and quarter her husband, and then release my Ink on his ass.
I was so not good at this nice shit, but this chick needed a shitload of it. “You don’t know me, babe. Sure as hell don’t trust me, and I don’t expect you to. But I’ll give it to you straight, whether you like it or not. Always.”
She licked a drop of water off her lower lip, but didn’t say anything.
“I fucked up before, that’s on me, and you won’t easily trust me. I get that. But you need something. Anything—ask me. Okay?”
Again she remained silent, but when I raised my brows she said, “Okay.”
“I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I want to help.” I was the absolute wrong person to help her. Fuck, I didn’t know how to help her. I was crass, rude, didn’t give a crap about anyone.
But her I did.
She tucked the towel under her feet and I caught a glimpse of purple marks in the crook of her arm. My eyes narrowed as my stomach twisted.
Reaching forward, I took hold of her wrist and turned her arm. Bruised skin and ruptured veins. “He gave you drugs?”
She pulled back and I let her go.
“What drugs?” Fury pulsed as I thought of the room I’d rescued Ryker from weeks ago. Strapped down, needles piercing his skin, machines hooked up to him.
“Valium mostly,” she said. “Ketamine and Valium when I fought.”
It was hard as hell to not completely lose it in front of her. I didn’t get it. Why the hell would her husband drug her? What for? What was he doing that she needed to fight and he had to drug her to stop her from fighting?
My hands curled into fists and my temple throbbed. I needed to calm the fuck down before the rage, which was my constant companion, let loose and scared the shit out of her.
I refrained from reaching out my hand like her husband had done that day on the rooftop, and instead, put my hands on her upper arms and urged her to stand. She had no choice, unless she wanted to let go of the towel, which I knew she wouldn’t.
I stepped out of the shower and pulled her over to the cupboard to get her a dry towel.
“Thanks,” she whispered as I handed it to her.
I nodded, then said, “You’re too fuckin’ skinny.” I turned and walked out.
I collapsed against the bathroom counter, palms flat on the marble, leaning forward with my head down.
My emotions had been sealed, hidden and buried in a tomb for years. I was numb; I liked being numb, but Kilter dug up the tomb and ripped off the lid, and now my emotions were tearing through my veins like missiles.
I didn’t know what to feel right now. Scared. Relieved. Confused. They fought one another like puzzle pieces jammed into the wrong places. They were all there, but none of them fit, and they didn’t fit because they were scrambled.
Since I’d first met him, I’d been teetering on the edge of breaking. Weeks. Weeks of the numbness slipping.
I stood, breathing in and out for several minutes, until I had some semblance of control back. Then I dried off and pulled on the clothes that were left next to the sink.
The black yoga pants were stretchy and soft, but my skin was red and tender from scrubbing it raw with the rough stone in the shower.
I’d scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to erase Anton, the compound, everything, but it hadn’t worked. That place had been like a leech sucking the life out of me. It didn’t matter that Anton was dead or the place was blown up.
I’d learned over the years to block out everything happening around me. But with Kilter I couldn’t block him out. He was tender and careful, and yet his words didn’t match.
There was so much anger bottled up in him. It was in his abrupt tone and movements, the way his eyes narrowed when he watched me with that spark of fire burning in their depths.
He made me nervous, and at the same time I felt protected. I wasn’t certain why, except he had been the only person in my life who’d helped me.