Chapter 25 #2
The sedative worked its way through her system. Her tears soaked my shirt as her fingers clawed weakly at my sleeve, desperate for something to hold on to.
I moved her carefully into my arms, cradling her, letting her weight rest against me, keeping her safe while the storm raged in her mind.
“Don’t,” she begged. “Don’t take me back. You promised. You promised you wouldn’t hurt me. You promised you’d protect me, Lucian—”
The way she said my name was a blade to my heart. A weapon she’d found in the only place she still had control—my conscience.
“I’m not hurtin’ you,” I said low, forcing steadiness into my voice even as my blood boiled. “I’m gettin’ you away from the men who did this to you and call it business.”
She shook her head hard, the movement sloppy. “You’re taking me to Madrid.”
“Aye,” I said, and hated the word. “But you’re not goin’ back to what you ran from. Not on my watch.”
Her breath hitched. “You don’t understand.”
“I’m tryin’ to,” I said. “I want to understand—every scar they left you with, and every tear they made you spill. I’ll help you heal, piece by piece, and I’ll make damn sure none of them survive what they did to you.”
She made a small sound—half whimper, half sob—and her eyes rolled unfocused, staring at something that wasn’t the cabin. In my arms, I held a woman fighting ghosts she couldn’t outrun.
“I didn’t work at just a bar,” she whispered. “Not really.”
I went still.
“It’s okay, lass. You can rest, and we’ll talk later.”
Her lips trembled. She swallowed, and her voice came out slurred and furious at the same time.
“When I ran—when I got out—I didn’t have anywhere to go.
I didn’t have money. I didn’t have papers.
I couldn’t work.” She tried to laugh, but it cracked into sobs.
“I went to a charity run by the church. Because I thought… I thought it would be safe.”
My throat tightened.
“There was an older woman,” she said, sniffling. “She acted as if she cared. She gave me food. She gave me a room. She told me I was brave.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “She told me I could earn enough money to get on my feet. Enough to rent a room. Enough to live until I could figure out how to get home, if I trusted her.”
My jaw clenched so hard it ached as I fought the urge to unleash the Irish wrath simmering in my core. I swallowed, rubbing circles on her back. I had to stay calm for her.
Scarlett sucked in a broken breath. “It was an auction, Lucian. At a casa de citas.” Her voice was a pain-filled whisper. “El Privilegio.”
Scarlett’s face twisted, the sedative pulling her words apart even as the truth fought its way out. “I understood what she was suggesting,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I wasn’t tricked like a child. I—” Her throat worked. “I agreed because I had no other option.”
Her whole body shuddered.
“I signed papers,” she whispered. “I smiled. I told myself it was just a transaction.” She swallowed hard again. “And it was still—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but her eyes met mine, wet and wild, and I understood it was more than she could say.
Coercion wrapped in money. Violence with a receipt.
I kept my voice steady because if I let my anger loose, I’d scare her worse.
“Listen to me,” I implored her. “Starving isn’t consent. Fear isn’t consent. Isolation isn’t consent.”
She shook her head, tears sliding toward her ears. “I’m dirty,” she whispered. “Unlovable. Used up.” Her mouth twisted. “You shouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“No,” I said without hesitation. “No. Don’t you put their filth on yourself.”
Her eyes fluttered, fighting the drug. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I don’t need details to know what they did to you,” I said. “And none of it makes you less. Not to me. Not ever.”
She whimpered. “I want to tell somebody,” she whispered. “Please. Please let me tell you.”
My chest tightened. I adjusted my hold, tucking her under my chin, rocking her gently. I pressed my mouth to the top of her head.
“Tell me,” I whispered. “Only if you want to.”
After a long moment, I thought she might have drifted off. But she continued, “He was much older,” her voice thick with dread. “Not…not someone who should’ve been allowed near me. He—” She sniffed. “He smelled. He hurt me.”
My hands shook with the effort of holding myself together.
“I don’t remember all of it,” she said. “My mind—it blocked it out. It blocked the worst.”
Her breath came in short bursts.
“When my mind came back,” she whispered, “I was…face down. I couldn’t—” She choked. “I couldn’t move right.”
My blood ran ice-cold.
“I looked back,” she whispered. “And he was…behind me. He had blood on his fingers. My blood.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let her see what those words did to me.
Her numb hands gripped my shirt. “He said it was worth it,” she whispered. “Worth every euro to taste the blood of a virgin.”
Rage blurred the edges of my vision.
I forced it down. Forced my breathing to remain steady.
“He threw money,” she whispered. “And left.”
She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again.
“And Lola…she gave me a fraction. Ten percent. Told me I owed her for taking care of me.” She sighed. “But it was enough to eat. Enough to get a room.”
This was what Andrew Hayes had done to his daughter. I hated that I’d ended him so quickly. If I could resurrect him, I’d torture him for days.
“And then the club owner offered me work.” Her words were full of regret. “I said no. I said I’d rather die.” She swallowed hard. “But hunger makes you willing to do the worst things.”
“Shh,” I murmured. “It’s okay now. None of those people will hurt you again. Not as long as there’s breath in my body.”
“I’m the monster. Not you,” she slurred. “Please forgive me.”
My heart lurched at the sheer wrongness of it.
I stroked her hair. “You’re not a monster,” I whispered. “You’re a woman who survived. That’s what you did. A very brave, beautiful girl.”
She shook her head weakly. “I—”
She went limp against my chest.
I kissed the top of her head again and kept rocking her.
“You remind me of a little robin I once found,” I murmured, the words coming from a buried memory. “It had a broken wing. Flittin’ and flutterin’, desperate to fly, only hurting itself more with every panicked flap of its wing.”
She didn’t move, finally succumbing to the sedative.
“Don’t worry, my little bird,” I said. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll mend that wing. I’ll protect you and care for you until your last breath—even if that means I have to let you fly away from me.”
A hot tear rolled down my cheek—something I hadn’t felt since I was a wee boy.
“And whoever hurt you will pay. There won’t be a single one of them left to remind you of your anguish.”
The jet cut through the darkness.
I held her for hours, rocking her gently in the quiet cabin, while Madrid waited ahead—the reckoning already in motion.