Chapter 38 Violet
Violet
I jerked awake, the movement causing my head to throb as my fingers instinctively touched the bandage on my forehead. With a wince, my eyes took a moment to clear, panic rushing back as phantom metal screeched in my ears.
But I wasn’t in a car, or any moving vehicle for that matter. I wasn’t even in Ryder’s arms. I was in a room, painted in soft blues, my body covered with sheets patterned with flowers, and pillows cushioning me softly.
And I wasn’t naked.
I was wearing silk pyjama shorts and a vest.
What the fuck just happened?
Sitting up, I glanced at the bedside table, stilling when I noticed Ryder’s butterfly knife laying there beside a glass of water. I distinctly remembered the knife being taken off me, so what was…
The door handle rattled, and I immediately grabbed the knife, my arm shaking as a woman entered.
“Oh, you’re up,” a woman chirped, her smile bright as she came in and closed the door softly behind her.
I frowned, the grip on the knife cutting into my palm. My eyes tracked her across the room, watching as she glided smoothly over to the window and shut it with a click. My head throbbed, and lifting my hand, my fingertips brushed past the bandage to find my hair had been braided.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice more of a croak. I coughed, glancing at the water for a second before returning my attention to the woman who’d now moved onto pulling back the curtains.
“Oh, I’m Elena,” she said gently. Her pale blonde hair was pinned up, a few loose strands framing her heart-shaped face.
Her eyes reminded me of the ocean when she met mine, those same eyes widening when she noticed the weapon still clutched tightly in my palm.
“I understand you’ve met my husband, Hendrix. ”
My grip loosened a little, but I didn’t let it go.
“You were in an accident,” she continued gently, perching on the end of the bed. “You hit your head, but according to the doctor it’s just superficial.”
My fingers automatically touched the bandage again. “What… what happened to the—”
“Oh, those men are probably dead,” she said so calmly, it took me several moments to even register the words. “Ryder dealt with it. Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you again.”
“Ryder… dealt with it?” I repeated, my tone harsh. “He’s the one who gave me to those men in the first place.”
Elena visibly winced, her pale brows drawing together. “I think I’ll leave that up to him to explain.” Standing, she brushed her palms against her jeans. I wasn’t sure whether it was a nervous gesture or just habit.
“Where is he, exactly?” I asked, remembering him catching me, and then nothing.
“He had to deal with something, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Elena nibbled her bottom lip. “I hope you don’t mind me getting you dressed,” she said quickly before I could ask another question. “Or for doing your hair. Ryder mentioned you preferred it out of your face.”
My eyes narrowed on her. “He said that?”
“Of course. Ryder notices everything.” She smiled. “I’ve added some of my clothes to the wardrobe if you’d like to change. We’re almost the same size—oh, and dinner will be ready soon. I hope you’ll join us.”
Elena hesitated at the door, looking back over her shoulder as if wanting to say more. But she didn’t, instead giving me a single nod as she exited the bedroom as quickly as she’d entered.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I tested my balance. Aside from a dull ache in my hips and shoulder, I felt surprisingly steady. Crossing over to the wardrobe, I reached for the door then paused, catching my reflection in the mirror hanging above it.
I looked worse than I felt. Thin cuts traced across my face, shallow enough not to leave any lasting marks but still angry against my skin.
Peeling back the bandage on my forehead, I examined the larger wound, finding it clean and without stitches.
The colour around it was a nasty purple, the bruise tender when I pressed against it.
But it was no worse than the bruise that crossed over my chest.
Ignoring the dresses, I pulled out a long-sleeved top and a pair of jeans from the wardrobe, then pulled them on, studying my body as I adjusted the fabric.
A few more bruises and cuts decorated my skin, but overall, I looked less like someone who’d been in an accident and more like someone who’d lost a fight with a thorn bush.
“…You promised,” Elena’s voice floated up the stairs just as I eased the bedroom door open. “He’s your brother.”
“I’m trying to not get involved,” Hendrix answered, his deep voice unmistakable.
“I think we’re already involved, my love.”
Peering over the banister, I found Elena cupping Hendrix’s cheek affectionately. The same man who’d glared at me like I was a threat now looked at his wife as if she were the only woman in the world.
A floorboard creaked beneath my foot, and Hendrix’s gaze snapped upward, locking on me. In an instant, the softness vanished from his eyes only to be replaced by that familiar, guarded steel. Elena turned too, her hand moving to rest over his heart as they both watched me descend the stairs.
She reached for my free hand, and I didn’t resist. The scent of freshly baked bread met me as she guided me toward the kitchen where a table waited with mismatched china, a steaming pot of tea, and enough food to feed an army.
Beyond the window above the sink the sun was sinking, painting the trees in shades of gold and rose.
Hendrix followed silently, but he didn’t take a seat while I was ushered down by Elena.
“Where am I?” I finally asked, my eyes darting between Elena, who frantically moved around the kitchen, and Hendrix, who stood with his arms crossed like some prison guard.
“This is our cottage,” she answered, her tone light. “It’s safe.”
My eyes narrowed. “Safe from who, exactly?”
The couple shared a knowing look, but it lasted barely a heartbeat before Elena reached for the teapot and poured three cups of tea. I don’t know why I found the image of Hendrix drinking from the little pink teacup amusing, but I did.
Wrapping my hands around the cup when she passed it to me, I let the heat sink into my skin like I was starving for it.
“Thank you,” I said, then shook my head. “But I can’t stay here.”
“You can’t leave,” Hendrix said, his voice quiet despite his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not until Ryder’s back.”
The snort that ripped from my throat was visceral. “I’m sorry, but Ryder can go fuck himself.”
Elena choked on a laugh, catching the edge of the sink for balance. When she finally straightened, she was grinning. “I think we’re going to be friends,” she said with a wink. “No one’s forcing you to stay. But maybe you should wait until you’ve spoken to Ryder first.”
“What if I don’t care what he has to say?” I shot back, meeting Hendrix’s stare.
He stood there with his massive arms crossed, looking like he could kill me with his bare hands.
Elena noticed, going over to tug his arms loose. He looked down at her, this heavily tattooed man with the personality of a bear, and visibly calmed. It might’ve been almost sweet, if everything else in my life wasn’t collapsing around me.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
Elena’s eyes moved away, not meeting mine. “A few hours.”
“Hours?” I snapped louder than expected, causing Elena to flinch and Hendrix to stiffen. Shit.
“You hit your head pretty hard,” he said, moving to stand behind his wife, his fingers stroking down her arms as if to calm her. “You’re lucky it wasn’t more serious.”
“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Elena added softly. “But it’s going to be okay. Ryder always has a plan.”
I took a moment to digest the information.
“What if I walk out the front door right now?” I challenged.
“Then I’ll carry you back,” Hendrix answered as if the conversation was boring.
“No, he won’t,” Elena laughed, slapping at his arm. “Ignore him; he gets grumpy when he’s hungry.”
The motion shifted the light across her skin, and that’s when I saw them. Thin, silvery lines just below her collarbone, almost lost against the pallor of her complexion. Old scars. Faint.
My eyes drifted lower before I could stop them, finding more along her wrists. Those were slightly deeper, and although time had softened them, they still carried the unmistakable mark of survival.
Hendrix’s eyes narrowed as if waiting for me to comment, to bring up her past pain while Elena tugged her sleeves down, quick but not defensive.
More like instinct rather than a reaction.
Her smile faltered for half a heartbeat before she rebuilt it, gentle and bright again, as if nothing had happened.
An apology rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back.
I didn’t know her story, just like she didn’t know mine.
“Why is he doing this?” I asked, finally taking a sip of the tea. “Ryder said so himself that I was just a job that went wrong.”
“I don’t know,” Hendrix admitted with a shrug. “He’s never gotten emotionally attached to anyone he’s fucked before.”
Heat crawled up my neck, my cheeks burning.
But before I could fire back, Elena smacked his arm. “Hendrix!”
He didn’t even flinch. “Ryder’s a man who takes what he wants,” he said, voice low. “He destroys without thinking and then walks away like it was nothing.” His gaze met mine, almost cruel in its honesty. “Tell me, Violet, does this look like he’s walked away?”