Chapter Five
Abby
“I have to cut you off after this one,” the mean man says.
“Why?” I ask, frowning. “It’s Christmas. Remember?”
“Darlin’,” he says patiently, “I can’t understand half of what you’re saying. You’re very drunk, and you’re alone. So yes…this is your last drink. Then I’m calling you a ride home.”
“I don’t wanna go home,” I mumble. “It’s lonely there.”
“Like I said,” he replies calmly, “I can’t understand you. So drink this special drink, and I’ll call you a ride.”
Oh. I like special drinks.
I take the glass and inhale a huge gulp.
“This is water,” I say, deeply offended. “Ew.”
Deciding I no longer want to be friends with the mean man behind the bar, I wander toward the dance floor.
“Dance with me, sexy mama,” someone slurs near my ear.
Sober Abby would never dance with a stranger in a bar.
But sober Abby is a lonely old hag, and I don’t like her very much right now.
The man grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. I stumble, crashing lightly into his chest.
He’s big. Warm. Solid.
“You’re fucking sexy,” he purrs, pressing a drink into my hand. “Got you that extra one you wanted. Drink up.”
I giggle because in my head, he looks like a giant cat with a man-dick.
I take a swallow of the drink and nearly purr myself when it burns all the way down.
“Wanna go back to my place?” he asks, breath hot against my ear.
“Are you gonna take my virginity?” I ask, dead serious.
He laughs. “All I understood was virginity,” he says. “I’ll take that as a yes. Finish your drink and let’s go.”
Woohoo.
I’m not gonna die a virgin.
I toss back the rest of the drink and let him lead me through the bar, my feet unsteady, my thoughts fuzzy, clinging to the strange cat-man like he’s a very bad idea I’ve already decided to make.
***
I wake up to the wrong ceiling.
It’s stained and cracked, the light above me buzzing softly, and for a moment, I can’t figure out where I am or why my body feels so heavy.
My head throbs.
My mouth is dry.
When I try to move, pain blooms everywhere at once.
Slowly, reality sinks in.
I’m naked.
The sheets are twisted around my legs, damp and cold against my skin. My body aches in a way I’ve never felt before…deep, sore, unfamiliar. I draw in a shaky breath, and my chest tightens as I become aware of the sharp sting along my arms and thighs.
I look down and can’t believe my eyes.
Cuts.
Small ones that didn’t bleed very much. But too many of them.
I sit up too fast and immediately regret it, nausea rolling through me. My lower body throbs, and when I look down, my breath catches painfully in my chest.
There’s blood.
Not enough to panic…but enough to make my hands start shaking.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to piece things together.
I remember the bar. The music. The man who smelled like alcohol and something sweet.
I remember asking him to take my virginity.
The memory makes my stomach twist.
I remember the drink he handed me. I remember how warm his hand felt when he pulled me through the crowd. I remember walking…stumbling…laughing.
And then…nothing.
There’s a blank space where the rest of the night should be. No sounds. No images. Just darkness.
My throat tightens as the truth presses in.
Something happened to me.
I wrap my arms around myself, curling inward, trying to make sense of the pain, the soreness, the marks on my skin that don’t belong there. My body feels used. Violated. Like it isn’t mine anymore.
Tears spill down my temples as panic creeps up my spine.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here. And I don’t know how much of this I agreed to…if any of it at all.
The room feels too small. The air too thick.
All I know is that I’m awake in a strange place, broken open in ways I don’t understand, and whatever happened here is something I can’t remember…but my body remembers everything.
I look around for my clothes, panic tightening my chest, but there’s nothing. No dress. No shoes. No underwear. Not even my bag.
Why would he take my stuff?
The question makes my stomach roll as I race to lock the unlocked door.
There’s a phone on the table. Old. Scratched. Probably the motel’s. My hands shake as I pick it up. I stare at the keypad, my vision blurring.
I only know three numbers by heart.
One of them would bring sirens. Questions. Strangers touching me when I already feel like my skin doesn’t belong to me anymore.
My thumb hovers.
I can’t do that yet.
The other two would bring the Shadows. My brother, the President…or his VP!
I dial the number to the one person who has always made me feel safe, even when he didn’t want me…even when he pushed me away.
It rings once.
Twice.
I’m already crying when he answers.
“Tank,” I whisper, my voice barely there.
“Thank fuck,” he exhales. “Abigail, I’ve been looking for you since last night. Where the fuck are you?”
“I…I don’t know,” I choke out. “It’s a motel, I think. I don’t recognize anything. I woke up and… I’m hurt. I can’t find my clothes. There’s blood all over me.”
The sound he makes on the other end isn’t a word. It’s something feral. Controlled only by force of will.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice suddenly calm in that terrifying way. “I need you to look around the room and tell me exactly what you see.”
I swallow hard, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “There’s… a table. A lamp. The bed. The door’s locked. I locked it.”
“Good girl,” he says immediately. “That’s good. You did good.”
My chest heaves at the praise, something in me breaking loose.
“There’s a phone,” I add. “This phone. I don’t have mine.”
“I know,” he says. “We’ll get it back. We’ll get everything back. But right now, you stay where you are. You don’t open that door for anyone but me. You hear me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’m coming for you,” he continues. “I don’t care where you are. I’ll find you. I just need you to stay on the line and breathe with me.”
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Tank, I don’t remember what happened after the bar. I remember asking him to…” My voice breaks completely. “And then nothing.”
“That’s okay,” he says firmly. “You don’t have to remember right now. You don’t have to explain anything. We’ll figure that out when I get to you.”
I curl in on myself, clutching the phone to my chest like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“Tank,” I whisper again, smaller this time. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
There’s a pause.
“Abigail,” he says, voice thick and steady and absolutely unbreakable. “The only thing I’m mad at is that I wasn’t there to protect you. And I swear to you, no one is ever touching you again. Not ever.”
I sob, the sound ripping out of me.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ve always had you. Just hold on, baby. I’m almost there.”
And this time…I don’t doubt him for a second.
***TANK***
“Corner of Second and Lime. It’s the Ross Motel.”
I glance at Foster’s message and immediately swing my bike around.
I know exactly where that is.
“Baby,” I say, “it’s about to get loud. Don’t hang up, got it? I’ll still be able to hear you, but I’m on my bike.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her soft, broken voice coming through my earbuds.
I open the throttle and tear toward the Ross Motel.
When I got to Abigail’s place last night and didn’t find her, I damn near had a heart attack. Foster tracked her phone and traced it back to the compound. For one brief second, I thought she was safe…only to find it buried in one of the gift bags. She must’ve dropped it without realizing.
The guys and I have been tearing this city apart ever since.
Police stations. Hospitals. Hell, with my heart lodged in my throat, I even called the city morgue.
Nothing.
Until she called me.
“Abigail,” I say loudly so she can hear me. “Talk to me, baby. You said you’re hurt. What hurts?”
“Between my legs,” she sobs. “And my bottom.”
My grip slips on the handlebars, and I barely keep the bike upright.
Fuck. She was raped.
“What else?” I force myself to ask. “You said there’s blood. Is it just between your legs?”
“No,” she whispers. “My belly. My legs. My arms.”
Rage detonates in my chest.
“I’m one block away,” I tell her. “You hear me? What room are you in?”
“Tank,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please… don’t push me away.”
That nearly drops me to my knees.
“Room number, baby,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “What number?”
“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I’ll open the door.”
“No,” I bark. “Don’t open that fucking door.”
Too late.
I swing into the parking lot just as a door creaks open.
And there she is.
Naked. Shaking. Cuts scattered across her skin.
My vision tunnels.
She wasn’t just raped.
She was tortured.
She may not remember it yet…but one day, she might. And the thought nearly breaks me in half.
“Back up,” I tell her as I rush to the door. “Don’t move. I don’t want to touch you yet. We need to wait for Patch and Spike.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries, folding in on herself. “I know you don’t like touching me. Can you… Can you call me a taxi so I can go home?”
“Abigail,” I say, shaking my head as I grab the sheet from the bed. “I want nothing more than to pull you into my arms, but there isn’t a single spot on your body that isn’t hurt. We need to get you to a hospital…and I’m on my bike.”
I start to wrap the sheet around her carefully, my hands shaking despite my effort to stay steady, when the door bursts open.
Spike.
I step in front of her instinctively, shielding her from view…but judging by the sharp gasp he lets out, I’m already too late.
“Is this okay?” I ask her quietly as I adjust the sheet, making sure she’s covered.
She nods.
I step aside so her brother can see her.
His mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.
He wants to hold her. I can see it in his hands, the way they flex uselessly at his sides.
I shake my head once.
She’s in pain. No one touches her.
“Fuck,” he breathes, bending at the waist. Then he straightens, forcing himself into control. “Alright. I need to ask you two questions.”
She nods faintly.
“Were you raped?”