Chapter 37
Self-Deprecating Bullshit
Olivia
The next time I regain consciousness, my arms are no longer cuffed behind my back, and a beaten and bloodied Rhys is being thrown into the room.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight and rush over to him, ignoring the pounding in my head and the wavering of my vision.
As I scramble over, the gang members linger at the door and eye my naked body with salacious grins that make my skin crawl.
I suppress a shudder and focus on Rhys as I reach his prone body, relieved to see that his hands have been uncuffed too.
Although that’s a small mercy considering the state he’s in.
“Come on,” the one says, elbowing the other. “Give them the blanket before the boss reams us out for taking too long.”
The second man huffs. “Fine. We can always grab the bitch later once he’s distracted.” He chucks a brown piece of fabric to the ground.
Bile burns my throat at the dark threat in his voice.
They leave and slam the door closed behind them. I turn my full attention to Rhys.
His body is mottled with blue, black and purple bruises, with the heaviest being centred around his ribs and back.
His eyes are swollen shut, and he has a fat lip that’s split and steadily oozing blood.
More blood speckles his flesh, but it’s not as much as I first thought, leading me to wonder how much of it is his.
He lets out a soft, pained groan and tries to open his eyes, but because of the swelling, they’re nothing more than slits. “Princess?” he croaks, as his hand blindly reaches out for me.
I catch it and press it against my sternum.
“I’m here,” I murmur, finding it painful to talk with how dry my mouth and throat are.
“You’re back in the garage with me.” I’m not sure how much he can see, so I add that last part to reassure him that we’re both as safe as we can be in this shitty situation.
He nods, then winces. “Good. They didn’t touch you while I was gone, did they?”
He’s beaten half to death and he’s worried about me?
I shake my head in exasperation and brush bloody strands of his hair from his face, careful of the bruises. “No, they didn’t.” My hand stills. Although I’m not sure about that since I was unconscious and my handcuffs are missing. There’s no pain or discomfort, but—
Nope.
I stop before the thought can finish. Best not to think about that right now, not when there’s nothing I can do about it. Plus Rhys needs me to be strong, and crumbling into a sobbing, screaming mess is the opposite of strong. Future Ollie can deal with that shit.
If we survive.
I shove the thoughts aside and focus on the beaten man lying on the floor in front of me. “You don’t need to worry about me right now.” I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a reassuring gesture.
He grunts. “I always worry about you; you’re a magnet for trouble.”
Ain’t that the truth. “Well, since you’re the one that’s been beaten black and blue, I’d say it’s my turn to worry about you.”
I glance around the barren room, my gaze snagging on the brown fabric and then on the two metal buckets that weren’t there before.
My nose wrinkles as I realise what they’re probably for, but it’s still worth checking to see if there’s anything in them.
“I’ll be right back.” I pat his hand before making my way over to the buckets.
I’m shocked and relieved to find that one bucket is filled with water. Clean water at that. The other is empty, telling me exactly what they intend for it to be used for. I shudder in disgust, but grab them both and carry them to where Rhys is lying.
He turns his head slightly at the sound of them hitting the concrete. “They gave us two buckets to piss in?” he says with a snort.
“Only one. The other has water.” As I talk, I tip some of the water into the empty bucket and wash my dirty hands with it.
“How generous of them. At least we know they don’t want us dead just yet.”
How comforting.
With my hands cleaner, I greedily scoop clean water from the other bucket and guzzle down as much as I can. It soothes my aching throat and relieves some of my dry mouth.
Feeling a little better, I turn to Rhys. “We need to get you upright so you can drink. Let me—”
“I’m fine,” he says, cutting me off. He tries to push himself upward, but groans and flops back onto the concrete.
I roll my eyes at him. “If you’d waited, I would have helped.” Stubborn, impatient idiot.
He huffs but doesn’t say anything.
I shuffle around him until I’m kneeling at his head, my knees on either side of him.
It’s a vulnerable position that exposes more of me than I’d like to him, and at any other time, I’d be mortified.
But right now, my sole focus is getting Rhys upright so he doesn’t die of dehydration.
Besides, with how fucked his eyes are, I doubt he can see anything anyway.
“Damn, I didn’t realise you’d be doing this, otherwise I would have spared myself the pain. It’s a shame I can’t open my eyes properly to enjoy the view,” he says, shattering any thought I had about him not being able to see.
My cheeks burn. “Fuck off, you asshole,” I grumble as I slide back slightly and grip his shoulders. “Now you can lift yourself.”
He hisses at the contact, but does as I say and between the two of us, we get him upright.
I position myself so that his back presses against my front, using my core muscles and legs to help hold him up.
No way am I going to use the wall for support, not when it’s like a block of ice and I’m already chilled to the bone.
Sure, they’ve given us what looks like a blanket, but it’s so thin it’ll do little against the cold. At least Rhys is warm against the front of my body.
“Here, wash your hands,” I tell him as I move the bucket filled with slightly dirty water closer to him. Once he’s done, I move it out of the way and replace it with the bucket containing the clean water. “Drink as much as you need.”
As he sucks down as much water as he can, I set about washing away the specks of blood and dirt from his body.
He hisses and flinches at the first touch of the cold water against his skin. “What the fuck are you doing?” He snaps his head around to scowl at me.
I grab his head and force him to face the front. “Washing you so there’s less chance for any of us to get an infection. Now be a good boy and stay still.”
He growls in response. “Call me good boy again and I’ll make you regret it.”
There’s a spark of excitement in my lower stomach at his threat, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. With a sigh, I focus on getting him clean.
It’s awkward since I can’t see exactly what I’m cleaning over his shoulder and it’s difficult to stay completely out of his way as he continues to drink.
A rag would have helped since I’m not sure how well my wet hands are working, but I refuse to use the blanket.
We’ll need it to dry off and stay warm, especially since being wet can be a death sentence in the cold.
Washing him is also a lot more intimate than I expected.
His skin is warm beneath my palms, and with every stroke, I can feel the shift of his muscles.
He’s tense, sitting rigid in my arms, which only adds to the difficulty of getting him clean.
I wait until he finishes drinking before starting on his face, neck and hair.
“You can stop now. I’ll do it,” he says, ducking his head away from me.
I pause and frown at him. “Am I hurting or making you uncomfortable?”
He hesitates before shaking his head. “Not really but—”
“Then I’ll keep doing what I’m doing.”
If possible, he stiffens further in my arms. There’s something almost vulnerable about the way he’s holding himself, and I can’t help but wonder where this is stemming from.
He’s always been such a confident, out-spoken man, taking charge of any situation in an instant, so it’s a little jarring to see him like this.
Is this another thing Jerri ruined for him; being cared for by another person? Or does this stem from somewhere else? The urge to ask is strong, but I keep my questions to myself. He’ll tell me if and when he’s ready.
Instead, I place a hand on his shoulder and focus on putting him at ease. “Let me do this for you,” I murmur. He deserves to be cared for, especially after everything Luke and his cronies have put him through during those few hours he was gone.
He relents with a sigh and a nod, but remains tense.
I start with his hair, wetting the strands and dragging my fingertips across his scalp in what I hope is a soothing gesture.
Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much blood in his hair, so it cleans quickly but I don’t stop my ministrations.
Especially when, little by little, Rhys relaxes in my arms and even leans into my touch.
“No one’s ever done this for me before,” Rhys says quietly as I move onto his face and neck. “Not since I was a child.”
I pause and furrow my brow. “Done what? Washed you?”
“Not just that, but… taken care of me, I guess.”
I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised considering that, as a Dominant, he’d be the one administering aftercare. But still… “What about when you were in the hospital? Surely the nurses took care of you there?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. I did as much as I could by myself once I was conscious and able to move.”
I bite back a snort. That tracks. The man is too stubborn for his own good. But it makes my heart ache to know that no one has tried to take care of this man at least once in his adult life. No wonder he was so tense and hesitant when I started washing him.
“Other than my brother and you guys, I’ve never really had someone take care of me either.” It’s terrifying telling him something that no one else knows, but I think out of everyone, he’ll understand the most. Especially after his own confession.
“Seriously?” He glances over his shoulder at me, dislodging the hand that’s washing the side of his neck. “I would have thought at least one partner in your life would have.”