Chapter 14
The ambulance screamed through the snow-laden streets, each wail of the siren matching the silent scream trapped in my chest. Cadence trembled against me, her skeletal frame barely making an impression beneath the thermal blankets.
The paramedics worked around us with practiced efficiency, checking vitals, adjusting the oxygen mask Cole held steady over her face, calling ahead to the hospital.
But I barely registered their movements.
My entire world had narrowed to the broken woman in my arms, her blue eyes unfocused and glazed with terror, her cracked lips forming the same desperate plea over and over.
"Logan," she whispered, her voice raw and barely audible. "Logan, please."
"I'm here, Princess," I murmured into her matted hair, holding her as if she might shatter into dust at any moment. "You're safe now. I promise. You're safe."
But the words felt hollow, inadequate against the horror of what she'd endured.
Six fucking weeks she'd been trapped in that freezing hell, subjected to God knows what depravities, while I'd been drowning my guilt in whiskey and self-pity.
The evidence of her torture was written across every inch of her visible skin, purple-black bruises, angry red welts, and burn marks that made bile rise in my throat.
And those were just the injuries I could see.
The ambulance lurched as we took a corner too fast, and Cadence whimpered, her fingers digging into my tactical vest with surprising strength. Cole swore under his breath, his free hand moving to brace her shoulder, his mismatched eyes swimming with the same guilt that threatened to drown me.
"Two minutes out," the paramedic called from the front, her voice clipped and professional. "Trauma team standing by." I tightened my hold on her, pressing my lips to her forehead. Her skin was ice-cold, almost waxy, beneath my touch.
"Almost there, Princess," I whispered. "Just hold on.
" She didn't respond, her eyes staring at something beyond my shoulder, lost in some private horror I couldn't reach.
The ambulance slowed, then jerked to a stop, the rear doors flying open to reveal the harsh fluorescent glare of the A the silence of snowfall was replaced by the urgent beeping of monitors, the clipped commands of medical staff, and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes against linoleum.
The scent of antiseptic burned my nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of fear that seemed to cling to her skin despite our best efforts to shield her.
A triage nurse tried to block my path as the team transferred Cadence to the bed, but her fingers were still locked in my sleeve, and when they tried to separate us, she let out a keening wail that cut through the clinical bustle like a knife.
"Let him stay visible," the trauma lead ordered, his eyes flicking between Cadence's terrified face and my determined one.
"We'll work around him." I positioned myself at the head of the bed, one hand holding the oxygen mask near her face as Cole had done in the ambulance, the other threaded through her fingers.
Her grip was painfully tight, her knuckles white with the effort of holding onto me.
"You're safe, Princess," I repeated, the words becoming a mantra for us both. "I'm right here. I won't leave you."
The trauma team moved with choreographed precision around us, attaching monitors, inserting fresh IV lines, drawing blood for what seemed like an endless array of tests.
Each touch made Cadence flinch, each new face that appeared in her line of sight causing her breathing to hitch in panic.
The blood pressure cuff inflating around her arm elicited a whimper that tore at my heart.
"Please," she whispered, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
"No more. Please, no more." I leaned closer, my forehead nearly touching hers, trying to block out the chaos around us.
"Focus on me, Princess. Just me. I've got you.
" Her eyes, those striking blue eyes that had once flashed with defiance and spirit, struggled to focus on my face.
I counted her breaths, deliberately matching my own rhythm to hers, willing her to follow my lead.
Slowly, her breathing steadied, though the terror remained etched in every line of her bruised face.
"Core temp is dangerously low," a nurse announced, attaching some kind of forced-air warming device to the bed. "Thirty-four point two." Another nurse hung bags of clear fluid, labelling each one with practiced efficiency.
"Starting warmed saline and Hartmann's. Slow rate, she's severely dehydrated and likely malnourished." The doctor, whose name tag read Dr Reynolds, approached with a syringe.
"I'm starting her on a low dose of morphine for the pain," he explained, his voice low.
"It might make her drowsy, but it should help with the immediate discomfort.
" I nodded my understanding, watching as he administered the drug through one of the IV lines.
Cadence's eyes fluttered at the sensation, her grip on my hand momentarily tightening before relaxing slightly as the medication began to take effect.
A junior nurse approached the bed, her hands reaching for the hem of the t-shirt I'd given Cadence at the bunker.
"We need to remove this to properly assess-" Cadence's reaction was immediate and visceral. Her body jerked as if electrocuted, a high, keening sound escaping her throat as she tried to curl into herself, her eyes wild with renewed panic.
"Leave the bloody shirt on," I snapped, my voice harsher than I'd intended but effective. The nurse froze, her hands hovering uncertainly. Dr Reynolds intervened, his voice calm but authoritative.
"Document the patient's distress. We'll defer removal for now and work around it." He glanced at me, a flicker of understanding in his tired eyes. "The shirt stays for now." I nodded my thanks, turning my attention back to Cadence, who was trembling violently despite the warming blankets.
"It's okay, Princess," I murmured. "The shirt stays. I promise."
The team continued their assessment, working carefully around the t-shirt, documenting what they could see: the restraint marks on her wrists and ankles, the pattern of bruising across her exposed skin, the lacerations that were covered but not cleaned, preserving potential evidence for later forensic examination.
"SARC has been notified," a nurse murmured to Dr Reynolds.
"They'll send someone as soon as she's stable enough.
" I knew what that meant, Sexual Assault Referral Centre.
The confirmation of what we all suspected, what the state of her body and the man zipping up his pants made sickeningly obvious.
My jaw clenched so hard I could hear my teeth grind, but I forced my expression to remain neutral, not wanting Cadence to sense my rage and mistake it for being directed at her.
As the secondary survey continued, Cadence's panic began to escalate again.
She started pulling at the cannula in her arm, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
The oxygen mask came loose as she half-rose from the bed, her face contorted in silent, tearless crying.
My jacket slipped from her shoulder, and I quickly pulled it back up, shielding her from the clinical gazes around us.
"It stays," I said firmly, meeting Dr Reynolds' eyes over Cadence's head. "Everything stays until she's ready."
The nurses attempted to de-escalate the situation, murmuring their names as they approached her, and encouraging me to continue talking to her.
"Logan, keep talking to her. That's good.
You're doing great." But despite their efforts and mine, Cadence's distress only worsened.
She thrashed against the ECG leads, wincing as the movement pulled at various injuries.
She tried to rip out the IV again, her fingers clawing at the tape securing it to her skin.
"Please," she sobbed, the word barely recognisable through her raw throat. "Don't touch me. Please don't touch me again." Dr Reynolds drew me slightly aside, his voice low enough that Cadence couldn't hear.