Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Grim
I don’t know why I’m still here other than needing to give my statement to the cops. But I could have done that separately. Gone down to the station tomorrow. Let Daniil handle it with his fancy lawyers and shit, especially since I’ve kept him updated via text.
Chris met up with Rage and they went in search of the guy driving the van, but he seemed to have disappeared into the woods. And it’s deserted out there. Which is probably why he went in that direction. I’m not sure why he just abandoned both Allora and the van, but hopefully, we’ll figure it out.
Instead of joining the chase, I haven’t left Allora’s side except for a brief time while they did the rape kit or whatever it’s called these days.
Got her comfortable. Took pictures. Asked her a million questions.
Did test after test. And now she’s recounting a story that makes me waffle between wanting to vomit and rage at the world.
What they did to her is…unimaginable. And hearing her recounting it makes me sick.
That’s probably why I can’t leave her.
Not her—Allora.
Her name is Allora.
It’s a beautiful name for a woman I can already tell is stunning. Even with the big purple bruise over one eye and the bruising on her neck. The tangled, ratty hair that’s in desperate need of washing. Her soft but filthy skin. Under it all, I know the woman from two days ago is beautiful.
And she will be again on the outside.
I have no idea what might happen on the inside, though.
“They took turns,” she says in a flat voice, not looking at anyone. Her voice is neutral, like she’s talking about the weather. “When they were done, they chained my ankle to the bedpost and left me there all night.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I want to rip that guy to shreds. The way he smiled, casual and easygoing, like just another guy taking care of his drunk girlfriend. And I almost bought it.
Almost.
My gut never steers me wrong. Not now, not twenty years ago. Tonight’s situation wasn’t even a mission, something I’m being paid for. No, I was just being a good Samaritan and now for some inexplicable reason, it feels like I’m embroiled in something important.
“But they talked a lot. About how I wasn’t like the other girls.”
“In what way?” the detective asks.
“Older. There were special instructions for me too.”
“Special instructions?”
“I don’t think they used condoms with others,” Allora continues slowly. “I’m not sure, because I was pretty drugged up, but they said something like, ‘don’t get this one pregnant—the boss will be pissed.’ I don’t know if I dreamed that part.”
“Were your injuries inflicted when they abducted you or later?” Detective James asks.
She hesitates. “Later. Because when I woke up…I fought.”
I grimace.
Most people are aware that there’s no chance of winning under those circumstances, and she’s a hundred and ten pounds, if that. I feel a swell of pride, because many women would have just given up.
But Allora didn’t.
Outnumbered and completely vulnerable, she still fought back.
“You fought how?” Detective Roswell asks softly.
Her eyes snap up—clear and sharp for the first time tonight. “How do you think? I kicked and screamed and clawed at his eyes.”
“While he was raping you?”
“Should I have just laid there and let them do it?” she demands incredulously.
“There’s no right or wrong answer,” the detective says gently. “We’re just trying to find out what happened.”
Allora swallows. “I was raised to fight back, so I did. Until…he punched me in the face hard enough to knock me out. When I came to, the other guy was holding me down.” She turns away at this point, obviously emotional.
Her fingers have a death grip on the sheet and her lower lip trembles every so often.
And I fucking hate it.
I close my eyes, trying to clear my head, stop imagining what it had to be like for her.
She went through hell so why am I the one who feels like I want to puke?
I’ve never been in a situation like this before and I don’t know why it’s impacting me the way it is. I spent a lot of time in the Middle East when I was in the Marines, and I saw a lot of sick shit.
But this is different.
Personal.
I just wish I knew why.
She goes into more detail, answering every damn question with clarity. Even when her eyes fill with tears and she blinks them away. Even when she chokes on the words coming out as if the telling of the story is physically painful.
And all I can do is sit here and watch.
I don’t know if I could or should touch her.
My phone buzzes.
DANIIL: Where are you? I’m at the hospital. I thought maybe I could help out with whatever is going on.
GRIM: Room 4212. Cops are taking her statement.
DANIIL: On my way.
I don’t know if his presence will help or hinder but he has a way of smoothing things over. He’s a force to be reckoned with. The prince of an Eastern European country, a former statesman, and a badass bodyguard. He ticks all the boxes. Not to mention, he’s now my brother-in-law.
“I think that’s all for tonight,” Detective Roswell says. “We’ll probably have follow-up questions in the coming days.”
Allora nods.
“You probably shouldn’t go home,” Detective James adds. “Is there somewhere you can stay? If they have your ID and such, they’ll know where you live and perhaps want to come back and... finish the job.”
“Finish the job?” She gapes at him. “You mean, kill me?”
“You saw their faces,” he explains quietly. “If this is truly a sex trafficking ring, they’re going to want to protect their identities.” He glances at me. “And that includes you.”
That thought had been niggling in the back of my mind, but I didn’t want to focus on it.
Now I have no choice.
And there’s no doubt Allora hadn’t considered that at all.
She closes her eyes and a single tear leaks out.
God dammit.
I hate everything about this. I can take care of myself, but she’s not prepared for that.
I don’t know much about her but she’s probably not in a position to install a state-of-the-art security system or hire a full-time bodyguard.
Those kinds of things are expensive. And inconvenient.
I don’t know how to fix that, and even though this really is none of my business, I can’t seem to walk away.
“It’s going to be okay,” my stupid mouth says before I can stop it. “We’ll figure out how to protect you.”
Her eyes slowly open, and she stares at me. “Who are you?” she asks at last. “I mean, really.”
“My name is Landon Grimshaw. Former United States Marine who currently works for a security and bodyguard firm.”
“Landon.” She seems focused on my name. “That suits you more than…Grim.”
I chuckle. “I picked up the nickname playing college football. When I got to the military, it stuck.”
“You played college football?”
I nod.
“And now you’re a professional bodyguard.”
“Yes.”
“Who just happened to be getting gas at the place where my abductor stopped.”
I nod again. “Yes.”
“I should feel lucky,” she whispers. “That you were there. That you believed me when I said I needed help. That you got involved at all. So why don’t I? Feel lucky, I mean.”
“Because you’ve gone through something traumatic.
It’s hard to frame that in a way that feels lucky.
” I pause. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Allora.
I wish I could have gotten there sooner.
Before…you know.” Before two assholes raped her?
I can’t even bring myself to say the words because it just makes me want to go postal.
Break things. Hurt the people that hurt her.
And I still might.
If we find them before the police do.
I’m not sure what happens next. Maybe it’s the gentleness of my voice. Or the way I couldn’t bring myself to use the word “rape” or something else. But it’s like a dam breaks free.
Before I can say anything else, her tears come in a rush, as if she’s been holding them back all this time. Long, loud sobs that come from somewhere deep in her chest. She covers her face with her hands and cries like she might never stop.
For a moment, I’m frozen, unsure what to do, if anything.
But then I can’t stop myself and I reach out a tentative hand.
“Can I…touch you, Allora?”
She nods through her tears and I move, so I’m sitting on the edge of the hospital bed.
Then I pull her close and wrap my arms around her tightly, letting her get out as much emotion as she needs to.
I won’t pretend to know what it’s like to be violated the way she was, but I believe I’d want someone to hold me in the aftermath.
So that’s what I do.
And she cries for a long time.
Daniil appears in the doorway but I give a slight shake of my head, letting him know this isn’t the time. So, he backs away and I go back to focusing on the task at hand.
Holding her.
Letting her get as much pain out of her system as possible.
There probably isn’t anything anyone can really do other than be available. Healing from this kind of thing will take time. She’s still in shock, still trying to come to terms with everything that happened, and we’re strangers. Even though it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.
Her trembling body is soft and warm against mine, nestled against my chest like she’ll never move.
And that’s fine with me. I’m as drawn to her now as I was when I saw her at that gas station, and hearing her cry like this guts me.
My stomach knots as she continues to sob into my chest. I lift one hand to stroke her hair, wishing I could take some of the pain from her.
I’m so involved in what I’m doing I don’t notice the man standing in the doorway to her room until he growls, “Get your fucking hands off my daughter.”