Chapter 6 #2
Sloane requests for me to remain because she doesn’t want to be separated from me.
I stand by the window when the nurse helps Sloane remove what’s left of her shirt for the full exam.
And I shouldn’t look, I know I shouldn’t, but I have to know the extent of what they did to her.
I glance over and see bruises on her ribs, back and arms. Mottled purple and yellow, some fresh, some fading.
Evidence of beatings over multiple days.
Something cold and deadly settles into my chest.
“Mr. Irontree?” The nurse is looking at me with concern. “Are you alright?”
A growl rumbles in my throat before I can stop it. I clench my fists, trying to control the rage flooding through me. My vision has gone red at the edges. “I need a moment,” I rasp and walk out of the room before I break something.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and try to breathe.
They beat her for twelve days while I was making calls, assembling teams and planning logistics.
While Ryan fucking Krychek declined involvement.
She was alone in that pit, being beaten, being starved, thinking no one was coming for her.
If Aldridge were in front of me right now, I would tear him apart with my bare hands.
The rage doesn’t fade, exactly, but I force it down and lock it away. Sloane needs me back in that room with her and calm right now, not murderous. There will be time for vengeance later.
When I return, she’s watching the door. Relief flickers across her face when she sees me. “Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey.” I return to her side, take her hand. “Sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“They look worse than they feel,” she offers.
“Don’t lie to me, Sloane.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Okay. They hurt like hell but I’m alive, and I’m out of that pit, and you’re here.
So I’m calling it a win.” She squeezes my hand, then glances down at herself.
The grime is still visible on her arms and neck despite the medical team’s attempts to wash her and clean her wounds.
Her hair is matted and tangled, stiff with twelve days of filth.
“Jonus.” Her voice is small. “I need a shower. I can’t—” She stops, swallows hard. “I can still smell that pit on my skin. I need to wash it off. All of it.”
“Yes,” I agree. “I’ll talk to the nurse.”
It takes some negotiating. She’s hooked up to an IV, her feet are bandaged, and the medical staff isn’t thrilled about the idea of her standing in a shower.
But Sloane is insistent, and I’m persuasive, and eventually we reach a compromise: a shower chair, plastic wrap over her bandages, and a nurse stationed outside the bathroom door.
I station myself outside the bathroom door too. Just in case.
Steam curls out from under the door. I lean against the wall, listening to the sound of running water and try not to think about her in there, naked and vulnerable and washing away the worst twelve days of her life.
My phone buzzes with a text from Aldar. Lucy wants to know her sizes.
I frown at the screen. Sizes?
Clothes. She can’t leave in a hospital gown. Lucy is coordinating.
Of course she is. I shake my head, smiling slightly despite everything. Lucy Rodriguez has been coordinating this entire operation from three thousand miles away, and apparently she’s not stopping now that Sloane is safe.
I’ll ask, I text back.
I wait until I hear the water shut off, then knock gently on the bathroom door. “Sloane?”
“Yeah?” Her voice is muffled but stronger than before.
“What are your sizes? Clothes, shoes. Lucy’s arranging something for you to wear.”
A pause. Then a wet laugh. “Um. Large or extra-large for tops, depending on the brand. Size sixteen jeans. Shoes are nine. And tell her—” She hesitates. “Bra is 38DD. She’ll know what underwear to get.”
I relay the information to Aldar, trying not to think too hard about the specifics.
My cousin responds almost immediately. Lucy says she’ll handle it. There’s a Walmart nearby. I’m going now.
You’re going to Walmart?
Lucy has a list. She says Sloane will want specific things.
I can almost hear Lucy’s voice through Aldar’s texts, directing him with the same fierce efficiency she’s shown throughout this entire crisis.
My quiet, tech-obsessed cousin, a very large orc who normally barely speaks to any human he doesn’t have to, is about to march into a Walmart and buy women’s underwear because a human librarian in DC told him to.
I don’t know whether to laugh or be impressed.
The nurse leaves to check on an emergency call to another room on the floor. I assure her I’ll care for Sloane.
The water turns off. “Jonus,” her voice cries out. I immediately enter and find my female peeking out the side of the plastic curtain, her hair wet and dripping.
“The nurse had to leave,” I inform her as I hand her a towel and then exchange that for the robe. Finally, I push aside the curtain, put the wheeled IV stand in Sloane’s capable hand, and slowly carry her back to the hospital bed.
She looks exhausted but cleaner. Lighter somehow, like she’s washed away more than just dirt.
“Better?” I ask.
“So much better.” She sinks onto the edge of the bed, and I help her swing her legs up, careful of her bandaged feet. “I used all the hot water. I don’t even care.”
“You can use all the hot water you want.”
She smiles, and it reaches her eyes this time. “Aldar’s really going to Walmart?”
“Apparently. Lucy gave him a list.”
Sloane laughs, a real laugh, and the sound of it does something to my chest. “Oh god. Poor Aldar. Lucy’s lists are legendary. She’s probably got him organized by aisle.”
“He didn’t seem to mind.”
“No.” She tilts her head, considering. “No, I don’t suppose he would.” A knowing look crosses her face. “How often did you say they’ve been talking?”
“Several times a day. For six days.”
“Hmm.”
I help her settle back against the pillows, then pull the blanket up over her. She’s still in the hospital robe, but at least she’s clean. The IV stand is back in it’s original position and drips steadily, antibiotics fighting the infection in her feet.
“Aldar should be back soon,” I tell her. “Then you can change into real clothes.”
“Real clothes.” She sighs, like it’s a luxury. After twelve days in the same torn, filthy outfit, I suppose it is. “That sounds amazing.” Her eyes are getting heavy. “Lucy always knows what I need, even when I don’t.”
Forty minutes later I meet Aldar in the hallway as he returns with two Walmart bags. His expression can only be described as shell-shocked.
“That store is enormous,” he states flatly, handing me the bags. “And Lucy made me send her photos of every option before I could purchase anything. Apparently, there are significant differences between underwear styles that I was not previously aware of.”
I take the bags, biting back a grin. “But you got everything?”
“I got everything. Including—” He consults his phone, reading from what I assume is Lucy’s list. “Toiletries, hairbrush, hair ties, deodorant, lotion that is specifically unscented because Sloane has sensitive skin, and something called dry shampoo for when she can’t shower but wants to feel human. Lucy’s words.”
I look at my cousin, really look at him. There’s something in his expression I’ve never seen before. A kind of bewildered admiration. “You consider her more than a friend,” I say.
Aldar blinks. “I don’t know her.”
“You’ve been talking to her several times a day for almost a week.”
“That’s different. That’s operational coordination.”
“Is it?”
A low growl rumbles in his chest. He doesn’t answer, just turns and walks back down the hallway, tablet already in his hand, probably texting Lucy to confirm successful delivery of supplies.
When I bring the bags into Sloane’s room, she’s awake and waiting, her whole face lights up when she sees them. “Oh, thank god.” She reaches for the bags eagerly. “Real clothes and underwear. You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about clean underwear.”
She digs through the bags, pulling out items one by one.
A soft cotton bra in a neutral color. Underwear — practical, comfortable.
A loose t-shirt in a deep blue that will bring out her eyes.
A pair of gray sweatpants. Fuzzy socks because, as Aldar relayed from Lucy, Sloane can’t wear real shoes with her feet bandaged and she’ll want something cozy.
“She remembered that I like blue and that I hate underwire.” She clutches the clothes to her chest, eyes glistening. “She knows me so well.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.” Sloane blinks rapidly, fighting tears. “I’m so incredibly lucky to have a friend like her.”
I step closer, brush a strand of damp hair from her face. “She’s lucky to have you too.”
Sloane looks up at me with those glorious blue eyes, still wet with unshed tears, and something passes between us. Something I’m not ready to name yet.
“I’ll give you privacy to change,” I say, stepping back. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Jonus.”
I pause at the door.
“Thank you.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “For everything. For the clothes and the shower and just... being here. For not leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Sloane.”
I step outside and close the door behind me.
And I mean it. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever, if she’ll have me.