Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Molly sat in the narrow, shallow tub with her knees pulled into her chest. The water rose just past her hips. She’d forgotten about her bandaged wrist, which forced her to keep her right hand propped out of the water while she awkwardly scrubbed with her left.
Washing her hair would be impossible.
Tears stung her eyes. All she wanted was to feel clean. As if a decent bath will wash away the horrors of the last couple of weeks, she thought, rolling her eyes at herself. But she couldn’t stomach the idea of crawling into bed as dirty as she’d been before getting in the tub.
She couldn’t even lie in the tub to wash her hair—she was weak enough to pass out at any minute.
Letting out a growl, she kicked the side of the tub. Her heel throbbed, triggering instant regret. Tears of frustration fell, and she swiped her cheeks with the back of her wet hand. Her head pounded and the nausea returned, bringing on another sob.
“Molly, you all right?” The bathroom door cracked open an inch.
“Um, I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, too full of anger and self-pity to pretend it was true.
“You’ve been in there a long time. Can I come in?”
Unease spiraled inside her. Atlas had been kind. Considerate. Still, she wasn’t exactly into revealing her naked body to him, especially when she looked like a malnourished dog.
“I promise not to look. I just want to make sure you’re not gonna pass out.”
She drew her knees in closer to her chest, so he couldn’t see her breasts. “Come in,” she squeaked.
He pushed open the door and paused at the threshold. His earnest, worried eyes locked on her face as if she were next up in his target practice. He frowned and came closer. “You’re crying.”
She gave a rough laugh. “No, it’s just . . . I’m frustrated.”
He knelt next to the tub. His gaze never strayed from her face. He was so large, his shoulders wide enough to block her view of the door and half the bathroom, yet she didn’t feel trapped. “You’re exhausted, honey.”
Honey? Her throat thickened. There was nothing suggestive behind the endearment. Just unfiltered kindness.
“I forgot to waterproof your wrist. Is that what the problem is? Can’t wash properly?”
She blinked, then nodded. God, it was a luxury to not have to speak. To have him know what was wrong.
“How about I wash your hair?”
A lump formed in her throat. “Um . . .”
“You can stay just like that. I’ll do all the work. Is that okay?”
She studied the way his stern brow sloped to the bridge of his nose. Dark stubble speckled his upper lip and spread to the edge of his jaw. She wanted to lean into him. To let him carry her. To take over.
Because for once, she’d be in good hands.
He tilted his head, silently asking for a yes or a no.
She nodded.
“One sec. I’ll get a cup.” He returned a minute later carrying a two-liter water bottle with its top sawed off. He threw down a folded towel and knelt again, then turned on the tap to fill the bottle with clean water.
She stared at the water surrounding her. It was murky and yellow-tinged. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
He placed his hand on her forehead, urging her to look up.
She did as instructed, letting him pour water over her head. She stayed like that as he gently worked shampoo over her hair.
His fingernails scrubbed her scalp, and she stifled a moan.
A sharp pain stabbed the side of her scalp and she jumped. “Ouch.”
He froze. “What happened?”
She lifted her fingers to the throbbing spot. “It’s okay. I just have a cut there.”
Pushing her hair aside, he gingerly felt around the spot. “It’s a goose egg with dried blood. When did you hit your head?” Concern filled his question. Was he worried it’d happened under his watch?
“I hit it on the wall yesterday—at least I think it was yesterday. I can’t remember.”
“Any headaches? Blurred vision?”
“Kinda.”
He harumphed. “I’ll be careful, but let me know if it hurts again.”
After lathering her strands, he rinsed out the suds. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the feel of his fingers. How someone so large could be so gentle was beyond her.
“How’d you hit your head on the wall?”
She shrank down an inch. She didn’t want to talk about how Rex and the guards had treated her. Wished she could forget. But if she wanted there to be justice, she’d have to give a statement at some point.
Atlas wasn’t a cop—at least she didn’t think so. And if she had to talk to anyone, she’d choose him. He had a nonthreatening way about him and, so far, hadn’t been pushy.
“R-Rex struck my face, and my head flung back against the wall.”
His fingers stilled.
She bit her bottom lip and pulled her arms tighter around her.
He applied conditioner then reached for the bottle again. “How do you know Rex?”
Water sluiced over her head. She tipped up her chin and let him glide his fingers over the strands. When they touched her lower back, heat spread to her loins.
Shame hit her. She shouldn’t be turned on right now. Could barely walk on her own two feet. But it wasn’t just about how attractive and strong this man in her space was. It was his gentle presence. The fact that his touch didn’t linger or pursue.
“You doin’ all right?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I don’t know him.” Her voice was small, barely a whisper. “I was leaving work one night and someone jumped me in the parking lot. Before I could scream, they injected me with something, and I woke up at that place in the jungle.”
He sat back, his angry, heightened gaze on her face. He wiped his hands on a towel but didn’t take his focus off her. “Injected you?”
She nodded, tilted her head to the side, and pointed at her neck. “Here. It happened a while ago, so I don’t know if there’s still a mark.”
His thumb brushed over her skin. “How long did he keep you there?”
Emotion rushed over her. Fear. Panic. The need to run. “A couple of weeks, I think.”
He exhaled heavily through his nose and braced his hands on the tub. “Did he say why he took you?”
A chill shook her shoulders. She didn’t want to think about that. About the implication of what he’d do if she didn’t supply him with information she didn’t have.
She tucked her chin and stared down at the water. “I need to get out. I feel dizzy.” It wasn’t a lie. She was ready to collapse.
His knuckle cradled her chin, turning her to look at him. His sea-glass eyes held space for her to unravel.
Only she wouldn’t.
“I’m going to help you out, but there’s something I need to know.”
She froze. He was so close. His warm, musky scent invaded her.
He smelled of earth and lemon—effortlessly manly.
He’d taken off his tactical vest but still held an air of authority.
A scar on his neck disappeared beneath the neckline of his shirt, and his arm held evidence of old wounds.
Tattoos scattered his forearms, and more ink peeked out from beneath the pushed-up sleeves at his elbows.
Pressure expanded in her throat. She could study him for hours. “What?” Fear of what he wanted to know rocked the syllable.
“Did they—” He huffed, looked at the wall, then back at her. “Did they touch you? Do you need some kind of support or— Fuck, I don’t know.”
His eyebrows were drawn together, and his mouth was fastened in a hard line. He looked so uncertain and worried.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “No.” Her belly twisted. “I mean, I don’t think so. To be honest, there were periods I was unconscious, but I don’t suspect that . . . happened.” She hung her head.
She couldn’t be one-hundred-percent certain, and that fear clung to every corner of her mind. Tears misted her eyes. She hated this. Hated being so vulnerable. Hated what they’d wanted to do to her. What could have happened had Atlas not freed her.
He placed his hand on her neck. His strong fingers were warm and comforting. “You don’t need to think about it, okay? I just want to make sure I get you whatever help is necessary.” His careful words made emotion build in her chest.
He caught her chin again. “What’s going on?”
Tears fell to her cheeks. “I just can’t believe it’s over. I thought I’d never escape. Rex, he . . .”
“He what?”
She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “He made threats.”
“Like?”
God, she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Although part of her didn’t want to stop talking. Needed to get every sordid, smothering detail off her chest. “He was going to sell me.”
Dark mist frayed the edges of Atlas’s vision. Hot, boiling rage bunched his muscles.
Sell.
Motherfucker. His hands burned to wrap around Rex’s neck. To squeeze the life from his useless body. Molly’s doe-like eyes reflected uncertainty and, goddammit, shame.
He tried to force his face to relax. The muscles resisted. “None of that’s going to happen. It’s over. You’ll never see him alive.”
Standing, he removed a clean, rolled-up towel from the rack, shook it, and held it out for her. He turned his face away. “Eyes are closed,” he assured her, hoping that if she fell he’d move fast enough to catch her.
Water splashed. He wrapped the towel around her body, then opened his eyes. She adjusted the white material beneath her arms and then he gripped her waist, lifting her from the tub.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Pink stained her cheekbones, but he suspected that was due to shyness rather than health returning because the rest of her skin was still chalky. Holding her elbow, he guided her away from the tub.
“Do you need help dressing?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to leave and have her get hurt, but he didn’t want to push her outside her comfort zone.
“I’ve got it.” She gave him a tentative smile and shuffled closer to the counter.
“No problem. Shout if you need anything.” He closed the door behind him and drew a breath.
This was going to be fucking hard.
He was stuck here until his team returned. Could be hours or days. Rogue expected him to get information from Molly, but she was weak and traumatized. He pulled his satellite phone from his pocket and checked his messages.
Nothing from the guys.
Frustration ate its way through him like a termite. He didn’t want to be left out—didn’t want to be stuck here, unable to do his job, leaving his team short a man. He shoved his phone back in his pocket and sat on the bed, lacing his fingers together.
Angst burrowed under his skin.
Shit. None of that stuff was what really bugged him. The issue was the petite little blond with wary eyes and bruises—and the effect she had on him.
An effect he couldn’t breathe life into. Couldn’t acknowledge. Not now anyway. Not when she’d been beaten and god knew what else. She’d said she hadn’t been sexually assaulted, but that didn’t mean she was at ease with him.
The door opened, and her waiflike form hovered in the doorway. He was on his feet. Crossing the room, he stayed within reach as she shuffled toward the bed. He pressed his fingertips into his palms so he wouldn’t touch her.
His shirt hung to the middle of her thighs, and she held the waistband of his joggers bunched at her hips. She trembled as she sat on the bed. Her damp hair hung down to her abdomen. She breathed heavily despite having taken only a few steps.
“Time for you to rest.” Catching her beneath the arms, he slid her back so that her head rested on the pillow. Her legs curled as he pulled the blanket out from under her so she could get more comfortable.
She rubbed her eyes and he lifted her other hand, checking the veins. They appeared stronger than earlier, though he didn’t doubt she was still severely dehydrated. “I’d like to try the IV. You all right with that?”
She groaned. “Not really, but I don’t think I can drink all the fluids my body needs right now.”
He smirked. “You’d drown if you tried.” Lifting the bag of saline he’d removed from his bag earlier, he rigged it onto the headboard, then got the tubing situated.
He tied a rubber band around her arm. Next, he wiped the back of her hand with an alcohol swab, then removed a hypodermic needle from its packaging.
“This’ll be quick.” He watched her close her eyes and look away.
He pricked the needle into her skin. She didn’t flinch or make a sound. He taped the tube to her arm. “All set.” He gave the saline bag a light squeeze and checked the drip.
She stared up at him, her expression soft and relaxed. Some of the tension in his neck eased. “Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes heavy.
“Don’t mention it.” He tucked the blanket around her and stood.
She turned her head and was out. Poor thing. Fuck. Tightness cinched his chest. Tomorrow he’d talk to her more. Get her in touch with family or whoever, so she could let them know she was safe.
Meandering over to the armchair positioned between the bed and dining room table, he swallowed a groan. After dropping onto the thin, tattered cushion, he propped his feet on the wobbly coffee table.
Sleep would be shit tonight.