Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Molly twisted beneath the covers. Sweat collected on her skin. Dreams rushed in and out. Angry voices boomed, wrestling her from sleep. A gentle hand on her shoulder calmed her racing heart, and she drifted off again only to jolt awake what seemed like minutes later.
Hot. It was always so damn hot.
Grit filled her mouth, and she sputtered as she tried to swallow. They made her beg for every drop of water. She needed to come up with something to tell Rex before he sold her. Before Rex’s slimy hands found their way under her shirt.
No!
She blinked and looked around the room. A cheap but clean motel. Memories rushed forward. The soldier guy.
Atlas.
She pushed the blankets away from her face and spotted him in the armchair across the room.
His huge boots were propped on the coffee table, and one knee was slightly bent to the side.
A deep frown creased his brow in his slumber.
The flimsy chair looked ready to snap if he so much as moved the wrong way.
She caught sight of the IV protruding from her arm and looked up at the bag. All the fluid had been drained from it—and had gone straight to her bladder. She shifted uncomfortably and rolled into a sitting position.
Her back screamed and her neck hollered in competition. She clenched the edge of the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning. Oh god, she needed food. If she ate, she might throw up, but if she didn’t, she’d surely pass out.
First things first. She reached for the IV, but her stomach lurched at the thought of disconnecting the tube. Her luck and she’d accidentally split open her vein.
Forget that.
She lifted the empty saline bag from where Atlas had secured it on the headboard and tucked it under her arm. Rising to her feet, she placed her fingertips on the nightstand for support. A glance at her babysitter assured her she hadn’t disturbed him.
His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was menacing even though he was at rest. He looked scary, with his large form and bulging muscles, but he’d proven not to be a threat.
She made her way to the bathroom and closed the door softly.
Having to juggle the IV bag made peeing more of a challenge.
After washing her hands, she picked up the toothbrush she’d used the previous night and went to town on her mouth.
Her stomach roiled and her movements were slow and jerky, but she managed not to throw up.
Her sunken face stared back at her in the mirror, making her flinch.
Oh god. She looked like shit. Worse than shit.
She looked like a corpse. Tears stung her eyes as she glanced away.
She couldn’t worry about that right now.
Once she got back to her apartment, she’d sleep and eat everything in sight. For now, looks didn’t matter.
Even if the too-hot-for-his-own-good soldier was outside the room. He’d already seen her at her worst. She was alive, and she had him to thank for that.
After rinsing her mouth, she straightened, avoiding the mirror, and turned for the door.
With one hand bunched around the waistband of his sweatpants and the other holding the bag, she awkwardly pulled on the handle.
A figure stood in the room. She gasped, dropping the saline bag.
Atlas moved forward, concern etched on his brow. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
He bent to pick up the bag then cupped her elbow. “I was. How do you feel?”
“Better than I look,” she quipped dryly. She did a mental eye-roll and clamped her lips shut. Great. Just what she needed—for him to feel more pity for her.
He chuckled. “You look better than you did yesterday.” His vague comment did nothing to make her feel better.
She offered a smile and sat on the edge of the bed, short of breath already. “I’m sure you didn’t sleep well in the chair. I’m sorry. I passed out and didn’t even think about where you’d lie down.”
He shrugged and crossed his arms. His muscles bulged, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. “I’ve slept in worse places.” His mouth tipped up at the corner.
A thrill raced through her. Dear lord, what was wrong with her? She tucked her hair behind her ear and reached for the water bottle he’d opened for her last night. She took a long swig.
“Think you can hold down food?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but I need to try.”
“All right. I’ll go get us something quick.” As he spoke, he went to the first aid kit. He removed a cotton ball. Lifting her wrist, he sat next to her. He placed her hand on his stacked thigh and removed the IV.
Blood bubbled out of the tiny hole. He pressed the cotton there and held it tightly. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. You all right here for fifteen or twenty?”
Once again, she shrugged. He was probably going to think she had a tic. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t answer the door.” He stretched over her body toward the nightstand, where a pen and a pad of paper sat.
Her mouth lost its remaining moisture.
He jotted down a phone number. “If you think of anything you need, or something happens, call me. I’ll be fast.”
His gaze swung to her and slid over her body with indecision.
She forced a tight smile even though it hurt her face. “I won’t even move,” she said, holding up her hand as if to solemnly swear.
He hiked up an eyebrow but seemed satisfied. He stalked to the door and paused with his fingers on the handle. “No running off, all right? We’ve got things to talk about.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t get far if I tried.”
He grinned, then exited the room.
Her shoulders sagged. He wanted to talk . . . and that made her more excited than it did nervous. Which made no sense.
No sense at all.
Angst wound Atlas’s muscles tighter than a corkscrew. He dragged his palm over his face as he drove down the street toward the restaurant he and the team had eaten at the previous day.
His muscles were aching, not only because he’d spent the night in that uncomfortable chair with a spring up his ass, but also because he couldn’t shake Molly’s state.
Sure, she was up and talking. He wouldn’t pretend that seeing her with some color in her cheeks hadn’t lightened the pressure on his chest.
The woman had been through a lot. The evidence was written on every bruise discoloring her pretty face and every involuntary jerk of her muscles. She was processing a shitload of trauma, and he was the wrong man to help her through it.
After pulling into the parking lot, he moved quickly across the sweltering pavement. It was already lunchtime and his stomach was demanding food. He ordered dishes of rice with chicken, beans, and plantains, as well as two bowls of chicken stew. He bought more jugs of water and got back in the car.
Back at the motel, he found Molly exactly where he’d left her. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her hair a wavy, sexy mess over one shoulder and her hands clasped in her lap.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he said, placing everything on the small dinette table pushed against the wall between the bathroom door and the closet near the entrance.
“Ohmigod, that smells amazing.” She rose to her feet. Her legs wobbled.
His muscles bunched with the need to rush forward and steady her, but he couldn’t fawn all over her, for god’s sake. She’d likely get sick of him constantly being on top of her.
She rested her fingertips against the wall next to the bed, steadying herself. “I’m fine,” she assured him.
Well, hell. He hadn’t done a good job hiding his concern. A smile stretched her lips, and she made her way to a chair at the table and sunk into it.
“You’re getting a lot of strength back,” he said. In truth, he didn’t like how weak she looked.
She beamed. “I appreciate you getting me food. I wish I had money, but—”
He scoffed. “Molly. I can shuck out a few bucks for some meals. Don’t worry.” He passed her a box.
She accepted and lifted the top. The helping was bigger than her face. She picked up a fork and dug into the rice, hunger pushing out the nausea.
He sat across from her and did the same. Sweet sauce wafted to his nose, making his mouth water. “Try the pineapple salsa,” he said.
“Wow. So good.”
He grinned and studied her as he ate. There was more light in her eyes today. No doubt rest and fluids had done her good. The marks on her skin bugged the shit out of him, though. “Does that hurt?” he asked, pointing.
She brushed her fingers over her cheekbone and winced. “It’s pretty tender. Actually, I think it hurts more today.”
He grunted. “You should’ve told me. I have some anti-inflammatories.” He went to his bag and came back with a small bottle.
She shook out two little pills and tossed them back with water. “Thank you.”
“I probably should’ve gotten you ice, too.” Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of that last night?
She shrugged. “I don’t think it would’ve made much difference.”
They ate in silence for several minutes. Molly quickly slowed down, taking time between bites.
“Don’t worry if you can’t eat it all. We’ve got a mini fridge.” He nodded to the white rectangle next to the nightstand.
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay. I don’t think I can eat another bite to be honest. I’m so full.”
He shoveled another bite into his mouth, swallowed, and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Can’t say I’ve got that problem. I’m sure your stomach shrunk a lot. You’ll build up your appetite soon.”
And hopefully her cheeks would lose their gauntness too.
She closed the box of food.
He reached for the cardboard before she could get to her feet. “I’ve got it.”
She chuckled. “I can walk, Atlas. Can’t have you waiting on me forever.”
Huh.
Had he imagined the sultry note in her voice? Maybe she was simply put off by how much he’d carried her.
“I don’t mind.” The words came out thick and heavy, and he wasn’t sure if he’d meant carrying her or putting away the food.
Probably both.
Shit.
Viper’s words rang in his head. You’ve got it bad, man.
He sure fucking did and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.