Chapter 33
thirty-three
I haven’t sprinted this fast in my life.
Sweat pours from my forehead. Not from my game. Still in my cleats, I dart toward our front door and rip it open. Fingers ready to tear into the flesh of whomever is inside.
It’s silent.
Deadly silent.
Eyes frantically scan the living room, dining room, kitchen…
My chest aches with every breath.
I take off toward the open door of the bedroom and freeze. Hand on the doorframe.
“No! No! No!” An agonizing cry rips from my lungs. The sound gnashing at my throat like a saw.
Scout lies on the center of the bed, blood pouring from a deep gash in her arm. More sticky crimson streaks across the carpet all the way to my feet.
I’m moving. Surging forward and even knocking the gun from her hand to lift her. Limp, she collapses in my arms. Weight without resistance.
“Scout! Baby, please! Scout!”
Her eyes are shut, but she’s warm. Still seems to be breathing, and that’s the only thing that stops the pain from taking over.
I blink back tears and yell, “Scout!”
It’ll be faster if I drive her car to the emergency room. With her held tight in my arms, I snag her keys from the hook near the door and hurry outside.
Not so carefully, I hurl her into the backseat, blood still dripping from her wound. When I jump inside and race toward the hospital, I blow through a crosswalk—someone screams—swerve past a cyclist by inches. I’m panting and cursing as a hand snakes from the backseat to brush against my shoulder.
“S-Stallion?”
“Fuck! Tulip! You’re awake?”
I twist around just long enough to see her blink heavily, then pass out again.
At the doors, I tug her out of the car and rush inside. She’s a rag doll in my arms. Unmoving. And barely breathing.
“Help my wife! Please, someone help her!”
A few nurses surround me, drilling me with a million questions that I don’t have answers for. Not that I can understand half of what they’re saying.
We’re rushed into a little room, and within a minute, it’s filled with several people. I’m shoved against a far wall as they work on Scout. Someone strips her clothes. Another person jabs a long needle into her arm.
“You’re her husband?” a woman in a long white coat with concerned eyes asks.
My throat is still raw as I nod and say, “Yeah…I am.” I try to take a breath and whisper, “She’s my wife…”
“Let’s step out here.” She points toward the space just outside the door. “Scout looks as if she has a laceration on her arm from a knife. And is heavily intoxicated. We’re running tests to see what’s in her system. Does she drink alcohol or use any substances?”
“N-No substances. Yeah, she drinks, but… We don’t. I don’t think that’s it.”
“Was she depressed recently, or having anxiety about school—anything like that?”
My heart thuds hard against my ribs. Especially as I think about Scout’s poor grade on her test. The one Dean Dutta made her fail.
This doctor thinks Scout hurt herself…
I hate that I ask the question myself.
Did she?
I shake my head. “She’s fine. She said there was someone else in the house.”
“Oh! Then we’ll need to alert the police! Is there anyone you need to call?”
“I’ll handle it,” I say with a nod, eyes still on Scout’s limp body.
“Dr. Smith? Narcan worked.” The doctor hurries back inside, waving for me to join her.
Narcan? What the fuck was in her system?
I follow, and Scout’s eyes flick open until she’s alert. She groans and writhes on the bed as if in pain. I reach for her hand, holding her tiny fist in my grip, then squeeze. As if waking, she gazes up at me, surprised and confused.
“Hi,” she mumbles.
I breathe a sigh of relief and lean forward, pressing my lips to her sweaty forehead. “Hi, tulip.” Tears threaten to blur my vision. But I shove that down. She doesn’t need to see it.
The nurses continue to help her, stabilizing her, while someone else stitches her arm. I take the moment to step out and call her parents, then mine.
By the time they all arrive, Scout’s more alert. Drinking water and even asking for food.
In the hall, Mom slips her arm around my waist to give me a hug. Feeling her next to me is a comfort. Like I can relax for a minute. Dad grabs me and holds me close for a long moment.
“You must have been scared to death,” Mom says, tears in her eyes.
A lump forms in my throat. I never want to think about that moment of finding her again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to rid my mind of the horrific image.
“I was.”
Dad pats me on the shoulder. “You handled it. She’s going to be okay.”
All I can do is nod, knowing that something is wrong under the surface.
My parents give Scout some flowers and offer to help with anything we need before they leave. Scout’s mom hasn’t left her side. And her dad looks at me like I’m a hero.
But I’m not.
Not until I eradicate whatever it is that’s causing these issues and protect her from getting hurt again.
The staff brings her a turkey sandwich, and she chews on it happily. But every few seconds, her eyes meet mine. Like she has a secret to tell.
I glance at her parents and casually scope out the hall. Then, I shut the curtain behind us, hoping no one comes close enough to hear. Sitting at her side in a small plastic chair, I trace a finger over her bandaged arm. “So what happened?”
She looks at her parents, then at me. “A cloaked man was in the apartment. I still don’t know how he got in. But he left a lollipop there to scare me. By the time I went for the gun in the bedroom, it was gone. I grabbed a kitchen knife, but we struggled. I think that’s when I got cut. And then—”
She stops. As if the memory is too painful, or maybe too infuriating, she swallows hard before she continues. “And then, he jabbed a needle in my neck. That’s the last thing I remember.”
My jaw tightens, seeing the scene before me. Kinsley reaches across the bed and places a hand on mine. As if she’s bracing me for what she’s about to say, and I’m begging her not to. Because if I follow that thought to the end, there won’t be anything left of me to hold together.
“We need to have them do a rape kit.”
Hot tears line my eyes. I can’t even look at anyone. Turning my head to the side, I quickly hide my face.
Her father’s posture stiffens across the room.
Scout, as if unaffected by the suggestion, says, “I know, but I don’t feel as though I had sex. I don’t think he did that to me. And I don’t know why he didn’t finish whatever he started.”
The four of us startle as two enforcers from the university enter without warning.
“Um, excuse us!” Kinsley shouts. “This is my daughter’s private room. This is a violation—”
President Damon enters right behind them, smiling like she’s on camera. “I’m so sorry to intrude. I heard the news of the attack just now and got here as soon as I could. Mrs. Griffin? You look as if you’re doing better than the reports.”
Scout freezes. Then simply nods silently.
“Please, continue. I just need to speak to Mr. Griffin alone. Rest assured. We’ll use the full extent of our investigators and get to the bottom of who’s behind this. We won’t stand for it. Not on this campus.”
Her brunette bob doesn’t move as she strolls out of the room. She doesn’t motion for me to join, but her attitude is enough that I follow.
The enforcers lead the way to an empty conference room near the end of the hall. President Damon leans a hip against the head of the long table. She waves a graceful hand toward a chair near her. “Please, Mr. Griffin. Have a seat.”
I don’t like sitting while she’s perched there. But I obey, curious about what she’ll say.
“I asked if your wife had been struggling, and you said you’d look out for her. And now, well, it appears she’s harmed herself. In your own apartment—”
“She says there was someone in our place. Someone’s been following her. Stalking her and leaving her gifts.”
President Damon seems bored. “I see. I’m more concerned with the fact that she hasn’t been wearing her bracelet for us to monitor her. The last time I checked in on your status was a week ago, and she still hasn’t taken the vitamins. Has she?”
I blink as I look at the table. I never checked. “I think she has.”
“Mm,” is all she responds with before clearing her throat.
“I feel we’ve done you a disservice, Apollo.
” Her voice softens, and I look up at her.
She’s either doing an excellent job portraying someone with sympathy.
Or is genuinely concerned. “I didn’t realize how unstable Scout was before we elected her for the role of your appointed.
And now? Well, my fear is that she’s going to need more… supervised care.”
“Care?” I ask, confused. My brow twitches.
“Maybe your wife needs a stay at the mental health wellness program. Inpatient. For better, more long-term treatment.”
I almost choke on my breath. “Oh?” I whisper, terror overtaking me.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think she needs that.” I say it aloud, but it’s as if I haven’t even spoken.
President Damon’s head tilts with concern. “Don’t you want her to get better for you? For her stallion?”
The word jolts through my chest like I’ve been shot. It feels as if a bucket of ice water was just poured over my head.
And that’s when I know…
“Maybe you’re right. I appreciate you taking the time to visit us and set everything up. Let me talk with Scout. I’ll convince her to do the right thing.”
“That’s why you’re the president of Delta. The chosen leader.” She sticks out her hand for me to shake. “I’ll be in touch.”
With my stomach in knots, I stroll straight back to Scout’s room. Her parents are just outside the door, talking on their phones. G gives me a head nod and opens the curtain for me to enter.
Scout’s face brightens as I step inside. “Hi!”
I wave my hand hurriedly through the air, then hold a finger to my lips. Leaning over, I brush back some of her hair from her face. My lips find her ear, and I whisper with all the desperation I can muster.
“Act normal. We’re being watched.”