Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Perdition looks a lot different when you bring someone back broken.
The lights are the same. The music still bleeds faintly through the walls from the casino floor.
Dealers shuffle cards. People laugh like the world hasn't tried to rip everything away from me twice in the last twenty-four hours.
But none of it registers to me. My only focus is getting her back upstairs.
We move slowly to the elevators, everything around us is just noise.
Ashlynn leans into my side as we step off the elevator on the penthouse floor. Her weight is light against me, and every few seconds her breath hitches when her ribs remind her they’re fragile. I tighten my arm around her shoulders.
“Easy,” I whisper and steady her as she sways.
“I’m fine,” she whispers.
Lie.
Her voice is hoarse, her movements careful. The bruising along her cheekbone has darkened since this morning, and the staples at the back of her head poke through tangled strands of hair.
She’s trying to be strong. I hate that she feels like she has to.
My key card buzzes us into the penthouse, and Parker moves ahead of us, already clearing space on the couch.
“Sit,” she tells Ashlynn gently.
For once, Ashlynn doesn’t argue. She lowers herself carefully, wincing at the movement.
My jaw tightens.
Parker covers her with a blanket, and places throw pillows on either side of her. Ashlynn thanks her with a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes and exhales slowly as she sinks into the cushions. Parker moves into the kitchen and starts rifling through cabinets.
Across the room Maverick watches quietly, arms crossed, as Cole, Elias and Nick walk into the apartment.
“Yeah,” Nick says quietly into his phone. “We’re here now. Send him up.”
He hangs up and looks at me.
“Jerry just parked in valet. He’ll be up shortly.”
Good.
Jerry is Nick's personal doctor who moved out here when Nick did. He saw Parker after she had been abducted, and has patched up most of us up more than any hospital ever has. We trust him.
Ashlynn glances up at me from the couch.
“You didn't have to call another doctor.”
“Yes, I did.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue any further. That alone tells me how much pain she’s in. My hands fist slowly at my side. Because back at the warehouse, tied to a chair in a room that smells like concrete and fear, Tristan is still breathing. For now.
Parker returns with a mug of tea and gently sits next to Ashlynn on the couch. I’m not a tea drinker, but Ashlynn sometimes drinks it when she has a hard time sleeping, so I keep a cabinet stocked for her.
A knock at the door has everyone turning to look.
Nick saunters over to open it and Jerry steps inside.
Nothing about him ever changes. Early fifties, neatly kept dark hair threaded with some gray, dressed in gray slacks and a dark button up shirt.
He grips the black bag slung over his shoulder as he shakes Nick’s hand. His eyes sweep the room once.
Maverick. Cole. Elias. Me.
Then they settle on Ashlynn.
“Well,” he says dryly. “I assume this isn't a social call.”
Nick shuts the door behind him.
“Afraid not.”
Jerry moves into the living room and sets the bag down on the floor before gesturing lightly toward Ashlynn.
“May I?”
She gives a small nod, shifting slightly under the blanket. Parker scoots aside so Jerry can take her place on the edge of the couch. He opens his bag with practiced efficiency.
“Let’s see what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into,” he mutters as he pulls on a pair of gloves and a few other things out of the bag.
I stiffen at his choice of words. Jerry doesn't notice–or if he does, he doesn't care. His fingers are gentle but firm as he tilts Ashlynn’s head, examining the side of her face.
“Nick filled me in a little on what happened,” he says. “The bruising and swelling will go down in a couple of weeks. Ice it as much as possible.”
He moves carefully around her head, inspecting the staples.
“Clean placement. Whoever did them knew what they were doing.”
“The hospital,” Parker says quietly.
Jerry hums.
“Good. Make sure to follow their aftercare instructions to avoid infection.”
Grabbing the small pen light, he shines it briefly into Ashlynn’s eyes.
“Follow the light.”
She does, blinking slowly.
“Any dizziness or headaches?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Nausea?”
She hesitates.
“I threw up.”
Jerry nods once. “Not surprised. Your pupils show signs of a concussion.”
Ashlynn tries to sit up a little and grits her teeth.
“She has three fractured ribs too,” Parker tells him.
Jerry nods, producing a pen and pad from his bag.
“I was drugged, too,” Ashlynn says softly. Her hands fidget in her lap, eyes cast down as if she’s embarrassed. “Pretty sure it was in a syringe. He put it in the side of my neck.” She rubs the spot gently.
Jerry’s eyebrows raise, and my blood boils. I assumed that’s what he had done when I saw the footage of them coming off the elevator, but hearing it has me feeling homicidal.
“I’ll draw some blood and do a tox screen,” Jerry says. “That, and the concussion, explain the nausea.”
He scribbles something on the pad, then pulls out what he needs to draw a vial of her blood. When he’s finished, he places everything carefully in his bag and stands. He crosses the room and hands me the piece of paper.
“This is for the pain and nausea. Nothing too strong. As you can see, concussions and heavy medications don't mix well.”
Cole comes to my side, holding out his hand.
“I’ll go take care of that,” he offers, and I give him the paper. He exits quickly, the penthouse door shutting softly behind him.
“The bruising and concussion should resolve in a couple of weeks. I can remove the staples in seven days. Her ribs will take longer, about six weeks.”
I nod.
“Light sensitivity and headaches are to be expected. The most important thing is that she needs to rest. If she throws up again, call me.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” I shake his hand.
“Of course. I’ll call when I find out what he gave her. The fact that she’s awake and coherent so soon after tells me it was mild, but I’ll let you know.”
He brushes past me, shaking hands with Nick and Elias, then Maverick, then he exits.
“We’re going to head out too,” Elias says, referring to him and Nick. “Going to get back up to the warehouse.”
They say their goodbyes, both men hugging Ashlynn carefully, telling her they’re glad she’s home and safe.
They don’t say okay, because we all know better.
She’s anything but. She’s been holding it in, but I know what’s coming.
She was attacked, drugged and kidnapped.
She was traumatized. I can see it in her eyes, in the way that she doesn’t speak.
How right now her gaze is vacant on Nick and Elias’ backs when they leave.
She’s going to fall apart.
The door shuts, and Maverick walks over to the couch.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s let her get some rest.”
Parker looks over at Ashlynn and smiles as she grabs her hand.
“I’ll come over tomorrow,” she tells her. Then her eyes find mine, and I nod.
“I’m probably just going to sleep, there’s no reason to–” Ashlynn starts and is cut off by Maverick’s laugh.
“You’re not going to win, Ash. You should know better.”
“Fine,” Ashlynn sighs.
Parker kisses Ashlynn’s cheek–the one that isn’t bruised–and stands from the couch. She and Maverick stop in front of me.
“I’ll stay with her whenever you need me to, just let me know,” Parker whispers.
I nod. She smiles at me warmly, giving my bicep a reassuring squeeze. Then they’re gone.
Walking over to the couch, Ashlynn’s gaze lands on me and her eyes begin to well with unshed tears.
“I know, doll. It’s okay. You’re safe now,” I say gently. “Here, let’s get you comfortable so you can rest. I’ll be right back.”
Walking into the bedroom, I grab her pillow off the bed, a pair of my sweatpants and a t-shirt. When I get back to her, she’s trying to stand up, but struggling. Dropping everything in my arms on the chaise part of the couch, I reach out to her. She takes my hands and I help her slowly stand.
“Let’s get you out of this.” My fingers pinch the fabric of her shirt. I slowly pull it up over her head, careful of her staples, and remove her bra.
The bruising on her ribs matches her cheek. My fingers reach out and ghost over the angry purple marks along her ribs, then the spot where her tracker is. My heart lurches into my throat, and I lower myself to my knees at her feet. I press my forehead gently to her stomach, squeezing my eyes shut.
For a second all I see is her limp in my arms. Her body slumped in a chair. Tristan wheeling her out of the hospital. Her face when she saw me at the rest stop.
My jaw clenches.
She shouldn’t have to hurt like this.
Reaching up, my thumb brushes lightly over the tracker beneath her skin, a cold reminder of how close I came to losing her. Never again. Not as long as I’m breathing.
Ashlynn shifts slightly, wincing as she reaches for the oversized shirt. I stand and help guide the fabric carefully over her shoulders. Then I help her out of her jeans and into the sweatpants.
After I lay out her pillow on the chaise, she carefully lowers herself back onto the couch and lays down. I cover her back up and take the seat next to her head. Her crystal blue eyes meet mine. They’re duller, filled with sadness.
“Stay with me,” she whispers softly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her and take her hand, rubbing her knuckles with my thumb.
After a few minutes of silence, she looks back up at me.
“Where did they take Andy?” she asks quietly.
“Andy?”
“Or Tristan. I’ve always called him Andy. He hates his first name.”
My eyebrows knit.
“Andy. From the gala?”
She nods.
A rage I haven't felt before washes over me. Not only did she know him, she told me at the gala he was the only one who treated her like a person after she was adopted. She clearly trusted him, and knowing that she did, he took advantage of it.
The question is why.
“He’s alive,” I tell her.
Her sleepy, sad eyes search mine
“For now.”