Chapter Twelve #2
I pull out of the lot fast, the tires kicking up gravel, the warehouse shrinking in the rearview mirror. I don’t look back. I can’t. All I can do is drive, all I can do is get her somewhere safe, all I can do is keep her breathing.
I drive like the world is ending, because for me it is.
Every breath she takes in the back seat is shallow, uneven, barely there.
Every time her chest rises I feel a flicker of relief, every time it pauses I feel my heart stop.
Jaxon keeps glancing back at her, his jaw tight, his hands shaking as he types out a message to the clinic.
He knows the place. I know the place. A private clinic on the outskirts of town, the kind that doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t file reports, doesn’t care who walks in bleeding or broken as long as the payment clears.
I pull up to the side entrance, the one meant for people like us, and I’m out of the car before the engine finishes rumbling.
I open the back door and gather her into my arms again, the gentleness in my hands a stark contrast to the murderous instinct flooding through me.
They touched her. They hurt her. I don’t know the extent of the damage.
I don’t want to know right now. I just need my Bunny to stay with me.
Her head rests against my shoulder, too still, too quiet, her breath brushing weakly against my neck.
My pulse spikes so violently I feel dizzy.
The door opens before I reach it. A nurse stands there, older, calm, practiced in the kind of emergencies that never make it into official records. She doesn’t ask what happened. She doesn’t ask who did it. She doesn’t ask why. She just steps aside and gestures us in. “Bring her through.”
I follow her down a narrow hallway, the lights dimmer here, the air warmer, the smell of antiseptic sharp enough to sting my nose.
My arms tighten around Mara instinctively, protective, terrified.
Her body shifts slightly, a faint sound escaping her lips, barely conscious.
My chest tightens painfully. I whisper against her hair, my voice cracking. “Stay with me, Bunny. I’ve got you.”
The nurse leads us into a small room with a bed, equipment already waiting, everything prepared like they knew exactly what kind of damage we were bringing in.
I lower Mara onto the bed as gently as I can, my hands trembling as I adjust her head, her shoulders, her legs.
She winces at the movement, a small, broken sound that makes my stomach twist so violently I have to swallow hard to keep myself steady.
The nurse steps in immediately, checking her pulse, her breathing, her eyes. She doesn’t flinch at the swelling. She doesn’t react to the blood. She doesn’t look at me with judgment or curiosity. She’s seen worse. She’s treated worse. She knows exactly what kind of men bring women here.
Jaxon stands in the doorway, his face pale, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. He’s trying to stay calm. He’s failing. “Kade… they did a number on her.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. My eyes stay on her, on the way her chest rises and falls, on the way her fingers twitch slightly, on the way her lips part with each shaky inhale. “She’s alive,” I say, but my voice is thin, cracking. “She’s alive.”
The nurse nods once. “She’s stable enough for now. Let me work.”
I step back, but only barely, close enough that I can touch her if she needs me, close enough that I can hear every breath she takes.
My hands shake. My jaw clenches. My chest feels like it’s collapsing.
The rage is still there, simmering under my ribs, cold and lethal, but it’s drowned out by the fear.
The fear of losing her. The fear of being too late.
The fear of what they did to her while I wasn’t there.
Jaxon moves closer, his voice low. “We’ll find them.”
I nod once, slow, controlled, my eyes still locked on her. “We will.”
And when we do, I’m not bringing them to a clinic.
Mara
————————
The world comes back wrong.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
It slams into me in jagged pieces, sounds first, then light, then the crushing weight of panic.
My eyes snap open to a ceiling I don’t recognize, lights too bright, humming too loud, walls too white.
My breath catches instantly, my pulse spiking so hard it hurts.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who brought me here.
I don’t know what they’re planning to do next.
My body reacts before my mind does. I jerk upright, a sharp cry ripping out of my throat, my hands scrambling for anything, any weapon, any way out. The room tilts violently. My ribs scream. My head throbs. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I need to get out. I need to get away. I need to run.
A tray crashes to the floor when I hit it, metal clattering across tile. Something small and sharp skitters under my hand. I grab it without thinking. A scalpel. Cold. Light. Deadly enough if I’m desperate.
I am desperate.
I stagger back from the bed, holding the scalpel out in front of me with shaking hands, my breath coming in frantic, broken pulls.
My vision blurs at the edges. My heart thunders so violently I feel it in my teeth.
The room is too bright. Too clean. Too unfamiliar.
It feels like another trap. Another place they’ve brought me to finish what they started.
A nurse steps into view, hands raised, voice calm but urgent. “Sweetheart, you’re safe. Put that down.”
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
The word doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t belong here. My grip tightens on the scalpel, my arm trembling as I wave it in front of me, warning her, warning anyone, warning everyone. My voice cracks around the panic. “Don’t touch me. Don’t—don’t come near me.”
Another nurse appears at the door. “We need help in here!”
Help.
Help means danger.
Help means someone stronger.
Help means someone coming.
My pulse spikes again, sharp and suffocating. I back up until my spine hits the wall, the scalpel shaking in my hand, my breath rattling through my chest. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t stop seeing the chair, the lights, the blows, the faces.
Footsteps thunder down the hall.
Heavy. Fast. Familiar.
The door bursts open.
Kade.
He freezes when he sees me, his chest rising and falling too fast, his eyes wide, his face pale with terror. For a split second he doesn’t move, like the sight of me holding a scalpel, shaking, wild-eyed, ready to fight anything that comes near, has knocked the breath out of him.
“Mara,” he says, voice low, breaking, careful in a way I’ve never heard from him. “Bunny… it’s me.”
I flinch at the sound, the scalpel jerking upward. The nurses step back immediately, giving him space, giving me space, giving the moment room to breathe.
Kade moves slowly, hands raised, every line of his body soft, controlled, terrified of scaring me more. “You’re safe. You’re safe now. I swear it.”
My breath stutters. My grip trembles. My vision blurs.
He takes one step closer.
I don’t run. I don’t strike. I don’t scream.
I just shake, the scalpel wavering in my hand, my pulse a frantic drumbeat.
And Kade keeps coming, slow, steady, gentle, like approaching a wounded animal that might bolt or break or bleed out if he moves too fast.
“Give it to me, Bunny,” he whispers. “Let me take it. Let me help you.”
I don’t move.
My hand stays frozen in front of me, the scalpel trembling between my fingers, my breath coming in thin, frantic pulls that scrape through my chest. It feels wrong. It feels dangerous. It feels like another trap. My pulse is a frantic drumbeat, my ribs tight, my throat raw.
Kade steps closer, slow, careful, his hands raised in front of him like he’s approaching something fragile and feral at the same time. His voice is low, breaking, gentle in a way that makes my stomach twist. “Bunny… it’s me.”
But the word doesn’t land. The voice doesn’t land. Nothing lands.
All I see is light. All I hear is humming. All I feel is the chair, the blows, the hands, the fear.
He takes another step.
Something inside me snaps.
I lash out, the scalpel slicing across the palm of his hand. A sharp hiss of pain escapes him, quick and involuntary, and the sound hits me harder than the strike itself. My fingers go slack instantly.
My breath catches.
My vision blurs.
My stomach drops.
Kade doesn’t yell. He doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t grab me.
He just stands there, blood welling in his palm, eyes wide with something that isn’t anger or shock it’s fear. Not of me. For me. His voice is barely a whisper. “Bunny…”
The nurses move in fast, hands out, trying to calm me, trying to steady me, but I stumble backward, my spine hitting the wall, my hands shaking violently now that the weapon is gone.
My chest heaves. My throat burns. My pulse is a roar in my ears.
Kade steps forward despite the blood dripping from his hand, despite the danger, despite everything. His voice stays soft, steady, grounding. “You’re safe. I swear it. You’re safe.”
I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know anything except the terror still clawing at my ribs.
But I don’t run. I don’t strike again. I just shake, staring at the blood on his hand, the proof that I hurt him, the proof that I’m still trapped in the fear they put in me.
My knees give out before I even understand what’s happening.
The scalpel hits the floor with a sharp clatter, bouncing once before settling against the tile.
My fingers stay curled in the air, empty, trembling, useless.
The room tilts violently, the lights smearing into white streaks, the nurses’ voices blurring into distant echoes.
My breath catches in my throat, my chest tightening until it hurts.
I try to stay upright, try to hold myself against the wall, but my legs won’t listen.
My body is done. My fear is louder than anything else.
I collapse.
But I don’t hit the floor.