Page 2 of Speechless
“Think you’re a big fucking shot,” Joe sneered, his voice muffled by the hand he cupped over his face. Blood dripped steadily from between his fingers. “Maybe you should think again.”
She cowered when the big blurred figure crouched down in front of her, one hand extended toward her. She blinked up at him, before horror filled her and alarm screamed through her blood.
Her savior stood straight and whirled around in one fast move, his forearm raised to protect his face as a bar stool came down at his head. He snarled, wrenched the stool away from his assailant, and used it to deliver a blow that sent the shorter man headlong across the floor.
War erupted. The tall man ranged over her, protecting her, as drunks came at him from all sides. He fended off every attack, and even though there were times she wanted to cover her ears and close her eyes, she couldn’t keep her gaze off him.
“Connor! Connor, are you okay?”
So many voices, she thought dimly. The scent of blood and alcohol turned her stomach and combined with the fact she hadn’t eaten in…well, only Sire knew how long it had been since she’d last tasted food, but her stomach and her head pitched into misery together.
*
Conner O’Malley flexed his sore knuckles and studied the array of semi-and fully-unconscious men sprawled across the floor. He shook his head at the stupidity of them; the majority of them had grown up with him, had fought him or his brothers before, and knew he wasn’t to be messed with.
Give a bunch of morons a shitload of alcohol, throw in a girl, and watch said morons devolve into chest-beating, brainless Neanderthals.
The O’Malley’s were a brand name in the small town of Howler Creek, Montana. Connor had been the town doctor for almost six years. His brother Caleb was the current sheriff, while his other brother Cain stood ten feet away, a baseball bat cocked over his shoulder and rage in his eyes.
“I’m fine, Cain. Get Cal out here to sort these idiots out.” Connor stretched his shoulders with a small grunt of discomfort. It had been a while, he thought with a touch of amusement, since he’d had the good luck to participate in an old-fashioned free-for-all.
Something touched the back of his leg. He glanced down, frowned at the fingers barely grazing his jeans. A pair of huge green eyes stared up at him, wide and dazed, from a too-thin face the color of ash.
“Now you,” he murmured softly as he crouched to her level. “You are something different, aren’t you, baby?” He held out his hand carefully, like she was a wild animal. He never moved when she hesitantly reached out and wrapped her frozen fingers around his thumb.
“Christ, you’re freezing. Who the hell let you out in these temperatures wearing only…” Connor trailed off and let her attire finally sink in. This was not a woman who forgot to put her sweater on before running to the store for milk.
She wore a man’s shirt which might once have been blue or gray but had been reduced to a grimy brown. There were holes down the seams, and buttons missing. Several stains which could very well be blood were splattered over the front.
He kept his touch gentle as he grasped her arm, turned it over. There was nothing but sympathy and patience in his voice as he murmured to her. With only words and the brush of his fingertips, he soothed the panic exuding from her.
“Cain, I’m going to need you to ask Cal to come over to my office when he’s dealt with these idiots.”
“Is there a problem?” Cal rounded the bar, propped his bat against a stool and wandered over to where Connor crouched beside the little wraith. “Well, she’s a sight for sore eyes.”
She tugged desperately on Connor’s hand, but he only tightened his grip by a fraction. “This is my brother, Cain. My name is Connor. We are not going to hurt you. Do you understand me?”
Tears formed in her eyes, a shimmer of confusion and pain. Reluctantly, she nodded her head and her hand relaxed in his. But when Cain shifted closer, she went rigid.
“Just careful,” Connor admonished his youngest brother. “I don’t think she’s fully with us. There are ligature marks on her wrists,” he added quietly and slid his gaze down her naked legs. Among the bruises and scrapes, a set of brand new rope marks glowed red around her ankles. So new, he noted with disgust, they stood out like a beacon from the cluster of similar scars. “Legs as well. I’ll have to take her for an exam.”
His brother cursed. “Some sick bastard did this to her?”
Connor met the girl’s resigned eyes. She said nothing, but then, he hadn’t expected her to. If the ligature marks were just the beginning of what he would find during the exam, he had a dreadful feeling in his gut she had been abused, and for a long time.
“I think so. I need to get her back home to the office. Can you get a blanket while I call Sarah, ask her to come in? I’m going to need some assistance.”
Cain rubbed a big hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I should have one…in the back, I think. Let me go look, and I’ll get Cal over here. You deal with her and I’ll call Sarah.”
Once his brother disappeared, Connor knelt in front of the girl and held her hands in his. They were so cold, too cold, and he felt the shudder run through her as the heat from his skin broke through the chill of hers. “What’s your name, baby?”
Her pretty little mouth, a little blue around the lips, turned down at the corners. Her eyes got a haunted, mournful look. Thin shoulders slumped before she shrugged them weakly.
“Come on,” he cajoled sweetly. “Everyone has a name.”
A tear spilled over and streaked down her face. She eased her hand free of his and started to flick open the buttons of the shirt. He watched with horrified curiosity as she revealed some more of the trauma she’d suffered through. But the welts and scars and wounds were nothing compared to the five-letter word branded—fuckingbranded, he thought with a snarl—into the soft skin just above her left breast.
“Baby, that’s not your name. That’s just cruelty. What’s yourname?” He put extra emphasis on the last word, but his suspicions were already roused.