Page 4 of Speechless
She looked so miserably defeated, he couldn’t stand it. “I’ll get you back home, baby.”
Profound horror eclipsed the humanity in her eyes. She shook her head fiercely, her hands clawing for the door handle.
“Fuck, that was the wrong way to phrase that.” Connor leaned over and took her hands. “Not back home to whoever did this to you, baby. Back home to the people who must be missing you.”
She relaxed a bit. She shuddered as his thumbs stroked over her knuckles, warmed the chilled flesh. When her eyes began to flutter closed, he smiled and tucked her hands beneath the blanket, then started the truck.
By the time he pulled out of the lot, she was asleep.
*
Everything was different when she woke. For the first time in a very long time, she was actuallywarm. Her body wasn’t wracked with shivers and her skin didn’t feel as though it would shatter like glass with the slightest touch.
The only downside she could find was the fact her back was onfire.
She felt like she floated through the air, two strong steel bands behind her shoulders and under her legs. The scent of the earth surrounded her.
She remembered the man—Connor—with his black hair and eyes the color of the gray winter sky at dawn. He made her feel safe, and God knew how long it had been since she’d felt that way. She’d lost herself under Sire’s dominance a long time ago, and never again found the young girl she’d been.
She curled further into the warmth, unwilling to travel the path of memories leading to Sire. His cruelty and depravity had known no bounds, and she knew if he found her, he would take great delight in dragging her down the long, torturous road to her death.
After all, she’d watched him do the same to her predecessor, many moons past.
“Home sweet home, baby,” Connor said quietly, his voice rumbling in his chest, through her head like the first soft peals of a summer storm. “Let’s see where Sarah’s got to.”
She heard the click of a door closing and opened her eyes. Everything blurred so she only saw the vague outlines of furniture and pictures on the walls. Her hand moved to his chest, gripped his shirt weakly.
He was quick to reassure her, his arms tightening ever so slightly around her as she began to tremble. “I promise you, you’re safe here. This is my place.”
“Well hell, she looks like shit.” A feminine voice came from nowhere and scared the living daylights out of her. “The room’s ready, Connor. Are we waiting for Caleb? I mean, this looks like it needs the sheriff involved.”
“Christ, Sarah, I think you just took ten years off the pair of us.” Connor huffed out a breath. “Caleb will be here shortly. I’d like our guest here to be well out of her misery by the time he arrives.”
Out of her misery? She tried to whimper but the sound stuck in her throat. That sounded perilously close to being put to sleep. To dying. She didn’t want to die; she’d exerted every last drop of energy, burned through the small reserve of courage she’d had stored, to escape death. Surrendering willingly to the end of her life now seemed…wasteful.
“Get the heating turned up, Sarah. Make sure there’s plenty of clean blankets within reach. The poor girl nearly froze to death.”
She clutched at him when she felt herself tipping, when her bare feet touched the cool floor. She could barely focus on the outline of a long black table before the ground pitched and weaved under her. Nausea, a much-despised and constant companion, roared into life.
“I’m going to sit you on the table, baby. I’ll give you some painkillers and antibiotics before we start cleaning you up, okay?” Connor’s voice was low and gentle to match his hands as they cupped her hips and lifted her.
“Video or photos?” The one named Sarah asked from somewhere to her right. “Caleb’s going to want everything documented, down to the last letter.”
She stiffened, her hands fisting. They were not going to put her down, and she’d be damned if they would take photographs or a video of her. She’d suffered through that hell before, with Sire filming her struggling against the leather belt wrapped like a choke chain around her throat as he beat all but the last spark of life from her battered body.
“I need Amoxicillin, Tramadol and I think a little Sublimaze. She’s not going to like what we have to do, and I think it’ll be easier on everyone if we can get the worst of it done and out of the way.” His hand smoothed over her forehead. His beautiful gray eyes, so concerned, studied her face. “Can you lie on your stomach for me, baby? Just for a little while.”
She narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head.
“Does she have a name or have you christened her ‘baby’?”
Connor’s hands made quick work of pulling one side of the blanket away from her arm. She jerked her arm free of his hold when the fuzzy figure of a small dark-haired woman came close enough to brush against her. Her body started a slow slide into meltdown when a silver tray clattered onto the table beside her.
“As she hasn’t made a sound, I don’t know her name. If she even has one. Someone capable of doing this to a person usually doesn’t bother with niceties like names. But we’ll find you a name, baby.”
“Can’t talk or won’t talk?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly and tugged her arm out straight.