Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
It was a fifteen-minute drive.
I made it in eight.
But it was still too late.
The bastard was long gone.
The neighbors had scared him off and called the cops.
There was nothing I could do but be there with her as she was questioned about the events, as she tried to keep it together to give them what they needed.
I normally wouldn’t have told her to talk to the cops. They’d done fuck-all for her so far. But because the neighbors called, she had to give her report.
And, hey, who knew. Maybe they wouldn’t be completely useless like the others had been. Maybe they’d find the asshole on a camera, get a plate, something.
But while they twiddled their thumbs and tried to untangle the red tape, I was going to have Arty do the same things. Likely a lot faster and more effectively.
First, though, was taking care of Runa.
She’d been wide-eyed and shell-shocked through most of her police interview, coughing and rasping out her answers as best she could.
I knew once they left that the near-miss of it all, the fear, and the pain were going to hit her hard.
I didn’t know what was going on under her clothes, but there was a cut on her lip and a bruise on the side of her face.
Nothing, though, was as bad as that red band around her throat, one I knew would turn deep shades of purple and blue as the hours dragged on.
I couldn’t help but think of Denali, of her seeing her mother like this. I guess we could use makeup on the cheek, excuse a split lip as some sort of accident. But her throat…
Would she think it was weird if her mom started wearing a scarf?
What other way could we protect her from this reality? She’d already seen too much, knew too much, feared for both herself and her mother. She didn’t need more evidence that there were things to fear. We’d have to hide this from her as best we could.
That was all that was on my mind as I left my bike behind at her apartment and hopped into Seeley’s car instead, letting him drive us back to Miami to visit his wife’s clinic.
Runa stayed curled into me the whole time—her head on my chest, her legs draped over mine, her fingers toying with the edge of my T-shirt.
The situation was fucked, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like having her close like that.
She’d been avoiding me as best she could since the tent. Putting up walls that didn’t need to be there. Protecting herself from what? I didn’t know. Getting attached, maybe, when her life had been nothing but tearing up roots.
It was something I’d wanted to talk to her about, but she was clever in her ability to use Denali as a way to avoid me.
That wouldn’t be possible when she was living at the clubhouse. Though, I couldn’t exactly demand a talk when she could barely speak, and even doing that hurt.
I’d have to bide my time.
Take care of her (and Denali) while she healed.
Then maybe she would hear me out.
When Seeley parked out front, I carried Runa into the clinic, feeling her bury her face against my chest at the bright lights.
“I wish I could stop meeting all the girls like this,” Ama said as she came into the room, sanitizing her hands, then slipping on gloves as I set Runa on the exam table.
“This is Runa.
“Runa,” Ama repeated, voice sweet. “I’ve heard a lot about that sweet little girl of yours. I’m so excited to meet her. Though I’m sorry I have to meet you like this. Damn,” she said, wincing as she angled Runa’s chin up to look at her throat.
There was some pressing around with her hands—on Runa’s neck, face, down her back, and over her ribs.
“I’m sure you don’t feel like it right now, but you were pretty lucky. No broken bones that I can feel. Your split lip is already closing up, but I’m going to clean that up. Your throat, well, that is just going to suck for a few days. But I’m sure someone can persuade Eddie into making you some homemade ice pops and ice cream that might help. Or tea. Everyone’s different in what feels better.”
She paused to listen to Runa’s heart and lungs before working on cleaning up her face.
“You look like you have a headache,” Ama observed. “Did you hit your head hard at any point?”
“Twice.”
“Okay. We need to consider a concussion. The hard part here is the oxygen deprivation can mimic some concussion signs. It wouldn’t be abnormal for you to have a headache, dizziness, or some nausea from being strangled. And speech might be hard, but not slurred. So if we hear slurred speech, I want to know. Or if she stops making sense,” she said, looking over at me. “Same thing if she is slow to answer, has trouble concentrating, has confusion or memory loss. And it is absolutely a call an ambulance type situation if she is violently throwing up, has seizures, her one pupil is larger than the other, or she simply can’t stay awake.”