Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Faith," I whisper, aching to reach out and pull her into my arms, but terrified I'll scare her if I try to touch her right now.
"Octavio," she whispers on a sob, and then she flings herself at me.
I catch her, pulling her into my arms as she falls apart. I sweep her up and carry her into her room, leaving the bedroom door open so she doesn't feel trapped in here with me.
All the shit I bought her is sitting on the bed. The comforter from her bed and her pillows are laid out on the closet floor, making it clear she's either been hiding out in there all night…or else she's been sleeping in there. I'm almost afraid to know which.
I head in that direction without hesitation, instinct telling me that she feels safest there. It's a small, enclosed space, something she feels like she can control. She clings to me, sobbing so hard her body shakes as I sink to the floor in the closet, holding her on my lap.
"Shh, conejita. Estoy aquí. Estoy aquí," I whisper, trying to soothe her as she buries her face in my throat and continues to cry. Every tear she sheds rips through me like a bomb-blast, leaving me shaking with rage and regret. I promised to keep her safe, and I didn't. I should have been here.
I'm going to fucking kill Sanders for touching her.
"Estás bien. Estás bien. Estoy aquí. Lo siento mucho, conejita. Lo siento mucho. No hay necesidad de tener miedo. Estás a salvo." I croon to her in Spanish and English, telling her over and over that she's okay, that she's safe, that I'm here and I'm so sorry. I don't know if she hears anything I say, but I say it anyway, my throat aching as she clings to me, her jagged nails digging into my skin.
"He t-tried…t-t-to…"
"Shh, bebé, shh. Ahora estás a salvo. Estoy aquí."
Little by little, she stops shaking. Her cries slow and her breathing evens out. I keep her close, running my hands up and down her back in soothing passes. She sighs softly, her body going limp as exhaustion drags her under. Even then, I don't let her go. I'm afraid if I do, I might really kill Sanders.
I've never been a violent man, but I've never felt rage as forcefully as I do right now. The only thing keeping me from going after him is my need to make sure she's all right. I promised her that she would be safe, and she wasn't. That's on me.
Eventually, Gunner peeks into the room to check on us. His eyes go hard when he sees her blankets and pillows on the closet floor. "She's been sleeping in there?" he asks, keeping his voice soft so he doesn't disturb her.
I nod, pretty sure that's exactly what's been going on. She's so fucking young, and she's been traumatized again and again and again. Of course she's struggling to cope with everything. Of course she feels safest it a space so tiny she controls every inch of it. She needs a therapist, not just for the shooting but for everything else she's been through before the PTSD consumes her.
"How far did it get?" I ask Gunner, needing to know exactly what happened even though no part of me relishes having that knowledge. But if Faith can live it, I can hear it. I owe her that much.
"I heard her telling him to stop while I was in the bathroom," he mutters, glancing from me to her. "By the time I made it to the kitchen to find out what was going on, he had her in the corner with a hand on her breast. He was trying to kiss her. I don't think it got any further than that, but even that was too far."
"Yes, it was," I agree, looking down at her as she sleeps in my arms. Sanders is more than double her size. Too goddamn big to be trying to force himself on anyone, let alone her. She's injured, malnourished, and was under his protection. The abuse of authority is unforgivable. And if he was willing to use his position and size against her, I'm guessing he's probably done it before. "You'll have to write a statement."
"I know." Gunner blows out a breath, his jaw clenching. "I knew he could be aggressive with women, but they were always willing. I never suspected he would go so far. I'm sorry, man. Had I known, I would have said something when he was put on her detail."
"I know," I murmur, not holding it against him. Gunner is a good guy doing a hard job. It's not his fault his partner is a piece of shit. I glance back down at Faith, gently moving her hair out of her face. She sighs softly and grimaces as if, even in her sleep, she's uncomfortable being touched.