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“He’s a hacker. What’s taking so long? Is there a problem?”
“It just feels like a long time because you aren’t with me.”
She laughs, but it’s choked and strained. “Same ol’ Damion. Your ego really is quite big.”
“Which is why I need you to check me.” My tone roughens up, emotions stirring around gravel in my throat, and my words choked as I add, “You make me a better man, Alana. I need you.”
“I need you, too,” she whispers, and she’s silent a beat that radiates with torment before she adds, “They turned the lights out on me.”
“I know, baby. I know.” I steel myself for her to share more, to confess abuse in some horrid way, but when she doesn’t speak, I add, “I really should have kissed you that night in the wine cellar. Then you’d never be afraid of the dark again.”
She actually laughs again, and this time her voice is a tease as she says, “Because you’d make it oh so sexy?”
“Exactly. I’ll show you when we get home.”
“Home,” she murmurs. “I really want to go home with you.”
It’s right then that Blake yells, “We’re clear! I’m disarming the keypad now!”
I hear the buzz of the lock, and I yank open the door. Alana appears with her hair a rumpled mess and streaks of mascara down her cheeks, but she’s still fully dressed in the clothes she was in when she went inside the building. Thank God for the small bit of hope that offers me about what she endured or did not endure.
“Damion!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around me.
I hold her tight and kiss her long and deep, the taste of salty teardrops on her lips. “Did they hurt you?” I demand, cupping her face and studying her gaze.
“They drugged me,” she says. “I don’t want to know what they gave me or how dirty the needle was they used. I don’t want to know what it might mean later.”
Me either, I think, but I focus on her. “We’ll get you a doctor,” I say, stroking her hair behind her ear. “I’ll have them meet us at the house. I’m going to take you home, and I swear I’m never letting you go again.”
Chapter Eighteen
Damion
“I’m dizzy and nauseous,” Alana murmurs, her eyes bloodshot, her complexion chalky. “I really don’t know what they injected me with.”
It’s the second time she’s brought this up, and she’s right to worry. It scares the shit out of me, too, I think, but I wouldn’t dare say that to her. “I got you, baby,” I promise, with guilt stabbing me all over with just how much I’ve proven to be the crappiest protector possible. Everything I’ve done to try to protect Alana our entire adult lives has been wrong.
Where the fuck is Savage. She needs a doctor, and I yell over my shoulder, “Savage!”
“I’m here.” A chair appears beside us, and Savage orders, “Sit, Alana. I need to check you out.”
“Savage is both a doctor and a surgeon,” I explain. “You’re in good hands.”
If Alana registers my words, she simply accepts them without question. She allows me to ease her into the chair. Savage kneels in front of her. “I’m going to check your vitals, but first I need to know if you have any injuries I need to address.”
“No,” she says. “I don’t think so.”
His tone is gentle, but he pushes her. “I’m sorry, but I need to know how to best treat you. Did they touch you?”
My hand settles on her shoulder, telling her I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Only when they grabbed me to stick a needle in my neck. I think…I’m fine.”
“If you want,” Savage offers, “after I check you out, we can go to the ER for a rape kit.”
“No!” she says. “No, I don’t want that. I don’t think that happened. I don’t want to go through that. And I’m still fully dressed. I don’t think they could have put my pants back on.”
I kneel beside her, reinforcing the message that I’m here.
Savage doesn’t look at me. He studies her several long beats before he holds up a small light. “I need to shine this in your eyes. Does your head hurt?”
