Page 9 of Give Me Peace

“There were no signs of internal bleeding, but she does have a concerning bruise near the right temple. A concussion is likely, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on it to make sure there’s no swelling. For now, the best thing for Ms. Radley is to rest so her body can begin to heal. She’s yet to wake, and it could very well be a while before she does. Do you have any questions?” He closes the chart he’d been reading from and gives us his full attention.

Only a couple thousand.

“Can we see her?” I voice the most important one, causing Loch to stare at me strangely.

“Yes, but we ask that you please respect the posted visitation hours,” Dr. Ashburn requests, though I doubt we’ll be doing that.

“Sure thing,” Loch smiles, but it’s not sincere. And if I had to guess, the good doc is well aware we plan to follow no such rules if his sigh is anything to go by.

“Come with me.”

He sets a brisk pace as we follow behind him, weaving through a maze of hallways. We pass a nurse’s station, a few of them pausing to look at us curiously. I have no idea how much has gotten out about who Saylor is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town knows by now. At the end of the hall, we stop outside of room 402.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dr. Ashburn places the clipboard in a slot along the wall before giving us a thin smile, then heads back toward the group of nurses who continue to stare and whisper. I take a deep breath and step forward to push the door open, but Loch’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

“Are you sure going in there is a good idea?” I understand his concern, appreciate it even, but I need to see Saylor. If for no other reason than to assure myself that she’s not Elira, that their stories won’t end the same. Right now, I think it’s doing more harm than good for me not to see her.

“Positive,” I answer confidently, making sure he knows I’m well aware of what I’m walking into and the memories it’ll likely conjure. Loch bounces his eyes between mine, looking for any sign of uncertainty, but eventually relents. Turning the handle, we step into Saylor’s room. When her tiny form comes into view, I take a minute to breathe through the flashbacks the sight of her causes.

The lights have been dimmed, but her bruising is more apparent now that the dirt has been washed from her face. Her injured wrist is in a brace, and there’s a bandage visible from the top of her gown. This is Saylor, not Elira. My sister never even made it to a hospital. I focus on the tubes and wires connected to various parts of her body. She’s hurt and it shows, but she’ll be okay. She has to be. Loch walks across the room, not stopping until he’s beside her bed. Gently, he brushes his hand over her head. I move to the other side, but it’s even harder up close. If I could erase every mark from her flesh, I would.

“I’m going to go give Denvers and Krew a call. Will you be okay to stay with Saylor?” Loch questions, his attention already on his phone.

“I’m good. Take your time.”

I pull up a chair, not wanting to go too far. Loch exits quietly, the snick of the door closing barely making a sound. And then I stare like a full-fledged creep. I could sleep for days I’m so fucking exhausted, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the girl in front of me. I have no idea how much time has passed when, suddenly, one of the machines starts going off. I surge to my feet, my gaze tracking every inch of Saylor as I search for the problem. But she’s just as still as she was two seconds ago, showing no outward sign on distress. I take off for the door, throwing it open with force. Thankfully, a nurse is coming out of another room just a few feet away. She startles from the noise, her eyes going wide at the sight of me.

“Something’s wrong,” I blurt, spinning around and rushing back to Saylor. She follows immediately, the beeping alarm clueing her in to my panic. I’m breathing harshly, my fingers beginning to lose feeling from how tight I’m gripping the bedrail.

“Oh.” The nurse huffs a laugh. “Her fluid bag ran out. Let me grab another.” She disappears for a few minutes, and I just stand there, blinking like a moron.

Her fluid bag.

“Sorry about that.” The woman pops back in, a hesitant smile on her face. She presses a few buttons, then trades the empty bag out for the fresh one. When the beeping is gone, I fold in half and exhale a ragged breath. With my hands braced on my knees, I close my eyes and count to ten. The nurse observes my entire meltdown, her gaze pitying, but I couldn’t care less how pathetic I look.

“We’re closely monitoring Ms. Radley’s vitals, so we’ll know should there be any life-threatening changes.” She gives me a sad smile. “But to put your mind at ease, this right here shows you her current heart rate. As you can see, it’s strong and steady.” My eyes fly to where she’s pointing. I vaguely hear her explain what a few of the other numbers mean, but I’m more concerned with the one that tells me the organ in Saylor’s chest is thumping properly. The nurse, who definitely thinks I’m a fruitcake, mumbles a goodbye and leaves me to it.

We are so fucked.

This tiny woman has no idea who we are, has zero attachment to any of us. Except, maybe Kade. Yet, we know her. Not everything, but enough that we’ve formed a connection without ever meeting her. Saylor’s going to wake up and think we’re all certifiable. Shit, maybe we are. Selfishly, I slip my hand beneath hers, wanting to feel the warmth of her skin. She’d been so cold when we found her. It’s invasive as fuck to touch her without permission. With everything she’s been through I doubt she’d appreciate it very much. Reluctantly, I pull away. I want to comfort her, but I have no idea how to accomplish that. So instead, I sit and watch as the beats of her heart flash across the monitor.

“You’re gonna be okay, Little Fighter.”

Chapter Five

Krew

I stare at the black screen of my computer for what feels like hours. If there’s one thing I never want to be, it’s caught off guard. And right now, it feels like the fucking rug has been brutally yanked from beneath my feet. I pride myself on knowing what’s going to happen before it ever does. I’m thorough in my research, mapping out every possible scenario. Yet, it’s painfully obvious I’ve missed something important. Vital information was overlooked, and it makes me fucking livid.

When Lochlan calls sometime later, Kash is still asleep. Unless we’re working a case that’s kept us up all night, he’s usually the first one up. It’s odd for him, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Once Loch fills in the rest, giving me as many details as possible, I switch my computer on and get to work. It feels like a dream that the girl we’ve been searching for all this time has been found. But the fact she’s alive? I can’t wrap my head around it.

I had little hope, none really, after Kash and I found her picture. We kept looking though, hopeful we’d eventually find another breadcrumb if we just kept at it. But the shit we’d seen in the process made it difficult to keep searching. Brutality has been an acquaintance of ours for a good portion of our lives, but there were times I’d come across something so horrific I’d have to step away for a day or two. It’s sickening to know that there’s a price tag for just about anything. Regardless of what we’ve been told, almost everything is replaceable and never is it priceless. People will sell their souls, or someone else’s, for far less than you’d think.

The probability that Saylor hadn’t been trafficked was so miniscule, I stopped obsessing over it. I still sought her out in every auction we infiltrated, always hopeful, but consciously realistic of the likelihood we’d ever come across her. And I sure as shit hadn’t bothered with looking anywhere else, certainly not right in her backyard, so to speak. Somehow, we’d been led to believe she was long gone, sold off before we ever caught wind of it.

It shouldn’t have been possible. These virtual markets are sophisticated, run by people who know what they’re doing and how to avoid fake accounts slipping through the cracks. Everyone involved is vetted meticulously. I’m booted more times than not, trying to piggyback into their live viewings and sales. We’d discovered Saylor’s bid from a chatroom, one of many, where sick fucks like to go and brag about their latest finds. It’d only been a thumbnail photo, with no information about the final sale. It’s not impossible that the man who had her wasn’t the one who bought her, but I find it unlikely.

That would be a lot of trouble for someone who lives so close, his accessibility too easy. Not to mention, in no world could a county sheriff afford to even place the opening bid. He never would have made it to the virtual waiting room of the auction because the organizers wouldn’t have granted him access. Your bank account has to be seven digits deep to participate in such hedonism, and you can bet your ass they check.