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Another knock has the burly man sighing and flipping the handle again. Gradually, the spray chills. If my father didn't do irreparable damage to my body, this certainly will. I turn my head to listen to Dante's voice, but get a face full of water instead.
Sputtering and coughing, I tuck my face into my arms, making myself as small as possible.
"Why the fuck do you think I did it? That asshole fucked off to Synd leaving me to pick up his goddamn mess. And then he had the audacity to touch what was mine. I don't fucking care if he's her father or not. He sold her and therefore has no rights to her," Dante bellows.
"Who?" I stutter, my chin trembling uncontrollably.
"Big boss," Jag mutters. "Pretend you're afraid."
"No pretending," I whisper, but he doesn't hear me. His eyes are firmly fixed on the open door.
I can't see or hear Jenkins, but that's probably for the best. I don't know if I'd be able to school my face. The dizziness has passed, and my stomach has settled at least. Exhaustion weighs on me and my eyes feel heavy. It's more than my lids drooping. It feels like rocks are sitting in my sockets, burrowing into my skull.
"See that you do," Dante sneers and Jenkins rumbles out a response I can't hear.
The door slams shut again, and Jag adjusts the water once more. Apathy spreads through my body, invading my pores and dousing my spirit. This isn't worth it. I could handle it if it was just me. I'm used to the abuse.
Dante putting himself in the line of fire for me, though...it's too much. It's too risky. Believing in his plan before was hard, but the further we come, the more I think he really might accomplish taking down the Guild. I won't be the reason he fails.
"I seen that look before. Don't do it," Jag says gruffly, and I turn to him.
He pushes the shower head down until the water rushes over my body. At least I'm not being waterboarded anymore.
"I'm serious, Aelia." He stares down at me, and I have to crane my neck to see him.
"You should have told him to run," I croak, burying my head in my arms when a coughing fit takes over.
"No point. He wouldn't have and you know it. That man is—"
"Jag," Dante says, a warning in his tone.
I roll my head toward him, taking in the blood dripping from a cut below his eye. With his knuckles stained red and a menacing look on his face, he’s every inch the deadly man he warned me about. The one who doesn't keep track of how many people he's killed.
His face falls as he scans my body, mouth parting as he takes in whatever injuries I have. My head aches and I'm pretty sure my ribs will be covered in bruises. Every time I breathe, my right side pulls, as if my skin is too tight for my bones. That's not normal. I've broken ribs before, but never this badly. When I first got here, maybe, but that was a long time ago.
"We need to get her into warm clothes," Dante says, his face closing off again.
I swallow hard, glancing at Jag as Dante stomps from the room. Ignoring the hand Jag holds out to me, I push to my feet, biting my cheek to keep in my yelp of pain. I shuffle half bent from the room, shivering all the while. Jag drapes a towel over my shoulders but doesn't touch me. How he knows that I'll break into a million pieces if he does, I don't know.
"Lie down. No use piling on more," he mumbles, hands hovering over me as if he'll catch me if I fall.
I turn toward the closet. Having the bed be soaking wet because of me isn't going to help anything. Between the adrenaline wearing off and the cold water, I can’t stop shaking. I don't know whether they'll go away if I get dry clothes on, but I won't be sleeping naked, especially if Jag doesn't get out of the room.
"I can get them for you. Just go lie down."
"Leave me alone," I mumble.
With Dante walking away, vacillating between being sweet and acting like I've fucked up everything, I can't take it. I'm done. Everything I've accomplish thus far has been washed away with the water, the will pounded out of me with each lash of my father's foot. I'm too exhausted to fight anymore, and I realize why I didn't do this before.
Dante asked why I didn't help the others, and this is why. Because no matter what I do, it'll never be enough. My father was just the latest sign why it'll never work. Why I'll never be enough to save them.
I'm too weak to fight.
Twenty-Seven
Dante
I shouldn't have walked away, but every time I spotted a new bruise marring her skin, I was reminded of before. Grant coming to the door, offering to take her to perform some form of justice only he could deliver, didn't help. Then Jenkins showed up when all I wanted to do was take care of her. It was just too much.
