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Why does my body feel like it’s been run over by a truck?
Wyatt’s worried eyes meet mine and allow me a moment of calm before the night comes crashing down on me.
The gala. Coming home. The awful things Jason said. How little regard he had for me.
“You’re okay, angel. You’re safe,” Wyatt says as he gently runs his fingers through my hair in a comforting gesture. “The doctor is here to check you out, and then we can go to bed.”
Bed.
A new panic washes over me. I ran from my home tonight with nothing more than my purse and phone, both of which are useless to me. Jason and my parents would have frozen my accounts by now, and if what Jason said last weekend when he thought I was asleep is true, my phone will allow him to track me anywhere I go. The moment I step foot out of this house he’ll be able to get to me.
I have nowhere to go.
I can’t stay here. Not when this is the first place they’ll look for me.
Jason knows I was here last weekend. Even if I never confirmed it, I’m sure he could tell by my reaction to his insults.
How long do I have before they come?
Will they come tonight?
Tomorrow?
Will Elias and Wyatt hand me over?
Fingers brush along my jaw, dragging my attention back to the man whose lap I’m lying in. “I need you to breathe for me, angel. Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.”
I suck in an unsteady breath, but he seems pleased nonetheless. “Sorry,” I croak. As if every other part of my body doesn’t hurt enough, my throat feels like I’ve swallowed razor blades.
“You don’t need to apologize to me, angel, or anyone for that matter.”
Before I can respond, Elias walks back into the room with two men. The first carries a leather bag, his salt and pepper hair shining in the light, and his brown eyes look around the space with recognition.
The other wears an all black suit and walks with an air of confidence not many can replicate. His mismatched eyes meet mine, and although his demeanor is terrifying, he gives me a kind smile.
Elias rounds the couch and kneels down beside us, his fingers brushing across my cheek. “Leighton, this is Dr. Garrison, and this is Crew.”
My eyes widen, because while I’ve never seen a photo of him, I’ve heard whispers of the leader of the Legion. A man so captivating, with one blue and one green eye, and sin oozing from every pore.
“He won’t hurt you, Leighton,” Wyatt whispers. “He can help us keep you safe.”
I look to Elias for some kind of confirmation, but he’s too busy chatting quietly to the doctor.
Before I can ask Wyatt any questions, Crew approaches me cautiously, almost as if he’s approaching an injured animal. “It’s nice to meet you, Leighton.” He crouches in front of me, bringing his large frame to my level. “Elias has told me a great deal about you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks at the thought, but I can barely hold this man’s eyes let alone ask any questions about that statement. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Wyatt pulls my face around until I meet his eyes. “We need to ask something of you, and I want you to know you can say no if you want, however we do think there are benefits to it.”
I nod slowly, nerves bursting to life in my belly. It’s different to the anxiety I get when I’m around Jason because while I may not know them very well, I’m almost positive they would rather cut their own hands from their body than hurt me.
“It’s likely that Jason knows where you are, which means your father will before long, too,” Elias says, carefully watching my reactions. “We think the only way to keep them from showing up here and trying to take you back is if we have proof of what Jason has done.”
My brow furrows with confusion. They’re right. Jason will know exactly where I ran, and that’s why it probably wasn’t the smartest place to come, but I don’t regret the decision. This is the only place I knew I’d feel safe despite what just happened to me.
“Would you be okay if we took some photos of your injuries? That way if they show up here we have a reason to refuse to hand you over that not even the police commissioner can disagree with.”
The blood drains from my face as dread washes over me. They want to take photos of me like this? They want to have proof that this happened to me? To use as leverage?
