Notes said she fell down the stairs.
Kate was not clumsy. Not even a little. She held herself with grace, poise. I remarked on it many fucking times. And no way could someone get the injuries she got by falling down stairs. In addition to a broken arm, two of her ribs had been cracked. She’d been thrown down the stairs. Or had the shit beat out of her.
The bastard had broken her fucking bones, and I’d let her leave with him. That would haunt me for the rest of my life.
That was the moment my gaze found an unnatural shape on the side of the road, when my headlight had illuminated it.
Illuminated her.
I’d all but tossed my bike to the side and skidded down the bank to where she laid.
She was fuckin’ naked. Covered in blood. Her hair was matted with it, sticking to the swollen, purple skin of her face.
She didn’t even look like herself. I wouldn’t have fucking recognized her if not for the heart shaped birthmark on her hip. If not for my initials carved into her other hip. If not for the thing inside me screaming in pain, in fucking fury. The thing that knew she was mine.
My hands were shaking when I touched her. When I pulled her into my arms. She was ice fucking cold.
“I got you, baby,” I whispered, kissing her head. “I got you.”
I started to rock her slowly.
“You’re okay,” I told her. “You’re okay.” I stroked her hair. My hand was wet with her blood.
“You’re okay,” I said for the third time. It wasn’t a statement. It was a prayer.
She didn’t make a sound.
Not a fucking sound.
The crunch of the ground underneath boots was the only thing I heard.
“Brother.”
The word came through a vortex.
There was a hand on my shoulder. My piece was out of my cut and pointed at my president in one smooth move. My other arm stayed tight around Kate.
Hansen held his hands up in surrender. “We need to move her. Cover her. Get her to a hospital.” His eyes stayed on mine, and I saw the silhouettes of my other brothers behind him. “We need to get her fixed up. First, can you let me look at her?”
I gritted my teeth. Every instinct in me was thrumming to protect Kate, shield her, not let another man touch her, fucking look at her. But that was fucking pointless. The damage was already done.
Plus, Hansen had been a combat medic in another life. He was in love with his Old Lady. He was a good man. He would take care of her.
Even knowing all of that, I couldn’t let her go.
“You can hold on to her,” he said placidly, evenly. “You don’t have to let her go. I just need to check her vitals.”
With my jaw clenched, I nodded to him, unable to speak. He needed to check her vitals. He needed to see if I was holding a dead woman in my arms. For the second time in my life, I was holding the world in my arms, and it was already fucking gone.
Hansen moved forward slowly but urgently, as if he were trying to deal with a rabid dog. I was a rabid dog.
His hands moved carefully, touching her reverently and professionally. His fingers were stained with her blood.
“I’ve got a pulse,” he uttered. “A faint one.”
A pulse. A faint pulse. I held on to that. Her heart was barely beating, but it was beating. That meant I still had something to hold on to. One thread to grip on to before I tore this fuckin’ world apart.
He looked at me. “She needs a hospital.” Although he spoke in a low, even tone, there was a sense of urgency in there that scared the hell out of me. “Can tell she’s got broken ribs.” His eyes scanned her face. Her ruined face. “Broken nose for sure. Maybe a fractured eye socket.” He spoke with a calmness that came from the battlefield.