Wrong Kind of Love

The sight of the black threads across her throat tugs at something inside of me, and I have to glance away.

Caleb sits on the edge of the bed, taking her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“If she dies, she’s not dying alone.”

I set a stern gaze on him, already kicking off my boots. “Is there anything else she needs?”

“I don’t know how much blood she’s lost. We need to call a doctor.” His nostrils flare as he grabs onto the wooden frame of the footboard. “She slit her own throat, Jude.” He pushes away from the bed, backing toward the door. “I saw her do it right as I stepped in the room.”

My jaw sets as I lower onto the bed beside her. That’s a damn jagged pill to swallow. I’ve seen plenty of people beg for their life. They’ll plead, they’ll bargain because people always have something to live for. This means whatever Bob did to her, she saw death as a better option. The ever-increasing speed of my heart makes my chest constrict. “Call Marney and tell him to find Bob.”

Caleb stops in the doorway, his expression crumpling when his gaze cuts to Tor. We may have grown up surrounded by violence, with little to no regard for life, but what we did grow up with was a respect for women. My mother and my sister, they were a forgiving light that shined through the hell around us. Innocent. Just like Tor. I know if I see that, so does he.

“This is fucked up,” he says with a shake of his head as he closes the door.

Nietzsche said, “To live is to suffer,” and I’ve always believed that even more so now. Some people suffer due to their decisions; others suffer due to circumstance. And Tor has unfortunately suffered due to my circumstances. A beautiful, innocent woman tainted by far-reaching darkness.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, resting my chin on the crook of her neck. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tor.”

She’s good and pure. Everything I’m not.

_____

When Caleb comes back to check on her, I go to my office and spend thirty minutes going through my contacts, past the names of politicians and lawyers, cops and clergy, finally finding a doctor and calling in a favor—not that I give him an option of whether to come here or not—and man does the fucker look on edge when he steps into the bedroom an hour after I call him.

Tor eyes him with suspicion from the bed, scooting back until she’s pressed against the headboard.

The man casts me an uneasy glance before he sets his medical bag on the nightstand and pulls out a blood pressure cuff. He goes about checking over the stitches, listening to her heartbeat, then turns to me. “Her blood pressure’s fine. The wounds will need to be tended to in order to keep infection out. I’ll write out a prescription for antibiotics.”

“In my name,” I say. Like hell, I need a paper trail with her name on it.

He pauses, sweat glistening on his brow as he unwinds the stethoscope from his neck. “Of course.”

I bet anything, right about now, he’s wishing he hadn’t made the mistake of gambling with me. Some people are naïve to the Pandora’s Box of shit they’re opening when they decide to dip their toes into illegal waters. One thing that’s for certain, though, when you sell your soul to the devil, you never really get it back. He quickly packs up his bag, not bothering to completely shove the blood pressure cuff inside before he stands.

When he goes to move away, Tor latches onto his arm. “Please help me. I’m here against my will.”

His gaze holds mine for a moment before his eyes close, and after a long breath, he unwraps her fingers from his arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he crosses the room for Caleb to show him out.

Tor stares straight ahead at the wall, a look of vacant hopelessness filling her eyes when I sit on the edge of the bed. The grim reality of her situation must be setting in. If someone shows up at this house, they will not help her, and I imagine that's a sickening realization.

She swats at a few tears before turning over in bed and curling into a ball. Threads of anger and guilt worm into my gut, anchored by a heavy helplessness, and I can’t stand it. My hands have been tied since the moment Rich deposited her in my office. I couldn’t let her go; I didn’t want to keep her. Then Tom came into play, and now I feel remorseful, like a damn failure for not being here to stop this. This girl has no idea that this right here is the least of her worries. She’s nothing more than a pawn to whatever fucked up game Tom has in store for me, and as soon as he gets what he wants, she’s as good as dead. Maybe we both are...