Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

“Ohmygod,” she whispered, “ohmygod,” and that she was speaking in English somehow only made the reality of what had been waiting for her in that drawer more potent.

He knew, he knew that some sick piece of shit had done this to terrify her.

“Shh,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Shh. Come on, baby. Take some deep breaths. That’s it. That’s the way. Just breathe.”

He scooped her up, carried her to the bed, sat on the edge of it with her in his lap. She was shaking so hard he could feel it, and breathing like a runner at the end of a hard race.

He held her close. Stroked her hair. Kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her lips.

“It’s okay,” he crooned. “Honey. Sweetheart. It’s okay.”

After a few minutes, she gave an enormous shudder. Her breathing slowed, then steadied.

“Good girl,” Chay whispered.

“That was—it was a condom?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Another shudder. “You need to know that I have no idea—”

“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t think you did.”

She sat up in his arms and looked directly at him. “I have never had a man here, Chayton. Not in my apartment, and certainly not in my bed.”

Chayton. It was the second time she’d called him that. It was years since anyone had used his full first name. And what she’d said, about never having a man in her bed... What kind of scum was he that he even noticed those things at a moment like this?

“I know that,” he said softly.

She nodded. “Who would—who would do such a thing?”

A lunatic. A maniac. A freak straight out of a nightmare.

“I don’t know,” Chay said. “But I’m going to find out.”

She nodded again. She was too compliant. Was she going into shock?

“Bianca. Do you have brandy in the house?”

“Brandy?”

“Brandy. Liquor. Whiskey.”

“A bottle of wine. I think. In the back of the refrigerator. The last time Alessandra was here…”

Chay eased her from his lap and stood up. She grabbed his hand.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get you a drink.”

“No! I will come with you.”

He helped her up. Kept his arm tightly around her, led her to the kitchen and sat her down.

The wine, a half-bottle of white, was tucked behind a quart of milk. He poured her an inch of it, then thought about it and almost topped the glass. He squatted before her, but her hands shook when she reached for the glass.

“Let me,” he said, holding the glass to her lips.