“If I sleep, I’ll toss my sleeping bag at the end of the bed in case she wakes up and freaks out.”
“Did you find the extra supplies that weren’t on the list? Checkmate asks.
“Yes, I did.”
“What would you do without me.” Checkmate cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at me.
“Whatever, pretty boy.”
“Damn straight. My pretty face gets me all the pretty ladies.”
“Whatever, dude. Not like I have any trouble finding ladies.”
“Nope, just the ugly, clingy ones,” Checkmate tosses back.
"I’m too tired for this game." I flip him off as I get up and put my plate in the sink and toss my empty beer bottle in the trash before heading for my shower.
I step out of my shower, dry off, pull my boxers on, and walk into my room to find Roadblock laying on the bed, curled up next to her.
“You can sleep in your own room. I got it from here.”
He just glares at me for a long moment then growls out, “I’m not leaving, and I dare you to fucking try to make me.”
I place my hands on my hips and stare at him, trying to understand what the fuck is up with him. "What's gotten into you? Normally you’re the iceman who doesn't feel shit! I didn’t think you had feelings other than anger. Since when do you care about a woman? You never even give one a second look. Even the women abused, blown up, and raped we came across in war zones never seemed to affect you or got you twisted up like this.”
“I have fucking feelings. I just turn them off when I need to.”
“Okay, what has them turned on all of a sudden then?”
“I don't know, man. Asking myself the same question," he says.
“Fine. Whatever, man,” I say as I sit down and check the IV fluids and her pulse, which has gotten stronger, so that’s promising.
"When she wakes up, you might want to use your real name, man. Not sure how a girl who's been through what she's been through feels about being in someone's bed that goes by Homicide."
"Good point. How old would you say she is?" I ask as I chew on my inner cheek, studying her.
“Young. Hard to say though, her face is so messed up. Not that it would be any better if she was eighteen or over, but I think I might lose my shit if she’s not even eighteen. My guess is somewhere between seventeen and twenty-one.”
"I know what you're saying. We've seen some fucked up things on our missions and in war, but this…” I gesture to her. “Using what – a pipe or some kind of tool to rape her? I can't even imagine how sick someone has to be to hurt this precious girl. And those marks on her wrists and ankles, they look like they've been there a while and the binding just kept digging deeper and then scabbing over and ripping open again. They don't look new. Whoever had her, they had her tied for some time – several months, maybe more.”
“You want to sleep first? I’ll stay awake with her?” he asks.
“’Yeah, man, that sounds good. Thanks.” I climb into my sleeping bag and get some shut-eye.
Chapter Four
Roadblock
I'm lying here staring at this fragile, broken girl who has been living in pure hell, and my emotions are all over the place. Normally, I shut that shit down. I learned how from growing up in the system, and it served me well on the black ops missions we did for years as well as before that in one too many tours in a war zone. But when I saw this broken little butterfly, I was consumed by rage, heartbreak, helplessness, and an insane need to protect her. I just want to scoop her up in my arms and hide her from the monsters.
I've lived in hell, growing up in the system, but seeing this girls injuries… I know she’s had it much worse. And for some reason, I'm having a hard time shutting my feelings off. I feel raw. I feel every fucking thing, and it’s killing me.
For the past year, shit’s been brewing. Things I buried long ago have been creeping up to the surface, and it’s been harder and harder to bury it back down. I’ve been feeling restless and often thought of climbing on my bike and riding off without looking back. Just keep going. Anything other than sitting here reliving everything I’ve been through.
But I haven’t been able to leave. My brothers are my family, the only one I’ve ever had, so I stayed. Then finding her in this state, it’s like those old wounds got ripped open and are feeling raw. I feel what she went through. The rage is boiling up in me for the monsters who hurt her and the ones who hurt me. I feel gutted, but I can’t bring myself to leave her side. I know what it feels like to be lying bleeding, broken, and alone, begging for death to claim you just to end the pain. When I heard her begging to be left to die, I could hardly breathe. Yet, it took every ounce of strength in me not to rip her from Homicide’s arms, hold her tight, and never let go. I cannot begin to explain this connection or draw to her, but it's there. I feel like my soul is reaching out to comfort hers. I can't shake the feeling, but I’m helpless to leave her side. I just need to be close to her.
I slowly lay back down next to her, grab her small delicate hand in mine, and just hold it as I rub tiny circles over her soft skin with my thumb and watch her. Waiting for any movement or whispers. I roll toward her, lay my head on my bicep, and keep watch.
“Don’t you worry, Butterfly. You're safe now. Won't let anyone hurt you ever again," I whisper, knowing I mean it. Knowing I would die to protect her. I choose to ignore the reason why and just accept it for what it is.
Chapter Five
Homicide
I wake with a start and sit up to look around before I get my bearings. I check my watch and realize I slept for four hours. When I stand up and move over to the bed, I’m startled by what I see.
Roadblock is passed out lying next to our Jane Doe, holding her hand. Jesus H. Christ! I don't think I've ever seen him act like he gives a shit about anything, let alone giving any woman any kind of kindness. Not that he is cruel to women, just seemed indifferent to them. Is this Iceman I’m looking at? Huh. I pull the IV bag down and hang a new one.
I notice her catheter bag has some urine in it, not a lot, but at least her kidneys are working.
I reach down and gently touch her forehead, discovering she feels cooler. It’s great to know the antibiotics are doing their thing. As I study her, it occurs to me that I want to continue to caress her, soothe her, but by God, it's hard to find any part of her body to touch that's not covered in bruises or cuts. I realized I never checked her ribs to see if I could feel any breaks and decide now is best before she wakes up. I feel around her ribs but don’t find any breaks or cracks. Most likely just bruised and sore.
I head out into the kitchen to make some coffee and end up standing there in a trance, watching it drip.
I pour myself a cup and sit down at the table, opening my phone to see if I can pull up any missing person cases from this area. I guess it won't help too much because it’s kind of hard to identify her right now, considering how bruised and swollen her face is. One eye is swollen shut. This poor girl.