Page 16 of Morgue

“Yeah.” I looked back and forth between them. “My roommates talked me into going to Cancún. Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize you thought it was still March or April.”

Dread crept through me, and chill bumps broke out over my arms. “So it’s the twenty-third… of May?”

Stitches winced and Morgue reached out, resting his hand on my knee, palm up. Obviously wanting me to take his hand. So I did. “No, baby.” Morgue closed his hand around mine and took a breath. “It’s June.”

I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. I shook my head. “That’s not possible.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“OK.” Stitches took out his phone and sent off a text, all business now. “Couple things need to happen now. First, I’m getting you some stronger antibiotics than what I’ve already given you. Then I’m setting you up a different IV with some vitamins and electrolytes. Should help keep you hydrated.” He shook his head slightly. “I can’t give you anything for the pain other than some anti-inflammatories. I’ll keep open the possibility of starting you on a five-day course of Suboxone, but I don’t want to use it unless I have to. I don’t like treating narcotic withdrawal with another narcotic.”

I was getting overwhelmed. OK, I was past overwhelmed and edging toward a full-blown panic attack. I’d been in that horrible place for more than two months! I could almost deal with the time frame. What I couldn’t deal with was the haze over my memory. “I don’t… I can’t…” My breathing started coming in small gasps and my head, which had been aching before, now thumped mercilessly. “What did they do to me?”

“Don’t think about it right now,” Stitches said gently. “Let’s just work through the main concerns one thing at a time.”

I met Morgue’s gaze and held it. The man looked fiercer than I’d ever seen him. The look on his face should have frightened me because he looked like he was ready to do murder, which he’d already admitted he was capable of. Instead, it grounded me. He wasn’t angry at me. He was angry on my behalf. At least I hoped he was.

“Morgue.” Stitches squeezed his shoulder. The other man flinched but allowed the contact. “Why don’t you go get the women? She’d probably feel more comfortable without so much testosterone in the room.”

“No.” His denial was gruff, and his gaze didn’t leave mine. His hold on my hand tightened fractionally, like he was afraid I’d pull away. “I’m stayin’.”

“For Christ’s sake, Morgue. She’s been traumatized enough. They all have.”

“I’m staying.”

Stitches shook his head, but I spoke before he could. “I don’t want Morgue to leave.” I have no idea why I said it, but the second I did, I knew it was true. I felt safe when Morgue was with me. Probably because he carried me out of hell and protected me.

“All right, then.” Stitches scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m still going to send Iris back. I’ll be back with some more meds.”

I nodded, the numbness over my emotions gone like ripping off a Band-Aid. The pain was sharp and intense, and I wanted to scream but didn’t dare. The last thing I wanted to do was show more weakness in front of these people. They probably already thought I was stupid. Hell, I thought I was stupid.

When Stitches shut the door behind him, Morgue moved to sit beside me on the couch, then pulled me onto his lap and into his arms. Those big, muscular arms closed around me securely, but loosely and I just melted against him. The second I did that, all the grief, pain, and anger came flooding out of me.

I buried my face in his neck and screamed. Sweat erupted over my skin and I shook uncontrollably, the enormity of what I’d been handed too much to handle. I sobbed and bunched my fists in his shirt, clinging like he was my lifeline on a cliff. In a way, I suppose he was. Since I’d first become aware of what was happening, Morgue had been the one I’d looked to, to make sure everything was as good as it was going to get. I trusted him. I liked that he was protective of me, that he’d claimed me in a way. Maybe not for the long haul, but for now. And that was good enough for me. Because, despite knowing I’d been sold out, despite all the pain I’d gone through because I’d trusted the wrong people, something inside me needed this man. A man I didn’t know, but a man who’d gotten me out of hell. If I couldn’t trust Morgue, there was no one in the world I could trust.

Chapter Six

Morgue

It felt like I was going to erupt in a fit of rage. I wanted -- needed -- to slaughter every motherfucker who’d done this to her. Sure, me and my brothers had killed everyone we knew of in the place Dorothy had been kept, but I now included her roommates in my hate. I didn’t like having to kill women, but I knew I’d relish these deaths.

And Goddamnit, I wanted her to see me as a man who could and absolutely would protect her! My entire adult life, I’d been Morgue. The man who killed, and killed willingly. It had never bothered me before. Now? I wanted Dorothy to see me as more. A man willing to do what was necessary, but…

“Why?” she sobbed out against my neck. “Why did this happen?”

“Gonna take care of you,” I said. I wasn’t sure why, because, a nurturer I was not. I was a killer. I could avenge her, could rain down death and destruction to her enemies, but I’d never been the overly demonstrative type. “Then I’m gonna kill everyone responsible for this.”

She cried for a long while, trembling in my arms. I tightened my hold on her, doing the only thing I could think of to make her feel more secure. Her crying lessened but didn’t stop. So, I held her tighter.

Finally, she calmed down to the occasional sniffle. She didn’t pull away from me or indicate in any way she wanted me to let her go, so I didn’t.

“You know,” she said, her voice shaky. “It could have been an innocent accident. They might not have known this was going to happen.”

“Know soon. Got Wylde lookin’ into it.”

“Wylde?” She didn’t move and sounded like she was exhausted. Probably was, given the release of emotion she’d just spent.

“Intel officer. Does shit with computers.”