would’ve given up Delilah’s location to save Gabe.
“That’s unfortunate.” Then the man added, “Let him down and untie her.”
I kept my eyes diverted. It was a cowardly thing to do but I’d heard every strike, and I wasn’t ready to see the damage. Not yet. Not while I was tied up. Not while I couldn’t go to Gabe. Not while our captors were in the room to see me break down. That was what they wanted and I refused to give them more than what they’d taken. So, like a spineless weasel, I didn’t look up when I heard the clinking of the chain. I didn’t lift my head when I heard Gabe’s grunt.
I didn’t move a single muscle when my hands were untied and separated. Though I couldn’t stop the whimper when my arms fell loosely at my sides and excruciating pain chased by pins and needles rushed in. My hands cramped and my fingers contorted into a semi-fist. I breathed through the pain, not wanting Gabe to hear it. He’d had enough. The last thing I wanted was for him to listen to me cry.
But when the door closed and I tipped my head back all bets were off. There was nothing that could’ve prepared me for seeing the aftermath. Nothing that couldn’t stop the howling sob that ripped through me.
I’d expected damage, not carnage.
There wasn’t a single inch of Gabe’s face that wasn’t, swollen, bloody, or torn open. His big, powerful body leaned against the wall. Arms behind his back, legs out in front of him, shackles around his ankles. But it was the way his head lolled to the side with his chin tipped down that crushed my soul.
Crushed. Demolished. Wrecked.
I tried to get to my feet but failed. I’d never been drugged and tied to a chair for hours so I couldn’t know what a bad idea it was to attempt fast movement. My head swam and my vision blurred. My legs gave out and I pitched forward and landed on my hands and knees with a thud. Pain radiated up my arms and legs but I ignored the throbbing and crawled. I had to get to Gabe. His eyes were closed and I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
When I made it to his side I didn’t know what to do, where to touch, what to say, how to fix what I’d done.
“Gabe,” I whispered.
No answer.
I scooted closer, pushed up on my knees, and as gently as I could placed two fingers on his bloody throat feeling around for a pulse. It was not as easy as it looked in the movies. Not when you were scared out of your head and shaky. Not when the pulse you’re trying to find was that of the man who captured your heart from the moment he’d come into the room. Right then, I would swear I fell in love with him before I saw him, before I heard his voice—it happened when I felt his presence. That was the man whose pulse I was trying to find and the longer it took the more panicked I became.
“Please, Gabe, wake up.”
I gave up trying to find the stupid artery that would tell me he was alive and instead placed my hand as gently as I could over his heart. And that was when I felt it—a steady heartbeat. I couldn’t say it was strong but then I wasn’t pressing very hard so what did I know? It was there and that was all that mattered.
I sat back on my heels and took Gabe in. I forced myself not to look away. To study him. To count all of the cuts that marred his handsome face. My gaze tracked the streams of blood that started from a gash on his forehead and trailed down his temple, cheek, jaw, then dripped pooling under his chin. There was a tiny section on the very bottom of his t-shirt that wasn’t dotted with red.
And the smell was something I’d never forget. It wasn’t coppery like I’d heard it described. It was the stench of fear—my desperation to help Gabe but not knowing how.
Totally helpless.
For the first time since I’d been brought in, I looked around the room. No windows, locked door, concrete floor. I ignored the blood, the eye-opening contrast of specks of deep red staining the light gray. From the ceiling hung the chain and the only other thing in the room was the chair. I crawled back to it,