to speak, my voice coming out in a croak. “Gibson.”
“What?”
“Need to get to Gibson. Help.”
“Did he… he didn’t do this to you, did he?”
I shook my head.
“You’re Callie Kendall,” he breathed. “The judge’s daughter.”
I nodded.
“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding. My god, your arm.”
My face had to look a mess, but blood was flowing freely from my arm. Jonah yanked his shirt off and quickly tied it on, gently pressing the fabric to soak up the blood.
“Do you want to go home, or the hospital?”
I shook my head, crying out at the pain it caused. “No.”
“Who did this to you?”
I looked down. I couldn’t tell. They were too dangerous. They’d kill me.
“All right, you don’t have to say. Not now.”
“Please.” I reached out and grabbed his arm, pleading for all I was worth. “No hospital. No police. Please, take me to Gibson. I need his help.”
He stared at me for a long moment, a deep groove between his eyes. I could smell the faint hint of beer on his breath, but he didn’t seem drunk. His eyes were crystal clear.
“Are you and Gibson…” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant.
“No. Friends.”
Finally, as if coming to a decision, he shook his head. “No. If you go to Gibs, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Look, I’ll help you, okay? But don’t get him mixed up in this. You’re trying to get away, is that it?”
I nodded. “Can’t go back.”
“No,” he said again. “No, you can’t. All right. We’ll figure something out. Come on, let’s get off the road.”
He cast a wary glance around, then stood and gently helped me to my feet. I couldn’t stop shaking. He got me into his truck and dug through the glove box for some napkins. I pressed the coarse paper to my face, careful not to touch my nose.
He went around to the driver’s side and got in. Muttering about ice and bandages, and something that sounded like Gibs would kill him, he started his truck and pulled out onto the street.
36
MAYA
“My dad didn’t hurt me, Gibson. He never touched me. He just cleaned up the messes afterward.” I still held his arms and tears ran down my face.
“Jesus, Callie,” he whispered.
“It was her. I couldn’t remember. After I ran away, people always assumed it was my father. I got to Blue Moon with a nose that was smashed to pieces and deep cut on my face. I had bruises on my back and my arm was sliced to ribbons. People thought it must have been him, and I never corrected them. I had to get it all out of my head. It was torturing me. Her face. Her voice. Her dead eyes.”
I stopped, a sob choking off my words. Gibson gently drew me into his arms. Held me against his chest and stroked my hair. I was having a breakdown in poor Henrietta’s cabin, but I couldn’t stop. The dam had finally broken.
“She was always cold, but it started when I was eight.” My voice was muffled in his chest. “I overheard things I shouldn’t have. Illegal things my dad was doing. She said she had to for my own good. She had to make me obedient so I’d never tell anyone about him.”
“Oh my god.”
“It got worse when I was older. She started slicing my arms. Drawing blood. She made it look like I was hurting myself. She told her friends I was troubled. Made me see a psychologist. She’d hurt me before each session to remind me not to tell them anything. She’d whisper in my ear that I was a terrible girl and if she had to, she’d cut too deep and let me bleed.”
“Fuck, Callie.” Gibson’s voice was strangled.
“And he never stopped her. He knew what she was doing to me and he didn’t stop her. Just went behind her with bleach and kept the cabinet stocked with bandages so he could hide what she did. He justified it, telling me it was necessary.”
Gibson held me in his strong arms, stroking my hair. Neither of us said anything. I felt sick and exhausted, like I had poison in my veins. The taint of it clung to me, the terrible memories so hard to face.
But just when I thought I might crumble beneath the weight of the horror threatening to crush me, I breathed in Gibson’s scent. Felt his hand slowly rubbing my back. His cheek resting against my head. I sank into him, the raw power of his love like a