Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(98)

“I’ll decide if it’s relevant,” he said, sounding almost angry. Which, of course, was making me angry. What the hell was he getting upset about? That was the past, and the past was exactly where it should stay.

“Fine, if you must know—and because you’ll find out soon enough anyway—I was the victim of date rape when I was younger…much younger. I fought like hell, and it didn’t turn out well. There wasn’t a gun involved but I was beaten pretty badly.” I continued quickly, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions, “That’s how I knew that this time I didn’t stand a chance. And obviously I didn't have kids then. Speaking of which, I would really like to get out of here so I can go get them. Can we head to the hospital now?”

If it were possible, he looked even angrier than he did before. I’m not sure if this anger was directed at * number one, dickhead number two, or me, for jacking up his whole day.

“Thompson! Price!” he yelled, startling my still-raw nerves. When the two guys entered the room a minute later, the detective spoke to them in what was definitely not his talking-to-a-victim voice. “Take Ms. Logan to the Med. They’ll know what to do. Make sure they get the skin cells from under her fingernails before she washes her hands. After that’s done, bring her to the station and I’ll have the artist ready to sketch. The faster we get a look at this f*cker, the better.”

“Yessir,” Thompson or Price answered.

“Ma’am,” the detective said, now looking at me. “I’m sure I’ll see you again today. I’ve got to get back to the station.” His clipped tone made it seem like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Then he turned and walked away, leaving me to wonder what was so damn important that he couldn’t be bothered going to the hospital with me himself. If I didn’t know it already—which I obviously did—there was one truth I knew, without a doubt: men suck.