Hidden Away (KGI #3)(68)

A sound filtered through from the next room and she froze. She didn’t even breathe as a sick knot grew in her stomach. It sounded like ... Oh God, there it was again.

It was the unmistakable sound of an object hitting flesh.

It was slow and methodical. Rhythmic almost. Garrett never made a sound and the beating only got louder and more forceful. She covered her ears, trying to shut out the horrible reality. Numb to her toes, she shuffled to the far side of the room, wanting nothing to do with the bloodstained mattress.

Her eyes stung and watered as the sound echoed again, and she slid down the wall, her knees hunched to her chest. She hadn’t cried for herself. She couldn’t. But when she heard Garrett’s muffled sound of pain—the first noise he’d made at all—she bowed her head as the sobs welled in her throat. And she cried.

CHAPTER 24

WHEN the door opened, the flash of light blinded Sarah. She had no idea the passage of time, only that each minute that had passed had seemed an eternity. Her face was ravaged and raw, her eyes swollen. She scrambled to her feet as Garrett was shoved into the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room into temporary darkness once more.

She rushed forward just as Garrett went to his knees. He put one hand down to brace himself and clutched his abdomen with his other.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. “Garrett, are you okay?”

She dropped down and wrapped her arms around him, holding on to him so he didn’t fall completely down. His breaths came in low pain-filled rasps and he knelt there, leaning into her for a long moment.

“What did they do? Why did they do this?”

She could barely get the words out around her sobs.

“I’m okay,” he said in a low voice. “Give me a minute.”

She could feel his battle as he struggled for control. Then slowly he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer into him. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and sucked in long, steadying breaths.

She ran her hands over his back and up his sides, and then she pulled away to slide her fingers over his face and down his chest, feeling for blood or swelling. When she reached his mouth, her fingers came away slick with blood and her heart leapt.

“You’re bleeding. Where else are you hurt? What did they do to you?”

“It’s not too bad. Help me over to the mattress.”

When she tried to rise supporting him, her knees buckled but she jammed one foot back to brace herself and willed herself not to stagger under his weight. By sheer determination, she managed to maneuver him over to where the bloodstained mattress lay, and her spirits plummeted even more as she realized that this wasn’t the first time someone had been beaten and left in this room.

He went down onto the thin mattress, which did little to shield him from the hardness of the floor. She tried to help him lie down, but he put a hand down to block her effort.

“Don’t. Let me do it. Only hurts when I try to move too fast.”

She backed hastily away, not wanting to add to his discomfort. When he was settled on his side, she pushed forward again and knelt over him, unsure of what to do or even what she could do. She’d never felt so helpless in her life.

“What did they do?” she whispered again.

“Beat the hell out of me,” he gritted out. “Mostly ribs. Hurts like hell to breathe. Everything else is okay though. Nothing broken.”

Tears gathered in her eyes again and she leaned down, gently wrapping her arms around him. She didn’t know what else to do—she wanted to offer comfort if nothing else.

He raised his hand and brushed it over her cheek, wiping at the wetness there. “Ah, Sarah, don’t cry for me, honey. I’ve been in worse situations. This is nothing. Believe me.”

She didn’t want to know about those other situations. She hadn’t lived through those with him. She’d lived through the sounds of his beating and knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. Rage built in her veins until her blood simmered and boiled like a volcano about to erupt.

“Those bastards,” she spat. “Those goddamn bastards. Why did they do this? What do they want?”

His hand absently stroked through her hair, offering her comfort, and that only shamed her all the more. She hadn’t been the one subjected to such brutality. She caught his hand and held it to her cheek, rubbing against his palm.

“Information,” he said. “They aren’t police. Not in an official capacity, although they probably have a pretty damn tight stranglehold on this part of the region. They want money. Want to know who I am and what potential threat I pose to them. They want ransom. These roadblocks are routine in some of the less-developed areas where the law is a nebulous being and left up to the ones doing the enforcing.”

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“We wait,” he said simply. “And in the meantime, you do nothing, and I mean nothing to draw their ire. You become invisible and if they question you, you cooperate. You do whatever it is you have to do to survive. I’ll get us out of this, I swear.”

She could feel his gaze burning into her even though the darkness prevented her from seeing much more than the outline of his face. He caressed her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin as she continued to rub against his palm. She knew what he was telling her. Don’t fight. Even if it came to the worst. And he knew what he was asking because he already knew what she’d endured.