In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)(92)

Sorrow was a heavy, suffocating blanket over the entire cell. Gavin couldn’t even form the words to offer his wife comfort when he had none to give. He couldn’t give her an answer that would appease her because he was afraid he would be telling her a complete lie.

There was so much blood. It soaked the entire front of her shirt, streaked from her ears down the sides of her neck, where it collected in large splattered spots atop the ridge between her shoulders and base of her neck. More blood covered her mouth, was drying in her nostrils and now that he was studying her closer he was able to confirm his earlier suspicion that she’d even bled from her eyes.

Had they beaten her so badly?

Despite the fact he’d already checked her pulse, his hand found its way to her neck again, seeking reassurance that he hadn’t imagined feeling the soft flutter of life beneath his fingertips. As before it was erratic, but it was strong against his touch. But his fear was of internal injuries, things he couldn’t see.

Despite his fear that she’d been badly beaten, he couldn’t find evidence of swelling or bruising on her face or head. The blood seemed inexplicable because the only bruises he found were those on her arms, as if she’d been grasped roughly. Ari had always bruised easily, and these somewhat small bruises looked to be fingertips. Nothing that would account for the blood so stark against her skin.

Ginger’s hand hovered over Ari’s face, her features rigid with consternation as she sought somewhere—anywhere—she could safely touch her daughter. Finally she laid her hand over Ari’s forehead, gently stroking up and over her scalp in a soothing motion.

Ari immediately flinched as though Ginger had struck her. It was the first time Ari had made any sort of movement or signaled any awareness of what was going on around her.

“Ari?” Gavin said urgently. “Ari, can you hear me? Are you awake? Please, sweetheart, open your eyes so your mother and I know you’re all right.”

To both their surprises, Ari brushed away her mother’s hand and then rolled away from them both to face the opposite direction. She pulled her legs up—a protective measure—to her chest and wrapped both arms solidly around them, seeming to pull herself into as small a ball as possible.

An agonized moan escaped her lips, and Gavin’s position was such that he could still see her face, even though she’d turned away from him and Ginger. Her eyes briefly closed as though she were battling . . . agony? Fear? Awareness? Or perhaps she merely wanted to escape her present reality. Maybe she was in so much pain that she simply wanted to slip away to someplace where it wasn’t so sharp and unbearable. Gavin hastily wiped the corner of one eye and blinked rapidly to maintain his tenuous grip on his composure.

“Ari?” Ginger started to touch her again but stilled her hand and let it drop away, anguish flashing in her eyes.

“Don’t,” Ari begged. “Oh God, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gavin asked urgently. “Ari, can you talk to us? Can you tell us what happened? What did those bastards do to you?”

He choked off, unable to go on any further. Tears clogged his throat, rendering him temporarily incapable of speech. Ginger thrust her fingers through his, curling them around his hand, holding tightly, so much tension radiating through her body.

“Don’t touch,” Ari said, another moan escaping, her words so low, Gavin could barely make them out. “No noise. Please. I can’t bear it. Hurts. Hurts so much. Please, just don’t touch me. Don’t say anything.”

Ginger’s hand flew to her mouth and tears slipped from her eyes, more appearing as soon as the others slithered down her cheeks.

Ari reached up to cover her ears and then began slowly rocking herself back and forth, locked in her own private hell that Gavin and Ginger were helpless to soothe, calm or take away.

Ginger stood, honoring her daughter’s broken request, her eyes grief-stricken in a manner Gavin hadn’t seen in nearly twenty-five years. Not since the last child they’d lost had she looked so heartbroken.

Gavin jerkily rose, his fury mounting with every passing moment. Rage smoldered through his veins like a potent drug, his vision growing dim and hazy. He turned his back to both his wife and daughter, not wanting either of them to see the terrible thoughts reflected in his eyes. The thirst for vengeance. For violence. To destroy every last person involved in this whole sordid mess.

He let out a rumbling sound of pure male fury, one he instantly tried to quell when he saw Ari stiffen.

“The light,” Ginger said suddenly. “The light probably hurts her too.”

Ginger hurried toward where the single bulb hung from an electrical wire and fiddled with it a moment, loosening it just enough so that it flickered off.

Gavin turned, closing his eyes as grief and helplessness washed over him like a tidal wave. He hit the iron bars caging him, needing an outlet for his savage rage. Pain didn’t even register as he rammed his fist over and over into the groaning metal. The acrid smell of blood arose and it slid warmly over his fingers, dripping onto the floor below him.

Ginger threw her arms around his side and then slid around him until she separated him from the bars he’d been pummeling. Reverently she took his now-swollen hand in hers and pressed a kiss to the torn knuckles.

Then she buried her face in his chest so her sobs were stifled. Her entire body shook, and Gavin wrapped his arms around her in response, anchoring her. Then he buried his face in his wife’s hair, his own tears dampening the silken strands, as his heart, like his wife’s, simply broke in two.