Another man stood in the room, towering over Kyler. Nolan. He really was here. This wasn’t a dream. She watched as Sir’s expression changed, cold replacing anger. When he stalked toward her ex, Beth shook her head. No, no, no. Don’t trust Kyler. No matter how big Sir was, he could still get badly hurt.
“I hardly did this for nothing,” Nolan said to Kyler with a sneer. “She has a pussy worth taking. Yeah. Honey sweet.”
With an ominous whine, her husband pushed to his feet, and Beth whimpered. Don’t hurt Nolan. She turned to Z over at the knotted chain. “Help him,” she whispered. “Please.”
Z’s silvery gaze met hers. He shook his head.
He wouldn’t help? What was wrong with him? She tried to yank free, and pain seared her wrists.
“You touched her.” Kyler’s mouth twisted. “She’s mine. My wife.”
“Hell, she doesn’t want to be married to a wussy like you. She wants a man.”
Beth screamed as Kyler launched himself across the room. At the last minute, Sir stepped out of the way, and Kyler staggered to a stop almost at the far right wall.
“You know how good she sucks cock?” Nolan chuckled, and Beth stared at him in shock. Was he insane?
Kyler attacked again and hit Nolan in the face.
Sir grinned. “One more please.” And took another fist against his cheek. He shook his head like a bull shaking off flies, before hitting Kyler, forcing him back a step. Kyler groaned and attacked again. Blocking a fist, Nolan punched Kyler in the ribs where he’d hit him before.
With a howl of agony, Kyler folded over. Beth saw Nolan inhale, his muscles bunching, and then he hit her husband squarely in the jaw so brutally that Kyler flew backward. The back of his head slammed into the wood stove with a gut-wrenching crack, and he dropped onto the brick hearth.
Beth heard a roaring in her ears as she stared at the man lying on the floor.
When Nolan bent over him, then turned away, she tried to warn him that Kyler would jump up and hurt him…to watch out, only she couldn’t seem to find any air.
The chain holding her jerked, and she moaned and tried to muffle the sound. Don’t wake him up; he’s just sleeping. Nolan came across the room to her, and she shook her head at him. No, watch Kyler. Watch him. Only Sir wasn’t listening.
As Z lowered her, Nolan held her steady and then lifted her into his arms. His arm hurt her back, and it didn’t really matter. She turned her head to watch Kyler. He would hurt Sir. She had to keep him from hurting Sir.
“Beth.” Master’s deep voice. “Look at me.” He turned so she couldn’t see Kyler.
She raised her head and met eyes so black and fierce, she cringed.
“Easy, sugar. It’ll be all right. The ambulance is almost here.”
She realized she was whimpering. Sir held her closer, his hard grip reassuring. This wasn’t a dream; he really was here. And she tried to tell him how she felt since he always wanted to know, but once she started, she couldn’t stop whispering one thing, over and over, “You came… You came… You came…”
He shook his head at her. “Shhh.” He tucked her head against his chest and with Z’s help shifted her so his arm didn’t rub the open areas on her back. Z searched the cabin for the handcuff key.
Had Kyler gotten up? She tried to look over Nolan’s shoulder, to watch for him. An ambulance appeared outside the broken door. Maybe they’d take her husband away, and Nolan would be safe.
Z appeared in front of her. “Hold on, little one. Let me get these off.” He unlocked the cuffs, carefully easing the metal out of her mangled flesh and swearing in a voice she’d never heard before.
When one place hurt too much and she whimpered, Nolan growled low and deep. He scowled at Z. “I want to kill him again.”
“Get in line.”
The world was a muddled place, filled with pain. Sirens. Men’s voices. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Rocking and bouncing that made everything hurt. Humid air. More pain.
When Beth finally managed to open her eyes, she was surrounded by white curtains. A familiar sight. She was in an emergency room. Left with strangers. She let herself fall back into darkness.
She roused again at the sound of a low, commanding voice, one that washed the loneliness away.
A woman’s voice raised in frustration. “I’m sorry, sir, but family only.”
“I am family.” Sir’s voice came closer. “Beth, which cubby are you in?”
“Um.” Did they have numbers for white-curtained rooms? “Here. Wherever that is.”
“But—” the woman sputtered. “Oh, fine. Obviously she wants you with her.”
A scarred hand pulled back the curtain, and Nolan entered, taking up all the extra room. His gaze took in the blood pressure monitor on her arm, the IV bag dripping fluids into her. “All the essential equipment, I see.”
She’d felt all alone and helpless, remembering how the paramedics had looked at her with pity. An abused woman covered with scars. No one saw her.
Until now. Sir leaned over the hospital gurney and looked into her eyes. “You want company, sugar?”
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she could only nod.
“Good answer. You saved yourself a fight.” He leaned an arm on the side rail and picked up her hand, engulfing it within his long fingers. “Did they give you anything for pain?”
“I told them no.”
His brows drew together. “And why would that be? You’re hurting.”
“I… Kyler gave me something to knock me out. And pain medicine makes me fuzzy. I don’t… I can’t handle not being alert right now.”
He nodded. “Good enough.”
A doctor came through the curtains, a lean gray-haired man with sharp blue eyes, stethoscope around his neck, flipping through pages on a clipboard. “Mrs. Stanton?”
She cringed at the sound of that horrible name, and Nolan’s grip tightened. She took a breath. “Yes.”
He ran through the standard medical questions, ones she was all too familiar with from her frequent emergency room visits. If she’d been too badly hurt for Kyler to fix, he’d take her to the ER, different ones each time to prevent questions. When her scarring got too obvious, one doctor suspected abuse and tried to get her to a shelter. Kyler had pulled strings—his family knew everyone—and she’d not only been released to Kyler, but she’d been punished for arousing the doctor’s concern.
“All right then, let’s see the damage,” the doctor said now. He helped her sit up, opened her gown, and started peeling off the gauze dressings the medics had applied. She concentrated on staring at Nolan’s hand covering hers. He had a scar there on the knuckle and another on…
The doctor made a sound. Beth looked up. His lips were pressed so thin, they were white. “Who did this to you?”
“My husband,” she said.
The doctor’s gaze settled on Nolan. “You?”
“No. Her husband’s dead.”
The doctor looked at the bloody gauze in his gloved hands. “Sure he is. How long’s he been dead?”
The curtain whipped back. “About an hour.” A heavy man in a dark suit walked to the foot of the bed and flashed a police badge. “That about right, Mrs. Stanton?”
“I…” How long had she been out? “I don’t know,” she said, feeling helpless.
“You want to tell me about your day?” He pulled a notepad from his pocket.
“You want to wait until I sew her up?” the doctor snapped.
“Actually, I’d like to see the damage before you do that,” the cop said. “The guy at the cabin”—he glanced at his notes—“Zachary Grayson said the husband whipped her. Now that seems a little—”
The doctor not only stepped back but shoved the cop into his place where he could see her back. “Ah”—the cop cleared his throat—“hell. He sliced you up good, didn’t he?”
“Breathe, sugar,” Nolan rumbled, his watchful eyes on her.
She sucked in a breath.
“While you’re here,” Sir ordered the cop, “look at the older scars too. She ran from him a year ago. He found her again this morning.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” the cop muttered. “I saw the chains and handcuffs, and I figured some kinky games, not… Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like this.” He stepped away from the bed, his ruddy face almost pale. He looked at her. “Anything else besides the whip marks?”
She swallowed. Why did she feel humiliated when it had been done to her? “There—”
“Scars around her wrists.” Nolan held up her hand where a bloody gauze dressing circled her wrist. “Those scars are pretty well wiped out by this new damage. Cigarette burns on her left breast, some knife scars on her bottom, old broken right leg, puncture wounds on her hands, and broken fingers.” He rubbed her fingers where shiny white spots marred her tan. “The doc here can probably document all that for you when he examines her.”
The cop’s face had gone rigid during the recital, but his eyes softened when he looked at her. “How many times did you try to get away?”
