You’d think that after a situation like the one Sloane found herself in, life would turn into utter chaos but that wasn’t the case. With her attacker unidentified and Sloane acting as though nothing had happened, taking action became impossible. Tate hadn’t taken the news about Sloane well when he’d come home with Libby, and so he, Libby, and Rubin—his best friend for as long as I could remember—drove to the cheer meet in Abilene with Sloane and Ana, the cheerleading captain. Ana seemed bemused when they pulled up outside The Hut that Sunday morning in her mom’s mini van. Considering Howard Sutton hadn’t been completely on board with Sloane even going to the meet after the attack, the other three going seemed like a compromise that satisfied everyone.

Everyone but Kenny.

I’d made my escape from The Hut almost the same time they’d pulled out the gates, choosing to spend another morning with Drew in the gym, training. After that, I went to Harry in the pawnshop before finally taking a ride out with Deeks to visit Autumn and thank her for her help with Sloane. Spending time at their home always made me happy, and the horses were an added treat that I mostly kept to myself. Riding always helped me clear my head, much in the same way riding his bike cleared Drew’s.

Autumn wasn’t convinced that the situation with Sloane was over any more than I was, but she promised she would come back to The Hut whenever we needed her. Much to Deeks’ pleasure, she even agreed to share his room with him for a couple of weeks so she was available more permanently. Before I’d left their home, I’d told her I would call her if I thought her presence—and discomfort in staying with Deeks at The Hut—was warranted, but with Sloane going on about her business as usual, I didn’t want to play that card before it was absolutely necessary.

There was a collective sigh of relief when the small group returned from the cheer competition, all of them in high spirits as the Babylon Bulldog’s cheerleading squad had walked away with the regional championship. Sloane was riding a high that felt slightly maniacal, but one look at Drew and then Tate, and I knew I had to let my concern go and hope that if something did snap, she would come to us for help. Trying to keep a grip on everything was like juggling. You had to keep all of these balls in the air to convince her that she was not just in control, but we were allowing her to call the shots. She didn’t need to know Moose was tailing her from a distance, because from the discussions between Tate and Rubin, they had her covered within the school grounds.

I was almost grateful for my shift at Rusty’s on Monday afternoon. There was no weird feeling of being watched, the regulars were in their normal booths and tables, and Rusty was in his normal pissy mood as he slung the grease around his griddle. This was something Sam and I had agreed on as he threw toast at the wall when it was brought back with the complaint of being under toasted. The new offering went back to the table resembling charcoal while Rusty stared out of the window glaring at the woman and daring her to send the toast back again. Poor Sam found it impossible to keep a straight face as she spoke quietly with the woman who had squared her shoulders indignantly. She met me at the counter, filling another order for her other table, her lips curled in humor.

“Five bucks says she will cry,” Sam whispered as we both worked to make desserts for our tables.

“Toast lady?” I asked, squeezing caramel sauce over the sundae I was making.

“Yep. She asked to speak to the manager.”

I winced, my glance flicking over my shoulder and back to Sam. Normally Janette handled the complaints from customers. She and Rusty owned the place, but he was not a people person. Janette not being at work was rare, but this was her monthly hair/gossip appointment, which meant that all complaints went to Rusty himself—something that never ended well in my experience.

“I can’t take that bet. I may as well give you the five now.”

The slap of the swinging kitchen door dragged our eyes to the sight of Rusty wiping his hands on a dish towel as he strolled through the tables to where the haughty little woman sat, dabbing the corners of her mouth with the paper napkin she’d just picked up from her lap

“What seems to be the problem, ma’am,” he said in his usual gruff tone that left no room for argument.

“You’re the manager?” Her response dripped with incredulity.

Sam and I moved away from the stations we’d been working at to deliver the desserts to the customers whose eyes had now strayed to the altercation. Thankfully, most of them were regulars and just seemed amused at the exchange. Once my service was complete, I moved toward the counter, my attention fully on Rusty and the older, wealthy woman who seemed completely out of place in the diner.

“I own the damn place, lady.”

“I see. That explains everything, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” Rusty raised his eyebrows in challenge and caught my eye with a look that said, check this broad out.

I tried to hide my laugh as I turned to grab the coffee pot to do refills, but lost my train of thought as I almost tripped over Sloane who was standing still, her normally honey-toned skin washed out and pale, and one arm reached out to me in a bid to get my attention.

I slapped my hand against my chest in surprise, a half laugh and gasp falling from my lips with the acknowledgment.

“Sloane?”

She blanched a little at my tone, her hands moving to her hips, then her pockets and finally landing on the straps of her bag as she pressed her dry lips together, the swelling on her bottom lip looking painful. She looked awful.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, flapping her elbows like wings and almost folding in on herself in an attempt to make her body smaller.

“Of course you can, honey.” I looked up and found Sam’s amused gaze. She was still watching the disaster unfold with Rusty, but nodded when I pointed to Sloane and then the back. This was code for I need a break. Give me a sec.

Following a small nod, I led Sloane back to the small office and invited her inside. The moment I pushed the door closed, she dropped her bag to the floor and eased into the lone chair, curling in on herself as her hands pressed to her stomach.

“Hey.” I crouched in front of her, my hands on her knees as I ducked to catch her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Something ain’t right.” Her voice was shaky, and I was pretty sure if I could have seen her hands, they would have been trembling. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Inside,” she whispered, pain and embarrassment lacing her tone before her voice broke and she started to weep. “Oh, God, Ayda. What did he do to me?”

“Wait. Sloane, honey…” I could have sat there questioning her, but it was obvious she needed a doctor. She was hurting, and I didn’t need to ask who he was. I already knew who she was talking about, even if she still refused to give us his name.

There was only one thing I could do for her now, and it wasn’t perfect, but would give her the privacy she needed and take care of the problem all in one trip. I wasn’t really sure what would happen when I got there, what questions they would ask, or even if they would accept me as a guardian who could sign off on what needed to get done, but I had to do something.

“You have your insurance card?” I asked, smoothing her hair back in an attempt to sooth her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I nodded and pushed up, pacing twice before I asked her to give me a minute and headed out into the main diner floor to find Sam. I knew she wouldn’t thank me for leaving her alone during the after-school rush, but I also knew she’d seen the state Sloane was in. I’d covered enough shifts for her when she had to see to her son that she wouldn’t even hesitate.

She didn’t.

I barely had the request past my lips before she told me to go, and without much thought, I was loading Sloane into my truck as carefully as I could manage and was headed toward the women’s clinic, just outside of Corsicana. This was better than taking her to the doctor in town—fewer questions and less gossip.

I was only a couple of miles out of town when I finally managed to think with some level of clarity. I pulled out my phone and glanced over at Sloane with a sympathetic smile. “I’m just going to call Drew. He’s gonna want to know that I’m heading out of town and he can put out any fires with your dad. That cool?”

Sloane nodded her agreement with very little commitment and curled a hand around the one already on her stomach as she pushed her forehead against the window, her eyes closed and an expression of pain twisting her pale lips.

Finding Drew’s number easily on my phone, I hit dial and held the thing to my ear as I headed toward Corsicana five miles an hour over the speed limit, and I breathed a sigh of utter relief when he answered.

“Ayda?” The worry was always there when I wasn’t with him, and the panicked yet somehow controlled way he spoke my name only confirmed that.

“Hey, I’ve just left work, and I just wanted to let you know that Sloane and I are heading to the clinic in Corsicana. She came to me at the diner. She’s not feeling so great.” I begged him to read between the lines there and see what the hell I was actually saying without words.

He didn’t answer right away, and I heard a door close somewhere around him before another one opened and the surrounding noise faded away until all I could hear was his voice. “Turn around,” he ordered quietly.

“Drew, I can’t. She’s hurting.” I glanced over at Sloane, but she was pale and clammy, somewhere in the vicinity of sleep against my window, which only served to worry me further.

“Ayda.” I didn’t have to see him to imagine he was pinching the bridge of his nose as he held the phone to his ear and scrunched his eyes closed. “Do you remember where the safe house is? Where we went after the Emps tried to hurt you and Tate in the house fire?”

I frowned at the phone for a second as I pulled my foot off the gas and coasted onto the hard shoulder toward the gas station just up ahead. “I know the one.”

“Then turn around and go there. Take Sloane. The key to the front door is under the third clay pot on the left. The one painted blue. Lift the wooden porch panel, and you’ll see it. The two of you can get in. The whole place is safe and secure. No one will see you or her going in. When I end this call, I’m phoning doc. He has a nurse…” Drew trailed off, blowing out all the air in his body like it weighed a tonne. “She’s on our payroll. She goes to the safe house regularly. Her name is Tracey. She deals with the Hound Whores. Gives them regular checks. Makes sure they’re clean. She knows what the fuck she’s talking about. Sloane won’t need her insurance card. There’ll be no records. Nothing can ever come back on her if I get Tracey to check her out and diagnose her. You hear me?”

“I hear you. I’m headed that way now. Thank you for this. I’m not sure what she didn’t tell us, but this isn’t good. She’s pale and clammy.” I gazed over at Sloane as I stopped just inside the turn in to the gas station.

“Has she vomited?”

I glanced at Sloane’s face again. Her legs were pulled up against her chest, and she was still pale, but there was no telltale hint of green in her pallor or on her lips. “I don’t think so, and she doesn’t look like she’s headed in that direction. The way she described the problem, it’s internal pain.”

“So, it isn’t just shock then,” he muttered, almost to himself. “A lot of chicks tend to do that when they…” He trailed off again. “Never mind. Just get her to the safe house. I’ll have Doc and Tracey meet you. Trust them, Ayda. They’re good.”

I remembered that from after the nightmare in the warehouse, but now was not the time to bring that up.

“I trust you, and you trust them. That’s good enough for me. I’ll call you as soon as I know something, okay?” I pulled out of the gas station slowly and started back the way I’d come.

“Be safe, darlin’,” he whispered to me.

“I will. Love you.”

I didn’t wait for a response, and he probably didn’t give me one. We just disconnected so we could do what we needed to do in order to get Sloane looked at.

I drove as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself, and though I knew the general direction of the safe house. I missed the turnoff twice before finally finding my way and easing the truck down the rough road as gently as I could so Sloane could continue to sleep while that was possible. I’d woken her only briefly to explain the plan to her, and she’d thanked me before curling up in the big leather seat like an injured kitten.

When I pulled up at the house, I found the key and unlocked the door before helping Sloane from the truck and guiding her inside. She barely said a word, just grunted in agony occasionally when the pain became a little too much.

The place didn’t look much different than it had the first time I’d been here. Someone had fixed the kitchen, the furniture had been updated a little, and some of the cobwebs had been removed, but otherwise, the safe house was the same. Function over form. The place was there for a reason, to do a job, and today was just another day for these four walls to do what they did best.

Doc and Tracey didn’t take long to show up. The two of them arrived within minutes of one another, and they immediately went into action to fulfill their roles. Tracey helped Sloane to one of the bedrooms with an arm around her waist and left Doc and me in the living room, while I paced the floor as the Doc explained what was going to happen next.

If everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be needed at all, but having seen how pale Sloane had been as Tracey walked her away, I wasn’t sure that would be the case, even in the better scenarios. I felt useless, and guilty—a futile emotion when there was nothing I could have done to stop this from happening. I was angry with myself for not insisting she see a doctor when all of this had gone down, but then, how was I supposed to know?

“Should I go and hold her hand or something?” I asked, spinning as I walked a rut into the cheap rug covering the hardwood floor.

“If you think that would help,” Doc said calmly, his voice that even rumble always paired with being absolutely certain of his part in this mess. “But Tracey is good at what she does. She may even manage to get more of an explanation from her while they’re alone.”

I nodded, wringing my hands in front of me as I moved. I wanted Sloane to be comfortable. I wanted her to feel safe, but if Doc was confident that Tracey would offer that, what could I do in that room other than complicate things further?

“I’ll go in if she calls for me,” I clarified to no one in particular and continued my endless path between the front door and the kitchen.

The examination felt as though it was taking forever, and as the afternoon started to dim and the sun slipped toward the horizon, real panic began to rise inside of me. I almost bolted down the hall when the door to the room opened, but Tracey called for the doctor in her calm, professional voice, and he left me alone in the room for another half hour before he rejoined me with a small smile and his hands raised in reassurance.

“She’s fine. I just needed to check a couple of things and write a prescription, but otherwise, her injuries are nothing too serious.”

“So, what happened?” I demanded. My hands were flouncing in front of me in panic, and my eyes tried to read every nuance on his face. That proved useless. Staring at the statue of The Thinker and trying to figure out what he was thinking about would have been more fruitful.

“I got inside the room after the talking had been done, Miss Hanagan. I’m afraid if you want the details you’re going to have to talk to Tracey. What I can tell you is that once the antibiotics take care of the infection there should be no lingering effects in the future.”

“Infection?” I asked sharply, concern cutting through any formal politeness that should have been there.

Tracey chose that moment to appear, slipping out of the room and closing the door gently behind her. I didn’t have to ask her to explain. The second I opened my mouth, she raised her hands to stop me and offered a small, sad smile. I’d seen too many of those in the last couple of days; it felt foreboding. “Sloane asked me to share what she told me with you. She said you’d be worrying about her, and the painkillers will probably help her sleep and knock her out for a little while.”

“Okay,” I said, dropping my ass to the coffee table and looking up at her expectantly. Tracey had one of those faces that instantly made you feel comfortable. It was heart-shaped and gentle, her eyes a deep blue that said you could tell her anything. The result of that combination was almost unnerving, but also reassuring.

“Sloane was violated a little more roughly than I think even Sloane first realized. The guy who did this managed to penetrate her with his fingers, and was either exceptionally rough or tried to keep her from escaping with the, uh… the only hold he had on her.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“That was pretty much my reaction,” Tracey said, shaking her head in disgust. “Drew asked me to attempt to get a name from Sloane if she happened to open up to me, but she shut down the moment I tried. Whoever did this to her either has something over her or has threatened her in some way that has her scared to death.”

“So what are we looking at here?”

“Her vaginal walls were scratched, and that would have been painful on its own, but manageable. One of those scratches started to get an infection, though, and that made it ten times worse for her in a very uncomfortable place. They weren’t very deep, so we were able to treat them, and the meds will chase away the infection completely. If there’s a problem, you’re the one she’s going to come to. Just give Doc or me a call and we’ll meet you here.”

I nodded in confirmation, my stomach churning violently. The drive inside me to find this sick bastard was almost a hunger in my gut now, a kindling that had a slow drip of fuel adding to the flame. I couldn’t believe the extent this asshole had gone to, and not just to hurt her, but in an attempt to take things further and take what he really wanted from her. Just the thought of how violent and sick this asshole was made my stomach roll in disgust. Not one man in the club was going to take this lightly once they found out about how far this had actually gone.