After going inside and finding Shasta crumpled on the floor, Anthony gently set Christy down. He determined Shasta wasn’t dead and carried her to the cot in the infirmary. Christy gathered some washcloths and ice from the small kitchen and was reminded of how Moe had helped her at the Glades Motel. Anthony tried to shoo her away, but she told him, “I can help. I’m not hurt, and she is.”

While Christy ministered to the woman whose face resembled a punching bag, Anthony made some phone calls and within twenty minutes the rumble of motorcycles were distinct. Shasta had already come around and told Anthony everything, not leaving out any details.

He thanked her and asked Christy if she would stay with Shasta while he attended to business. Christy didn’t have to ask him what business and reassured him that she would stay until he got back.

He met his men outside and told them to follow him. He had John take Andrew to the building that used to be the camp’s chow hall. Anthony entered with the three men he’d summoned. They were the worst of the worst and would put Andrew to shame when it came to brutality. Especially the one named Brooks. However, they were his trusted regulars and would never have been stupid or desperate enough to believe Veronique’s lies. And even if they did believe her, they still would’ve had the wherewithal to at least page him or X to see if her message was true.

A shaking Andrew started to cry when the men approached. John had tied him to one of the massive wooden posts that supported the tall ceiling. His hands were fastened so tightly behind his back, his shoulders felt like they’d been ripped from their sockets.

“I have a hole in my back. I’m probably gonna die from it. Let me go, and I’ll crawl away,” he sobbed. “Please.”

“I’m going to show you the same mercy you showed my woman. My wife,” Anthony snarled. He turned and walked toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “John, do you want in on this?”

“Nah,” John yelled out. “I’m more of a spectator.”

Andrew started mumbling about Anthony sending a message that he had no use for a white rabbit. Anthony chalked it up to nonsense and blocked him out. It didn't matter anyway. Andrew was going to die a long slow death for what he'd done to Christy.

“Good,” Anthony told John as he returned from the kitchen carrying three large pots. “You can add up the score at the end.”

Brooks let out a loud laugh and said, “This sounds like it’s going to be fun, Bear.”

Without answering him, Anthony laid the three pots on a table near Andrew. He then walked over and got right in the restrained man’s face. Andrew wouldn’t look at him.

“I heard you tell my woman that you were going to bite off certain parts of her body and chew on them. And then you were going to spit them in her face.”

“No. No. I didn’t say…”

Andrew didn’t get to finish his sentence and instead let out a blood-curdling scream. “My nose. You bit off my nose,” he cried, his eyes clenched closed. He opened them and saw Anthony’s blood-spattered face and recognized the muscle in his jaw working. He watched in horror as Anthony got closer and spit a mound of flesh in his face. Anthony then repeated the grisly act, this time tearing off a piece of Andrew’s bottom lip.

He then turned to the four men who’d been watching the gruesome ritual and spoke to the three he knew would be more than willing to participate. Nodding toward the three pots he’d laid on the table, Anthony told them, “You each get a pot. One thousand cash to the man whose pot contains the most pieces of Andrew. John will tally it when he’s dead and if you get bored or your jaws start to ache, use your knives.”

“Noooo!” Andrew screamed as he tried to break free from his restraints.

Anthony headed for the door. He left the chow hall, but not before he heard Brooks say, “Don’t worry, boss. We won’t get bored.”

And another quickly added, "I look forward to filling up my pot unless we get extra points for swallowing."

Anthony returned to the office and once inside the infirmary he saw Christy nod at him as he headed for the sink to clean off. She knew where he’d been and she’d let him know she was okay with it.

Anthony and Christy wanted to take Shasta to a hospital for treatment, but she brushed them off. “I’ve survived worse,” she told them.

Christy looked with compassion at the woman who was responsible for saving her life. While Anthony was gone, Shasta had not only shared what she overhead, but also some of the horrible things Andrew had done to her in the past. She admitted that she never told Anthony because she was afraid of Andrew’s retaliation. And if she was going to be honest with Christy, she wasn’t even certain Anthony would’ve cared.

Anthony stood over the cot Shasta was lying on and was reminded of the last time he was here with her. It had only been weeks, but could just as well have been a year ago. He couldn’t remember what his life felt like before Christy. He was no longer the same person. He was in the sense that he would continue to do what he did to people like Andrew, but for the first time, he saw Shasta as more than a whore who pleasured him for her next fix. He saw her as someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. She might’ve even been someone’s mother. He hadn’t a clue of who cared about her because he’d never cared to find out. Christy changed that in him and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Looking down at Shasta he said, “I owe you for Christy’s life. Anything. You name it, Shasta, and it’s yours.”

He was certain she would ask for a large sum of cash, and he would gladly give it to her.

“Anything?” she asked. Her lip was swollen, and her speech was slightly garbled.

Anthony nodded. “Anything.”

Shasta briefly described her life and how she eventually wound up at the camp. Shasta and her two sisters were raised by a single mother whose boyfriends abused all of them. She drank her first beer when she was eight. She smoked her first joint when she was ten, and she started exchanging sexual favors for harder drugs by the time she was fourteen.

“The only thing I can remember from my childhood, the only thing that I ever found pleasure in, was drawing.” She looked over at Christy who was smiling at the admission.

“Not drawing like you might think,” she quickly added. “I liked to draw sketches of pretty buildings. Sometimes, I would get a ruler and try and draw what I thought the inside looked like.”

“Like an architect or engineer?” Christy asked.

“I don’t know,” Shasta said shyly, looking away. “It’s probably stupid. Someone like me trying to be something other than a whore.”

“What are you asking me for exactly?” Anthony questioned.

She looked up at him, and he saw the pain in her eyes. “I want to be clean, Anthony. I want to go to a rehab facility far away from here, and when I get out, I can get myself a regular job and enroll somewhere and take some classes.” A single tear ran down her cheek.

Anthony looked sideways at Christy and saw her smile and nod.

“You got it. I’ll pay for you to get into a good facility,” he confirmed to Shasta.

“And, we’ll help you when you get out, too,” Christy added. “We'll make sure you have a nice place to live in a decent neighborhood, and we’ll pay for you to go to any school you want.” Christy handed Shasta a tissue to wipe the tears that were coursing down her bruised cheeks.

After Shasta composed herself, Anthony told Christy to wait in his truck. He would drive them home and have her car delivered later. He stayed to talk to Shasta to see if there were any more details, even the smallest, that she could remember. She was more than willing to give it some more thought. Especially if it meant Dr. V would be getting what she had coming to her.

Anthony pulled Christy close as he drove them home. He was surprised that she didn’t burst into tears or tremble like she had after the recent incident at Grizz’s motel. But then he told himself that if he was changing, maybe she was too. He knew she was strong willed and stubborn, but he hadn’t realized how much until he heard her challenge Andrew.

After they arrived, they took a shower together and he inspected every inch of her. “I told you I’m not hurt,” she insisted, but he noticed the slight discoloring on her neck and the insides of her thighs. He was surprised when they crawled into bed together and she reached for him. He assumed the trauma would’ve caused her to hesitate and he said so.

“What almost happened with those horrible men has nothing to do with how I feel when I’m with you, Anthony. If anything, the things you do to me will make me forget.”

"You mentioned that you heard what I told the lawyers about marrying you, but right after they left, you let me make love to you." She didn't answer so he asked her, "Why?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I guess I thought I would in some way use you back or maybe I needed to pretend that what we had was real."

"It is real," he told her. "Can I tell you a story, Christy?" His voice was low and serious.

"What kind of a story?" she asked him, running her hand over his strong, firm chest.

"It's about a Cherokee warrior and how he tricked a woman into marrying him."

"What woman?" Christy asked, her fingers now running along the muscular contours of his abdomen.

"She was a white woman. A wealthy rancher." He pulled her closer and kissed her temple softly.

"Did the warrior trick her because he wanted her cattle? Her land?" Christy asked. "Her money?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"No, Owani. He tricked her because he was in love with her." When she didn't reply, he continued. "He only wanted one thing."

"What was that?" He could feel her warm breath on his chest.

"He wanted her heart."

Her fingers stopped their exploration and Christy leaned up on one elbow and looked down at him. "Tell me the story, Anthony."