I’m thankful that Kella is positioned between Greg and I, allowing us to catch her as she slips into unconsciousness. I don’t like doing this to her any more than she does, but detoxing cold turkey is a bitch, and she will thank me for this … someday. I could see how upset she was with me, with herself; it only took a week of constant use to get hooked. Hell, Lexi too for that matter, not as badly as Kella, but they both got hooked on a strong sedative. I curse Elizabeth’s rotting fucking corpse for putting Kella through this, for hurting her in yet another way.

“What do we do with her, Boss?” Greg asks.

“I’ll take her up to her room.” I scoop Kella up into my arms, Greg opening the door as I step out into the main room. The guys all look at me with sly grins. I cast them a glacial look, making them wipe the looks from their faces and return to their activities. Carefully, I take Kella up to her room, setting her down on the bed gently. Her pale hair fans out around her head, her chest gently rising and lowering. As I stand to leave, I feel a tug on the edge of my shirt. Looking down I notice Kella has grabbed the end in her sleep, holding on fast. She looks so vulnerable, I can’t bring myself to leave.

Gently, I unbutton my shirt, removing it. Almost immediately it’s yanked into Kella’s arms as she rolls over, taking my shirt with her. I smile watching her cling to it tightly, sighing from whatever comfort it seems to bring her. I tuck her in, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders before sitting down against the wall to wait for her to wake up.

I look around the sparse room and shake my head. I really should have taken better care of her. She deserves better than this bare room. She deserves a real bed, a room with furniture and whatever other shit girls like. She should be in your bed. I dismiss the thought as soon as it comes. There is no way, especially after this, that will ever be an option again.

Watching her sleep, I take the time to process everything that has happened. From the battle with Tony’s men, Kella being shot, to hunting Elizabeth. To now, Kella addicted to a drug she never wanted and now she’s probably fucked up from everything that happened to her in ways I can’t fix. I know something fucked went down. During our search of the warehouse, the boys found one of Tony’s men, weak but alive with a bloody fucking stub where his cock should have been. I can’t help but wonder if he did rape her even though Kella has been adamant it never happened.

“I’ll kill that bitch!” he yelled as blood poured from his face that was just as mangled. Jake laughed and Greg smacked the back of his head.

“Apparently, it was a blow job gone wrong,” Greg said, giving the guy a sad look. “Next time you wanna get your dick sucked, make sure the girl wants to … but there won’t be a next time.” Greg pulled his piece out to finish the guy off, but I beat him to it. One shot square between the eyes, the silencer on my gun muffling the shot. It’s better than he deserves.

“The asshat had it coming,” Jake said, still chuckling. “She may be a bitch, but she sure as shit can handle herself.”

I simply shake my head, trying to keep my rage in check. This makes twice a girl has been raped under my watch. Twice I couldn’t save her until it was too late. Lost in a rage, I pull out my gun, head down the hall and shoot the fucker through the chest two times for good measure.

I smirk at the memory, knowing that bastard got what he deserved. He got off easy if I’m being honest. If we’d had the time, I would have kept him alive and toyed with him for hours before finally putting him out of his misery. It’s amazing what the human body can endure without dying.

I look sadly at Kella, still deep asleep, clinging to my shirt for her damn life. That is why I can’t be with her, can’t keep her around me, she is just not safe. I sigh at the thought. Unfortunately, I knew it to be true. I can’t fight the need to keep her safe, and I can’t do that.

I look up when I hear her moan in her sleep.

“Ron.”

I look up at her seeing that she is not sleeping well. I feel sorry for her, that she can’t even have a dreamless sleep on a sedative. But she just clawed her way out of hell and that is not something you come back from. People always think being strong and surviving means you’re fine after shit happens. Not even close. Being strong means you’re still fucking breathing after it. Everything else is just a bonus.

My instincts are to reach over and hold her close, tell her she is safe; even though I would be fucking lying. Elizabeth is just one threat in a long list. I caused this hell. That’s a burden I will carry for the rest of my life. Guilt courses through me as she tosses and turns in bed, this was not what she deserved. Seeing the panic filling her face accompanied by her whimpers, I rise and make my way to her side.