“I won’t go back.”
She barely managed to stammer out the defiant vow. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. She felt broken. Something was broken. Her ribs, an arm … She couldn’t even decipher what was wrong with her. There was simply too much to process.
She stared up at him in panic, knowing she didn’t possess the strength to escape. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She could do nothing to prevent him from taking her back.
A deep shudder rolled through her body and the tears that had threatened slowly slid down her cheeks.
“Grace, I want you to listen to me.”
His voice was calm and oddly soothing. The tone mesmerized her as did those dark eyes that refused to look away from her.
“My name is Rio. I’ve come to take you home. To Shea.”
Her pulse leapt and her throat tightened. “Shea?” she croaked. “Is she all right?”
What if it was a trap? What if he was using information about her sister to lull her into a false sense of security?
He touched her cheek, his fingers infinitely gentle on her skin. He didn’t look like a man who had an ounce of gentleness in him. He was big and menacing. A warrior.
Dark-skinned, like he’d spent many hours in the sun, uncaring of the consequences. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at his nape and his eyes were as dark as night.
“I spoke to her myself,” he soothed. “I promised her I’d find you and protect you. We’re the good guys, Grace. I realize you may have a hard time believing that or trusting me, but we’re here to help you. Shea is safe and she wants very much to see you again. We’ve all been worried about you.”
More tears slid down her cheeks and a quiet sob hiccupped from her throat. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Something like understanding flashed in his eyes. He touched her face again, wiping at the moisture on her cheekbone.
“I need you to tell me where you’re hurt. We have to move you. We can’t stay in this location, but I need to know what we risk by moving you more than we already have.”
She glanced around, slowly taking in her surroundings for the first time. Her breath caught when she saw the others. Warriors. Like this man called Rio. Stern and forbidding. How was she to know she could trust them? What choice did she have?
They were away from where she’d fallen the night before. How had they managed to find her and how had she survived the fall? Her memory of the event was hazy. She could only remember that moment when she knew she would likely die.
She’d thought that a lot lately. Pondered her mortality as calmly as she might consider what shoes to wear. And yet she was here and alive. Broken but not defeated.
The men were facing away from where she and Rio were positioned. Watchful and wary. Guns up, their stances rigid as if they sensed danger in the very air.
“Grace,” Rio prompted. “Talk to me. I need to know how bad it is.”
She briefly closed her eyes and then reopened them, focusing once more on his face. She licked her lips. “I hurt.”
“I know you do,” he said quietly.
“The fall. I think I broke something.”
She centered her attention on her body, paying attention to where she hurt and how it differed from the residual pain of the endless torture she’d endured. Her breaths were strained. Shallow and painful.
“Ribs,” she managed to gasp out. “Think I have broken ribs. And my arm. It hurts but it’s growing numb. I can’t feel my fingers.”
“Yes, I can see,” Rio said as he carefully picked up her hand.
He turned his head and nodded at one of the men. She tensed when the big burly man closest to Rio hovered over her. He was a mountain. Arms bulging with muscles. He barely had a neck as thick as he was. Legs like tree trunks.
“She’s lost feeling in her fingers,” Rio said as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. “We’ll have to set the break.”