Chapter Thirteen

Abbie

By the time we got to the clubhouse, Cameron had managed to untangle my limbs from around him long enough for him to slip his shirt over my head. I'd stopped crying, and now I was just… tired. And sore. And I hurt everywhere, especially between my legs and my ass. I could feel the dried blood on my thighs, and I knew Cameron had seen it. The agony that had been in his gaze when he laid his eyes on me—the pain he felt for me—would forever be imprinted into my mind.

I would never forget it. A man who was as manipulative and uncaring as Cameron hurting for me like that…

It just broke my already fragile heart even more. And after all the hell I'd endured, after watching them slit that poor girl's throat because she had fucking endometriosis and wasn't fertile enough for the ones with breeding kinks, I hadn't thought my heart could break more than it already had.

But Cameron had managed it with one look. One devastating, tormented look.

"Easy," Cameron murmured as Jax pushed open the back doors and got out. "I need to get you inside and cleaned up," he said softly.

I nodded, clinging to him, my nail beds sore and aching as I pressed my fingertips into the back of his sticky neck, my blood on his skin from where I'd gripped him and reopened my raw fingers. I'd been tied down most of the time while I'd been in that awful place, but when he'd wanted to "test out the merchandise", he'd untied me.

He'd wanted me to fight. And fuck, I had. Through all the tearing. All the horror. All the pain. I'd fucking fought.

Ace bounded out of the back after us and slung open the clubhouse doors. A girl, who I assumed was Blu, burst into tears at the sight of Cameron carrying me in. Blakely, Jax's wife, stood from her seat, drawing Blu into her arms and turning her away from us. The boy, who I assumed was Grey, stared at me in wide-eyed horror. But there was an understanding there, too. Like he knew what I'd gone through.

Like he knew just what hell I'd endured. That just broke my already broken heart even more. He was so young. He didn't deserve whatever he'd gone through.

"I need to get you in the shower," Cameron told me, his words soft, his tone gentle. I barely swayed as he climbed the stairs and made his way down the hall to a door, which he opened. The moment we stepped inside, his scent wrapped around me, calming me in a way nothing else could ever hope to.

"Don't know if I can stand," I told him honestly, my throat hoarse, making my voice come out in a low rasp.

"I've got you," he assured me. He settled me on the bathroom counter before easing his shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor. He ran his eyes over me, taking in the bruises on my skin—bruises in the shape of fingertips, hands… fists.

Just because he'd wanted me to fight didn't mean he hadn't fought back even harder. He'd wanted me to hurt. He'd wanted me to pay for whatever Cameron and his brothers had done to his uncle.

"They marked you with my lucky number," Cameron rasped, staring at the aching, burning wound on my shoulder.

I just nodded before lifting my wrist, showing him the club and spade burned into the soft, tender flesh of my left wrist. He tenderly cradled my arm, his frown deepening as he stared at the mark. Then, he clenched his jaw before gently leaning me against the wall so I wouldn't have to support myself and walked over to the shower to turn the water on. He toed off his boots as he tested the water temperature, and then he came over to me, lifting me off the counter. "Your clothes—" I blurted as he stepped into the shower.

He shook his head and sat on the side of the tub, resting me on his knees. "Not important," he muttered as he began running the warm water over my skin. We both watched as pink streaks washed down the drain, and my chin wobbled.

"I'm here," he said, raw pain in his voice. He pressed his lips to my temple and stroked my hair back from my head. "If you need to cry, then cry, little devil. I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you or take you from me again. I fucking swear."

I shook my head, but my throat was too tight for me to say anything. I wanted to tell him I wouldn't cry anymore. Not right now. I was safe. I was going to be okay, even if I did have a long road of recovery ahead of me.

I was just so tired. I wanted to curl up in bed in Cameron's safe arms and just sleep without the worry of a doctor or a guard or even Johnny fucking Dorman coming into the room and violating me.

Cameron was gentle as he washed my hair, rinsed it, and then conditioned it. He was even gentler as he bathed my body, being careful of the marks. And once I was clean, wrapped up in a fluffy, white robe that'd been left hanging on the bathroom door, he applied ointment to the wound on my shoulder and to my aching nail beds before carrying me to bed.

A bottle of water and two white tablets were sitting on the nightstand. Without a word, he handed them to me, and I swallowed the tablets, too tired and aching too much to bother asking what they were. I didn't care so long as it stopped this pain and made me sleep without nightmares and flashbacks plaguing my mind.

Cameron remained silent as he dressed me in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, and then I was tucked into bed. Laying on my side, I watched as he stripped out of his soaked clothes. His muscles were rigid, every part of him tense as he dried off and quickly donned a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

"Lay with me?" I asked quietly, my lips trembling when he began to pull a chair out of the corner of the room. My fingers twisted in the black comforter covering me, my chest aching. "Cam?—"

"Easy, little devil," he said, quickly changing course and heading for the bed, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. He leaned over me and smoothed his lips over mine in a kiss that just settled something inside of me.

And that was all it took. I sobbed, completely fucking falling apart again. Cameron, somehow understanding that he hadn't triggered me and had instead released a flood of bottled-up emotions, slid into bed beside me, his body above the covers. And when he tugged me into his arms, hooking one of his legs over both of mine and pinning me to him, I wailed, finally safe enough to just let go.

"I'll kill him," Cameron swore into my hair. "I'll slaughter anyone left who took you from me," he growled.

I wanted him to. I wanted them all to pay, but not just for me. I wanted them to pay for every woman, man, and kid before me, too.