Chapter Nineteen

JAMESON

I gently dump Gunner's heavy ass onto the couch, wincing when I get a clear look at him under the bright light. They got him good. I focus on his injuries, so I don't give into the almost manic need to hunt the fuckers down and end them.

I stare off into space, thinking about how I am going to dismember and get rid of the bodies, when Jace grabs my shoulders, squeezing just a little too hard to get my attention.

"Why don't you get the supplies?" He shakes me slightly to make sure I'm listening, and I nod obediently. "Hicks and I will look after Gunner. You can help Ellis with Rue."

It takes a second to process his words, then another beat to reel my anger back. I slowly unclench my hands, then nod and obediently rush to the closet where we store most of our supplies. While the bathrooms do have emergency kits, the back closet in the kitchen is a virtual doctor's office.

Throwing open the door with a bang, I dart inside the room, then grab anything I think might be useful. Since I didn't get a fucking chance to look too closely at either of their injuries, I don't know what to bring.

As I load up my arms with supplies, I realize I can't really blame my brother for giving me orders. He's done it his whole life. If he doesn't grab my attention before my mania takes hold, it's nearly impossible to get me back on track until I finish my mission.

When I can't fit any more items in my arms, I hesitate, then grab an extra box of gauze under my chin before turning and heading back toward the living room. Large drops of blood splotch the floor like a macabre trail, and my anxiety ratchets up a notch at not knowing if that's Gunner's blood or Rue's.

Neither is acceptable.

I pick up speed, uncaring that supplies escape my arms like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Rushing into the living room, I lean over the coffee table and release my hold on the supplies, dumping the lot of it, then I nearly trip over the shit when a few items slide off the table and land on the floor.

Cursing, I kick the items out of my way before dropping to my knees beside Ellis, who is still holding Rue in his arms. Heart thundering in my chest like it's trying to escape the cage of my ribs, I completely ignore personal boundaries and lean up to cup her face.

"Where are you hurt, baby?" I grit my teeth against the impulse to snatch her from Ellis. The need to hold her and make sure she's all right is nearly overpowering. My hands shake at the thought of her wading into the middle of a fight without me there to keep her safe.

Rue lifts her head from Ellis' shoulder, and my breath catches when those big, beautiful teal eyes of hers land on me. The giant fist clamped around my heart slowly loosens, and I give into the impulse to touch her, capturing her hand in my own.

It's so small and pale compared to my own big mitts that I can only marvel at the difference. Her creamy smooth skin feels like silk against my rough touch, and my cock hardens at the thought of her wrapping the dainty digits around it.

Shaking off my lusty thoughts, I dutifully turn her hand over and inspect it for any signs of injury. A hand like hers would shatter with a single blow, and I gently wiggle every finger, searching for damage.

Ellis sighs like his patience is at an end, but I don't see the fucker releasing his hold on her either. "Her feet are injured," he supplies, nodding in the direction of her bare toes.

Without releasing my hold on her, I squint up at him. "And you know for a fact that she isn't hurt anywhere else?"

That gets the know-it-all to shut the fuck up.

Concern darkens his expression, and we both glance down at Rue.

She narrows her pretty eyes, and a cute little furrow appears between her eyebrows. "I'm fine. Just help Gunner. I can bandage my own feet."

Ellis' arms tighten, preventing her from shifting, and I'm already shaking my head. "No can do, pookie. Jace gave me a job to do. You don't want him to kick my ass later for not doing it, right?"

She studies me closely, doubting me because she's smart like that, then her eyes drift toward Jace, her expression taking on a slightly menacing appearance. I nearly cackle, not giving a fuck that I ruthlessly shoved my brother under the bus without compunction if it means getting what I want.

"He would punish you?" Though her voice is soft, I don't miss the underlying tension in her frame, and my humor drops away.

"When it comes to your safety?" I wait until her eyes lock on mine. "In a heartbeat. I would do the same thing if he did anything that put you at risk."

She falls silent, and I know I stumped her. Giving her time to unknot the tangle of our logic, I snuggle down on the floor by the couch and get my first look at her feet.

Satan's balls.

Nausea swirls in my gut, and I swallow hard against the need to barf. The soles of her feet are shredded, blood still dripping from a few nasty cuts. Dirt is smeared across the bottoms, bits of gravel wedged into the wounds and clumped with blood. I battle another wave of nausea at knowing she had been walking on them this whole time. Twitching with the need to fix her, I glance at the supplies, my head tilted as I debate if I grabbed enough.

Since Jace and I didn't have much supervision growing up, we got into one scrape after another. Necessity dictated that we learn to tend to our own injuries. Focusing on my task, I grab two towels and carefully work to clean the wounds.

Even as I wash one of the deep gashes near the ball of her foot, pulling nearly an inch-long sliver of glass from a broken beer bottle from her flesh, she doesn't twitch or hiss in pain. She doesn't react at all, her eyes completely blank, like she doesn't even feel it. As I steal a glance at the barely healed injuries decorating her body, my thoughts turn dark and grim as another idea forms, one that says she's so used to being abused that she barely feels any pain at all.

Needing to know if I'm right, I test my theory by pressing my thumb over the largest cut, then I peer at her from the corner of my eye.

No reaction.

Rage thickens my blood, every muscle trembling as I struggle not to lose my temper. I hastily pull my thumb away from the cut, sick at the thought of hurting her, even if she can't feel it, and I'm unable to look away from where her blood stains my skin.

I'm spiraling.

I recognize the signs, but fuck if that means I can pull myself out of it. Soft hands cup my face, and I startle so badly that I fall back on my ass.

"Breathe with me," Rue says in a soft voice, never once removing her hands or flinching from the connection between us.

I automatically do as she says, getting lost in her teal eyes instead of the monsters in my head. I don't realize I'm moving toward her, leaning into her touch, until my forehead comes to rest against hers. When my breathing steadies, Rue pulls away slightly, and maybe it's my imagination, but I swear she does it reluctantly, treasuring the closeness just as much as I do.

It's only when she straightens that I see she scooted to the edge of the couch, her legs parted enough so I'm kneeling between them. Fearing I might drop back into the black pit of my mind where my demons wait to torment me, I sweep my arms around her waist and bury my face against her stomach.

She stiffens at my touch, but she doesn't pull away, and that's everything.

A heartbeat passes, and the only sound I can hear is the beat of my heart thundering in my ears. A hint of doubt creeps into me, and I wonder if I'm too much. I need too much attention. I'm too much work. I'm too excitable, too emotional, too dramatic, and too manic.

Just too much everything.

The same words, or variations of them, still ring in my head from the night my mother left.

Because of me.

I'm too much for anyone to handle.

A light touch brushes against my hair, and I startle so badly that I flinch.

Rue.

As if wanting to soothe me, despite her being the one who's injured, she weaves her fingers through the strands over and over, her nails lightly scratching my scalp. I sigh and melt against her, any temporary doubts evaporating completely.

Her nearness is better than any drug.

One touch, and I'm addicted.

For the first time since I used to get blackout drunk, my mind is blessedly silent. If I didn't know that she was already ours, I would fall for her all over again.

Ellis, bless his dark soul, drops down next to me and takes over the task of tending to her wounds. I don't think I can stand seeing her hurt and not lose my shit again.

Through it all, Rue continues to stroke me like I'm the wounded one. Maybe I should be ashamed, but I've accepted the truth that I'm a broken, shattered mess a long time ago. The only reason I'm able to cling to any sort of sanity is because of the guys.

It's inevitable that they'll grow tired of me too, like everyone else in my life, and I'll finally lose the last bits of my mind.

Rue's appearance in our lives changes everything.

She'll hold all the jagged pieces of us together.

I'm almost giddy at the thought of all the wonderful chaos she will bring into our lives.