53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

Gio

B eth is quick to cross her arms under her chest when I let go of her hand to unlock the office door. I probably shouldn't be acting like I'm interested in her while she's working, at least until it feels like she's comfortable enough to be told the truth about what she means to us.

I don't want to apologize for it, but I'll try harder to ignore the instinct to touch her.

"We probably don't need to do anything with the office," I tell her. "It's just meant as a place to lock the cash away at night."

"It wouldn't be a priority if it made the list. Your front of house is where most of the work is needed to be honest. If you wanted to save money, you could honestly just replace that glass and get a real sign for above the door. Something that's easy to read and identify this as an Italian Restaurant."

There she goes again, trying to talk herself out of a job.

"Do you want to be a Librarian?" I ask, catching her off guard.

She blinks at me. "Uh … I … Not really."

"Would you rather be in business for yourself?"

"It's not practical, or secure, or …"

"But is it what you want ?" I ask, trying to figure out why she's at college on a course she's not into, to end up with a job that doesn't sound like it would suit her strengths.

"Maybe," she finally admits, not quite looking me in the eye. "I don't know. It's what I used to want, at least. Having my own business. Working hard so I could build something that's mine. Something no one else could take away from me."

"So, what changed?" I open the office door and switch on the lights while I wait for her answer.

She doesn't respond immediately, and when she does it's reluctant.

"I realized it was risky, I guess." She shrugs, and I know it's not the full story.

"And your backup choice was Librarian?"

She laughs. "No. I just wanted something that would be an easy pass and going by my skillset that was the career path that lined up."

"Easy can be boring."

"It can be," she admits.

That might be as far as she's willing to go with this conversation.

There's at least one thing I can do to make her see it could be worth thinking about her options.

I hold the door open, and she steps into the tiny office.

It's more like a closet with a desk and chair pushed against one wall, and a safe screwed into the floor in the corner. There's an old 14" TV peeking out of a box on the desk, with a set of old rusted over-ear headphones tangled up with the aerial. That should have been taken out to the trash with the rest of the old owner's junk that he left lying around, but because I would have had to walk all the way through the restaurant and kitchen with it, I kept saying I'd do it later.

Beth squishes herself against the wall as I step inside and let the door close.

"You okay?" I ask, getting a vaguely weird vibe from her.

She nods slowly. "It's just … warm in here."

She starts to scratch at her sweater sleeves.

I sink to my knees and take my keys out of my pocket.

The sooner I get her check cut, the sooner we can leave this tiny room.

It only takes a minute to grab the check book, and another to pick a pen up from the desk and write out the check. I looked up consultant fees last night to make sure I could give her an appropriate amount of compensation for her time. Then, I added on a bit extra, because she's our mate and I want her to have everything she needs.

"Full name?" I ask, glancing up at her.

"Oh," she murmurs. "It's Elizabeth Moore. M, double O, R, E."

I write it down and sign the check at the bottom before I hand it over to her.

She smiles wanly without looking at it as she takes it. "Thanks."

"You sure you're okay?" I ask. "You look a little … sick, or something."

"I'm fine," she assures me, a bit too quickly.

I toss the check book back into the safe and lock it.

Then, I open the door and she darts out into the hall, one hand on the check, the other scratching at her wrist. Something's definitely wrong.

I switch off the light and close the office door as I step into the hall.

"Sorry, I should have asked if you were okay with enclosed spaces," I apologize.

She nods, and then shakes her head. "It's not … I'm fine."

"You're shaking." I take hold of her arms gently, and I look at her until she meets my gaze.

When she does, I know. She's not fine.

"It's nothing. Honestly."

I glance at her wrist and see she's been scratching until it's red and the skin is peeling.

"This isn't nothing," I tell her as I pull her sleeve up just enough to see she hasn't just been scratching. There's bruising and scraped skin all the way around. I check her other arm and find the same thing. These are rope burns. She was bound by her wrists, and it must have been recent. "Who did this to you?"

Her face is flushed when I look up at her. "It's not how it looks. It's stupid, really."

She's still trembling, and now her eyes are watery.

"I can't let you leave if you don't tell me how this happened."

"It's going to make me sound like a dumb blonde."

"I know you're not."

She sighs and then looks down. "I was on a study date with a classmate. He … We went to his place, and he drugged me."

My body fills with rage as I listen, struggling to stay focused once I know someone's out there who hurt my mate.

"Nothing happened," she adds quickly, brushing away a tear that falls. "I mean, nothing like you probably think. I just … I woke up in his closet, tied up to chair with my mouth gagged, and headphones over my ears. He had a tiny little TV in front of me, and this weird instructional video on how to be a good traditional woman for your man was playing."

Her voice cracks at the end, but she rolls her eyes.

"I was stuck in that chair for a day, with that video on repeat, until my friend's mom came looking and found me. It was awful. I never should have agreed to go to his place."

"Who is he?" I ask, unable to mask the bite in my tone.

I need to find him and make him regret what he did.

He should hurt worse than she does.

"His father was angry with him," she says. "He's being punished. I don't want to have to think about him again. I knew he was bad news. I shouldn't have said yes when he asked me over."

Clearly, he's the tip of the iceberg.

She has more going on underneath, or she wouldn't have been tempted to go home with someone when she knew it was going to be a bad idea.

This is why she isn't ready.

After that, how could she trust anyone?

I take in a deep breath and force myself to calm down.

"You won't need to go into the office again, okay? I won't ever make you do something you don't want to do. Just … Promise me one thing."

She looks up, eyes wary. "What one thing?"

"You'll tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable, from now on. It doesn't matter what it is. You have to say it. I won't judge. I don't want you to suffer through anything you don't have to."

She nods. "Okay. I'll speak up. I promise."

"Good. Now, let's get you some ointment for your wrists."