Page 28 of Brox Boar

CHAPTER 7

BROX

I hold Lana close, her body limp against my chest. Her head rests on my shoulder in small jerks as the stairwell curves. Every few seconds, she murmurs something, not words, only sound. She smells of sweat, disinfectant and a faint hint of vodka for some reason.

When we reach the hallway behind the main floor of the club, our footsteps soften. Sol clears the path in front of us, allowing me to step into the elevator with Rio following.

Lana shudders when the doors glide shut. I hold her cheek against my neck until her breathing steadies again. Her fingers curl weakly into the fabric of my shirt, more instinct than control.

The elevator travels upward.

She whispers something again.

I bend closer.

“…don’t leave me again…”

“I won’t,” I say into her hair. “You’re safe now.”

Her eyelids flicker, then close again.

The elevator arrives with a soft ping.

Rio steps out first, and we follow. The afternoon light spreads across the open space, pale and calm. The city view stretches out beyond the glass in all directions. It looks absurdly peaceful. As though this building didn’t cradle our nightmare in the basement.

I cross the penthouse with Lana in my arms. My legs remember every stride through this room, every step up the marble floor into the hallway toward the bedrooms.

Rio opens Lana’s room. The space is soft and quiet, nothing like the concrete chamber where she was chained.

I lower her onto the mattress gently, sliding one arm under her shoulders so her head settles on the pillow. She reaches toward me before she is fully conscious, fist closing around my shirt again.

“I’m here,” I say, and sit on the edge of the bed.

Rio sets his gun on her nightstand, then sits beside her to touch her forehead. Her skin radiates heat, but not feverish. Just exhausted.

“I’m going to get fluids,” Rio murmurs. “She needs to drink water.”

He rises and leaves the room.

I stroke her hair away from her face. Her scalp is damp, small strands stuck to her temples. A bruise blooms under her jaw–fresh, purple, ugly. Probably from the assistant restraining her head while Morales stuck her with jabs.

My stomach clenches. She doesn’t need painkillers right now. She needs safety before she can make sense of anything.

Rio returns holding a bottle of water and two small cups. He sits behind Lana on the bed, sliding close until her back rests against his chest. He lifts her gently, steadying her with an arm around her ribs. She opens her eyes halfway and winces when light hits.

“Slow,” he tells her.

He tips the cup against her lips. She swallows with small, uneven gulps, breath catching between them. A little water spills from the corner of her mouth. He wipes it away with his thumb, then continues until she manages more.

When she sags against him, he wraps the cover around her body and lets her sink onto the mattress again.

I stand, and pull the curtains shut. The daylight softens into a dim glow.

Lana drifts.

Her breaths turn ragged, then settle, then turn ragged again. Her eyelids twitch with dreams I do not want her seeing. At one point she jerks awake with a strangled gasp, clutching at my wrist with surprising force.

Her pupils are wide, darting. I sit down fast and touch her shoulder.