End of the Line by Nicky James

FIVE

Leopold

The scenery was breathtaking. There was something about traveling like this that was oddly freeing. I’d spent my whole life living on the opposite side of the spectrum with a figurative noose around my neck, and I had no idea I’d been missing something until that moment. When the train picked up speed and the landscape zoomed past—a shimmering golden field of tall grass for as far as the eye could see—I was at peace. A peace I didn’t know existed. For those tantalizing few minutes with a man who called himself Killer pressed to my side and a gang of vagabonds leaning over the other end of the train car, all my worries evaporated.

Killian tapped my arm. When I glanced in his direction, he pointed to the opposite side of my face by my ear. “Are you hurt?”

I frowned and prodded the area in question, unsure what he was talking about. I had dozens of aches and pains throughout my entire body, some from my escape and others from my encounter in the penthouse. Getting tossed around on a freight train only amplified those injuries. When I focused, nothing felt amiss around that ear.

“What do you mean?”

There was a scrape along the opposite cheek that stung from the branch I’d caught when I’d run through the trees, but nothing pained me on the other side.

“There’s blood. And you have some bruises.” Killian took my chin, angling it. His touch was gentle and caring, but I panicked.

A tsunami of adrenaline swallowed me up, and I shoved his hand away, wiping at the spot by my ear with renewed vigor, prepared to take a good layer of skin off in my effort to remove any evidence of the previous night. Flashes of heat bloomed to my cheeks and tingled along the surface of my skin.

“Hey, hey. Stop.” Killian knocked my hand away. I pushed him, but there was nowhere to escape, and he was in my face again in a heartbeat. “Stop. Jesus. Let me help.”

I froze, my heart punishing my ribcage as Killian tugged the sleeve of the hoodie he wore out from the armhole of his jacket. He wrapped it around his hand, licked the fabric, and rubbed the cuff against my cheek. “It’s dry and flaky. I thought maybe you had a cut on your ear or something. I watched you scale that fence back at the yard. That was insane. I’ve gone face-to-face with razor wire once before, and it was nasty. How are your hands?”

It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to panic and rub them on my wool coat. In my mind’s eye, they were covered in crimson, dripping and glistening like they had been in the alcove of the closed cigar bar. There had been so much blood.

Killian stopped rubbing my cheek when I didn’t respond and stared me dead in the eye. There was something fierce in that look. Determination. I got the sense Killian wasn’t the type of person who second-guessed himself often. He oozed a confidence I’d strived for my whole life and failed to achieve. His skin was weathered and tanned from too much time in the sun. A scraggly, patchy bit of facial hair showed in places along his jaw. Hazel eyes caught the morning light, reflecting a complex kaleidoscope of greens and browns. What did he see when he looked at me? Killian’s attention was so sharp and so focused I was certain he could strip me bare and find the truth.

And that was terrifying.

“Green? Are you with me? Your hands, man. Are they okay? Did you cut them up on the fence? If you did, I hope you’ve had a tetanus shot recently because that shit will mess you up.”

At the mention of the fence, the abrasions on my palms stung anew. I was getting myself in a knot over nothing. No one could possibly know what had happened at the penthouse. If there was blood on my exposed skin, it was easy enough to attribute to my frantic climb over a rusted old fence with sharp wires on the top. The rest was hidden beneath my jacket and the sports pants they’d given me to wear.

I lifted my hands and opened them, glancing down and assessing for the first time in broad daylight. Sweat prickled along my nape, despite the morning chill, and the freezing cold wind bit at my cheeks. My fingers cramped and curled inward, unwilling to open all the way.

Killian moved his focus down, took hold of my fingers when I didn’t open them wide enough, and forced them. They were a painful shade of pink, but it had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the plummeting fall temperatures and exposure.

There had been so much going on I’d barely had time to register the cold. Under Killian’s sleeping bag, I’d been toasty warm. Kneeling at the edge of the train car and watching the scenery zip by, I’d lost the scant body heat I’d managed to gain while sleeping. My fingers were numb.

“Jesus. You’re freezing. Why didn’t you say something?”

In response, as though my body was just getting the message, my teeth chattered, and a shiver rippled up my spine. However, I couldn’t be sure if it was cold or nerves because there was blood on my hands. Some was from the road-rash scrapes that had chewed my palms to shreds and left them inflamed and skinned. But it was the significant dark stains around my fingernails that bubbled my anxiety back to the surface. I’d washed in a frantic rush at the fountain, but it wasn’t enough. The blood remained.

It would never be gone.

Ever.

A sick sense of nausea roiled my gut. It wouldn’t matter how much time passed. Ten years, twenty, fifty. The bloodstain would remain from now until eternity if only on my soul.

Somehow, subconsciously, I’d known all along that I hadn’t succeeded in getting it all off at the fountain. All night I’d felt it on my hands. It burned and itched and demanded attention. It trumped all my other injuries.

It was a neon sign announcing my offense to the world.

Except Killian didn’t seem to notice. How was that possible?

He observed the razed skin on my palms, tracing the rougher parts and cringing.

“Hang on. Let me clean these up.”

He searched through his rucksack and came back with a small first aid pouch. Inside, he found individually wrapped alcohol wipes. He tore into one with his teeth and pulled the little piece of gauze from within.

“Fuck. It’s almost dried up.” Then he spat on it and smeared it around.

Before I could comment, he rubbed the newly wet wipe on my skin.

“I think you spitting on the alcohol wipe defeats the purpose of eliminating germs.”

Killian shrugged. “Nah, the alcohol will kill my germs. Now it’s wet, and it will kill the ones on your hands too. We’re all good.”

“I’m not sure it works that way.”

“Trust me. It’s fine.”

“Where did you go to med school?”

Killian’s smile was cocky. “I didn’t, but I’m a regular pro at the kids’ game Operation, so that makes me an honorary doctor.”

I didn’t know what that was.

Killian opened a second wipe, spat on it, smeared his spit around, then wiped my other hand. After, he applied ointment from a tube he said was long expired but still good, then he covered my palms in Band-Aids.

Once he was satisfied, his concern moved to the icy quality of my digits. He dug his gloves out of his jacket pockets and handed them to me. “Here. Put these on and get back under the sleeping bag for now. Once we get to the city, we’re gearing you up so you aren’t so cold.”

“What about you? Won’t your hands get cold?”

Killian patted my cheek in a playful manner, his eyes smiling. “I’ve got thick skin, my friend. Let’s take care of you right now.”

For a brief moment, a tiny flicker in time, our eyes caught, and something passed between us.

I wanted to draw Killian’s hood down. I wanted to see what lived under the surface of the man who’d rescued me without knowing a thing about me. What kind of person helped a stranger escape from a city and didn’t ask questions? Maybe it was all about the money, but there was a kindness to Killian I didn’t see in the other three. He was different, and a part of me clung to his outgoing and confident personality. If I was going to survive, if I had any chance at all of getting through the mess I’d caused, then I had the feeling I would need someone like Killian on my side.

* * *

The train slowed long before it hit the yard in Toronto. Killian had explained it would stop there for the conductor and engineer’s shift change and possibly to unload cars, but we had to be off before it arrived. Even though we were back a good number of cars, there was too high a risk of bulls catching sight of us, especially during the daytime.

Everyone wore their packs and had their masks on. Dodger was the only person sticking his head out. Killian had informed me getting off in daylight carried risks. We had to wait until the train was at a running speed and yet was far enough outside the yard we wouldn’t get tagged by the rail police. It left a small window of time for us to dismount and hide.

“When you jump, run. Ideally, the train will be at a good speed. You need to match that speed when your feet hit the ground. Got it? If you don’t, you’ll face-plant and maybe smash a few teeth out. That would be bad. Worse, you could fall under the train and die.”

“So don’t fall?”

Killian’s smile was evident even from behind the bandana covering the lower half of his face. “You’re a fast learner, Green. There’s hope for you yet.”

“Okay. We’re good. Hit the ground running, and aim for the trees,” Dodger said as he looped one leg over the edge of the car, climbing to the outside. “Don’t hesitate, or we might be seen.”

Dodger faced the direction we were going and then jumped without hesitation. I lost my stomach. When he landed and fought to gain his balance, my blood pressure skyrocketed. By some miracle, Dodger managed to stay on his feet, and once he was steady, he veered at a crouch toward the trees beyond the rails. They were a good twenty feet away but dense and would hide us well.

Tyler was already on the other side of the well and lining himself up to jump. He landed solid and followed Dodger. Did these people have no fear? How many times had they done this?

Willow mounted the side of the car and glanced back, making eye contact with me before she went. “Don’t fall, Green.” She winked, then was gone.

“Get over the edge,” Killian said, shoving me forward. “Hurry. We’re too slow. Gotta move.”

I scrambled, my shoe slipping when I looked for purchase on the ladder on the other side. My foot swung out from under me, and I caught the edge of the train as my heart jumped to my throat. Killian snagged my jacket. I secured a death grip on the edge of the car, found my feet, and turned my body. Blood whooshed in my ears. The wind stung my eyes. I still wore Killian’s gloves, but my palms were sweaty on the inside.

Once I was situated, I glanced down at the ground moving past at a fantastic rate. It was impossible. There was no way. The train felt like it was traveling too fast. I was not a stuntman. This wasn’t a movie where the hero jumped out of a moving car before it blew up and walked away unscathed. It was going to end badly.

“Go!” Killian screamed. “Get off, or I’m jumping and leaving you behind. Now, now, now!”

So I jumped and hit the ground running. The hard-packed earth beneath my feet sent a jolt up both my legs. My bruised hip screamed, and my knees tried to buckle. I stumbled, flailing my arms as my upper body seemed to go faster than my lower. When I was sure I was going to fall and envisioned shattering my teeth on the unforgiving ground, a hand grabbed my coat. It was enough of a momentum change to keep me upright.

Killian pointed, ducked, and bolted for the bushes, dragging me after him.

Never in my life had I done anything quite so terrifying. Jumping off a moving train had never been on my bucket list.

Living the life of a fugitive wasn’t either.

Deep in the copse of trees, when I’d caught up with the rest of the gang, I bent at the waist with my hands on my knees and caught my breath. My stomach flipped over, and had there been food in my belly, I would have puked. Everything trembled. Blood whooshed in my ears. My legs felt like they were made of Jell-O.

“That,” I said, panting, “was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”

Killian howled and smacked my shoulder, giving it a shake. “Oh, Green. You’re too damn cute. You think that was bad? Next time, you’ll have a pack of gear on your back, messing with your balance. You did good. I’m proud of you.”

Somewhere beyond my fear, Killian’s word sank in. I beamed at the praise if only on the inside. Coming from him, it felt important.

Killian moved aside with his friends while my poor racing heart calmed. They had a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear. Based on the few glares and hard looks from Tyler and Dodger, I assumed they weren’t on board with whatever Killian was saying. What had they called me? Dead weight? In the end, the two men moved off into the trees leaving Willow and Killian behind. Had they dumped us? Had I broken up their group?

Killian approached while Willow stood back.

“I don’t want to cause problems for you. If you have to leave me here, I understand.”

At least I’d made it to a different city.

I dug inside a pocket, intent on giving him the rest of the promised money, when he waved me off.

“Nah. We have a solid fifteen hours before we catch out. The train we want doesn’t come through until after one in the morning, so they’re going to meet up with us later. We’re going to get you outfitted to ride, but we have a hike ahead of us, so let’s get going.”

* * *

When Killian said a hike, I didn’t know that meant miles. Miles and miles and miles. Since I was the only one of the three of us not carrying a massive pack of gear, I stayed quiet, ignoring my body’s screams. I hurt. Everything hurt. I could only imagine the colorful array of bruises I would find under my clothing when I looked. The one good thing about hiking into the city from the train yard was that I’d warmed up. In fact, I was sweating under my wool jacket and had long ago returned Killian’s gloves, assuring him my fingers were no longer Popsicles.

We’d gone a fair distance. Wherever we were, traffic was thicker, and I recognized the tell-tale signs of a massive city coming to life. Cars, trucks, and busses zoomed by in both directions. Six lanes of midday travelers filled the streets. Exhaust fumes and smog hung low in the air. People on bicycles rode by. Other people traveled by foot.

I’d been to Toronto numerous times, but like Montreal, I didn’t know the city and couldn’t navigate it without Google Maps—which I no longer had access to.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we waited on a street corner for the light to change. Massive steel and concrete buildings surrounded us on all four corners, but I didn’t see a shopping center or boutique where I might outfit myself for travel.

“There’s a thrift store a few blocks from here,” Killian said, looking at his phone. “I know you probably think you’re too good for that, but it will have to do. Everything else is too far away.”

Willow tilted her phone at Killian, showing him the screen.

“Oh, good.” He pointed at Willow’s phone. “There’s an outdoor shop not too far away too. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

I must have been making a face. Willow rolled her eyes. “Get over it, pretty boy. We know how to survive on a low budget. We’ve been doing it for years. Plus, they won’t let the likes of us into the places you want to shop.”

I wanted to argue. Never in my life had I stepped foot in a thrift store. The idea was appalling. But the money I’d managed to grab at the ATM in Montreal would only go so far. I couldn’t use my bank or credit cards and leave a trail, so I held my tongue and fought the coiling disgust gnawing at my gut at the thought of purchasing used clothes.

By now, my pursuers would have already determined I’d ditched my phone. The men who’d caught up with me at the train station also knew my intention of skipping town. That had been hours ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a team of people looking for me. How bad would it be? Would they plaster my face on TV? In the newspapers? On the internet? Would they have involved the police?

“Green is paying for our meals, right?” Willow asked, glancing over her shoulder and sizing me up.

In the light of day and with her head uncovered, it was hard not to stare at Willow. I’d seen girls like her before on TV but never in real life. Her multiple piercings along with her black hair—shaved on one side—and pale complexion were fascinating. She was pretty but more than a little intimidating. In my social circle, there weren’t any people—men or women—like Willow.

I’d been walking a few paces behind the pair for a few reasons. One, I didn’t feel like I belonged. Killian and Willow seemed close. Two, I was tired, and it was harder and harder to pick up my feet. I’d slept a couple of hours on the train, but it wasn’t enough. Jetlag was still messing with my body, and the events of the previous night had zapped whatever stores of energy I had left.

When I didn’t respond, Killian flipped around, walking backward with his thumbs hooked in the shoulder straps of his ruck. He wore a knitted hat the same color as his dark jacket, but his face was more exposed than it had been for most of our ride. “Are you hungry?”

Was I?

My stomach rumbled, but my head was too messed up to think about food.

“You’ll need fuel, man. The next stretch of our journey is a long one. We’ll be living off the scraps in our packs. It would be a good time to grab a proper meal.”

“Sure.” I would try to eat.

A proper meal turned out to be McDonald’s. Killian kept eyeing me while we were standing in line as though waiting for me to object. Maybe he thought I’d have an opinion about eating in a fast-food restaurant, but I didn’t. It was nostalgic in a way. I hadn’t eaten at McDonald’s since I was seven. It was the first time and the last time, but I remembered the occasion with perfect clarity.

We’d traveled to Portugal for three weeks as a family. For once, it had been a vacation and not a business venture. I’d ended up sick on the first day and vomited nonstop for the following seventy-two hours. When my stomach had finally settled, Lina, my caregiver, took me to McDonald’s because I asked.

Mother and Father weren’t around. They’d gone off sightseeing or some nonsense. I’d seen the golden arches on the way to our hotel and had wondered what it might be like to eat there. There was probably a McDonald’s in every city and country around the world, but it was there in Portugal that I’d experienced it for the first time.

The McDonald’s where Lina had taken me had a playground, and I remembered the ball pit, the tall twirly slides, and meeting a boy named Jorge who had buzzed hair on both sides and a Mohawk down the center. He told me he was eight. My seven-year-old self thought Jorge had the coolest hair in the world, and I asked him if he’d be my best friend. He’d said yes. It was a big deal because I’d never had a best friend before.

Jorge let me touch his spikes, and they were prickly against my fingers like touching a cactus. We giggled and ran and played.

Father found out Lina had taken me to McDonald’s, and after our vacation, I never saw her again. She’d been my caregiver since I was born. A new woman named Johanna started the following week. She was a devil of a woman, and I hated her.

Despite my roiling gut, I ordered a cheeseburger Happy Meal, the same as I’d eaten sixteen years ago with Jorge on my last visit to the fast-food chain.

Willow snorted and shook her head. “That’s it, Green? That’s all you’re getting? At least get a shake. That’s not going to fill you up.”

So I ordered a large chocolate shake too.

Killian ordered a double stack super-sized something-or-other burger that was bigger than his mouth, super-sized fries, and a vanilla shake. Willow ordered a filet-o-fish—which I was certain didn’t contain an ounce of fish—fries, and a strawberry shake. When the lady behind the counter asked what toy I wanted with my Happy Meal and showed me options, my two companions burst out laughing.

I ignored them and chose the mini Transformer because screw them.

I paid for our meal as promised, and we headed off to find a seat.

It was still within the realm of the lunch hour, so the restaurant was busy, and the tables were packed. We squished into a booth at the window that overlooked the parking lot, Killian beside me and Willow across. It was adjacent to the kids’ fun zone. I thought about Jorge and Lina. I thought about how I was never allowed to eat at McDonald’s again.

The cheeseburger was the most amazing thing I’d ever tasted. I ate it slowly, savoring every bite and the memories it unearthed.

“Are you eating the pickle?” Willow asked, her face twisted in a look of disgust.

“Yes. Why? Shouldn’t I?” I glanced between her and Killian.

“No one eats the pickle,” Willow informed me.

“I do,” Killian said with his mouth stuffed full of french fries.

“But you’re disgusting. You eat anything. Our friend here doesn’t seem like the sort who’d eat a soggy McDonald’s pickle. In fact, he doesn’t look like the sort who’d eat here ever.”

I shrugged and took another bite of my burger. She had no idea about my life, so there was no point defending myself unless I was prepared to explain—which I wasn’t.

Willow ate most of her meal before shoving it aside and playing on her phone. I’d finished first and was savoring my shake while Killian destroyed every crumb on his tray. Willow stuffed her phone away, folded her fingers together, and bent them backward, cracking her knuckles in a shiver-inducing manner, then she knocked on the table. “Well, I hate to mooch food and run, but I’m going to see a friend before we leave tonight.”

“Billie?” Killian asked with his mouth so full the single word came out muffled.

Willow picked up a fry off his tray and threw it at him. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, you pig. Yes, Billie. She just got back to me.”

Killian swallowed and sucked hard on his straw to encourage his thick shake up the tube. He smacked his lips and grinned like the devil. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Then he wiggled his brows. “Be at our spot at midnight.”

“Yes, boss.” She snagged Killian’s wool hat, tearing it off his head and ruffling the mop of brown hair she’d unearthed.

“Hey. Enough, enough.” Killian laughed and shoved her away, stealing his hat back and tugging it down over his ears. “Nobody needs to see this rat’s nest. Say hi to Billie for me.”

“Yeah. Later.” Willow shouldered her pack and grabbed her tray. “Later, Green. Don’t let Killer push you around.” On her way to the door, she dumped the garbage off her tray into the waste bin and waved.

I returned my focus to Killian, wondering if he would normally have better things to do with his time than hitch himself to a floundering runaway.

I’m a fugitive now. I won’t get away with this.

He caught me staring as he stuffed another ten fries into his mouth at once, chomping away. “Still hungry?” he asked, moving his tray between us. “Go ahead. I’ll share. For real, a Happy Meal won’t hold you.”

For the second time, I caught a hint of something else in Killian’s eyes. Concern? Compassion? It was gone before I could make it out.

“I’m okay. I’m not feeling too great. I don’t want to upset my stomach.” Which was the truth. If I could keep down the small cheeseburger and kid-size fries, I’d be happy. The shake was stirring my insides, and I’d decided not to finish the rest. “I need Dolormin or something. Can we find an Apotheke?”

“A what now?”

I cringed. “A… pharmacy. Sorry.” I pressed a knuckle to my temple. “Ibuprofen? Acetaminophen? Something like that.”

“Oh. Yeah, hold on.”

Killian shoved his tray of food aside and rooted around in his rucksack. He placed a small bottle on the table. “Have at ’er. Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Riding is loud, huh? It can rattle your brain.”

“That too. I’m a little banged up.” I helped myself to two tablets before passing the bottle back. “Thank you.” I sucked hard on the straw until I had enough chocolate shake in my mouth to take the pills. I hoped it didn’t make me vomit.

Killian stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and belched as he pounded a fist to his chest.

“Your friend is right. You’re a pig.”

His grin was breathtaking. “At your service. Shall we?”

Twenty minutes later, we were lost among rows and rows of poorly marked racks in a huge warehouse-type thrift store. The fluorescent lighting hurt my eyes and buzzed at decibels I didn’t ordinarily register. Killian was right. My brain was battered. I didn’t know what we were looking for, so I let Killian be the guide. When he asked for my size, I told him. When he tore clothing off hangers and tossed the items to me, I piled them high in my arms. They smelled. My nose wrinkled of its own free will which made Killian roll his eyes. This was nothing like shopping back home. I’d never been in a store like this.

“We’ll keep it at a minimum. Something to wear and an extra set of clothes in case something happens. Layers. Always layers. Especially this time of year. Thermals are great. It will be cold at night. Ideally, we try not to get front-facing train cars because the wind will cut through you and seep into your bones, but we have to be ready for everything.”

All the items he chose were black or dark enough they passed as such. It was a long way from silk dress shirts and custom-tailored trousers.

We ended up in the footwear section, and Killian browsed a display of worn hiking boots. “What’s your size?”

“Ten and a half.”

He selected a pair and added them to the pile in my arms. “They’re an eleven. They’ll have to do. Stuff socks in the toes if they feel too big.”

I gaped. Stuff socks in the toes? Was he serious?

Killian didn’t register my shock. He glanced over my head and around the vast store before pointing to the back corner. “There. Changerooms are over that way. Let’s go.”

“I have to put them on? But aren’t we going to wash them first? They’re used.”

Killian gave me a look that told me I’d said the wrong thing. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“If you’re traveling like this, you best shed your starch, posh boy. For real. I can’t make Dodger and Tyler like you, but if you keep making comments like that, they will never warm up to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Come on.”

I assumed trying on clothes was a solo affair. In my world, most things were tailored to fit. A man would arrive, take measurements, and the clothing I wanted was delivered. Shopping for clothes in the usual sense of the word was a new experience, but I had thought changerooms were private.

Killian had a different plan. When the man working the counter at the fitting rooms showed me to a stall, Killian asked him to store his ruck behind the desk and ushered me inside, locking the door behind us.

I hugged the stack of clothing to my chest as I stared in horror. “What are you doing? I can try on clothes by myself. I don’t need an audience.”

“Whatever. Shut up. You’re clueless, Green. How are you going to know what works and what doesn’t?”

“It’s clothing. I assume it either fits or it doesn’t. I’m not incapable.”

“You even talk prissy, do you know that? I’m not incapable,” he mimicked before laughing. “It’s cute.”

“I can try on clothes myself.”

Killian ignored my protests and relieved me of all the clothing he’d picked off the racks. “Strip.”

I gawked.

Killian busied himself going through the items he’d selected. When he noticed I was still standing there like a statue, his brows rose. “Strip, pretty boy. We have other places to get to. Chop, chop.”

“Can you at least turn around?”

With a heavy sigh, Killian pointed at a pair of black cargo pants and a thermal long-sleeve shirt. “Those first.” He turned and waited with his arms crossed over his chest and legs spread. It was a stance I was familiar with. I’d run from a team of men who’d all taken that stance before.

We’re just doing our job, Leopold. You understand.

Uneasy with the whole situation, I turned away from Killian as I worked the buttons free on the front of my peacoat. I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination or reality, but the sharp scent of coppery blood hit my nose the moment it was open.

My shirt was covered.

I pulled my coat off, checking it for blood. If any was there, the dark color hid the evidence. The silk shirt was another story. A wash of heat filled my cheeks as I stared at my reflection in a mirror that hung on the wall. The blood had dried overnight. A dark, rusty stain remained, but there was no disguising what it was. My heart rate soared and pulsed in my ears. Every ounce of saliva in my mouth dried.

Fearing Killian might see, I unbuttoned the shirt as fast as I could, popping the last three when my trembling fingers couldn’t dislodge the fastenings with enough haste.

The shirt stuck to my skin and peeled away with a noise that echoed so loud in my ears I was sure everyone in the store would hear it and know. I balled the shirt and stuck it under my coat on the bench. The whole pile needed to find its way into a garbage.

I removed the pants Killian had given me to wear over top of my own clothes, folded them and set them aside. Underneath, my trousers had more than a few questionable stains, but they’d been spared the worst of it. I removed them as well and stuffed them away with the shirt.

Standing in underwear, I studied my near-naked body for the first time and gasped. I was a rainbow of purple and indigo bruises. The worst one was on my upper right thigh below my hip, but my arms and legs were mottled. Mouth agape, tears and memories from the previous night surfaced. The terror was as fresh as it had been in the penthouse, and I was sure my heart ceased beating.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell happened to you?”

I met Killian’s eyes in the mirror. He’d turned around, and the look of horror on his face said everything.