As I knew firsthand, a knife at your throat definitely left an impression – with or without any cutting. But in this case, there were no cuts. I knew because I'd checked.
Chloe's hand fell away from her throat, and she gave a small whimper that turned into a sob. Instantly, I had her wrapped up in my arms, where nothing – and no one – would ever hurt her. She was crying now, softly with small, jerking movements. I held her close, whispering soothing sounds while I stroked her hair.
I hated to see her like this. My grip tightened. If I had my way, she'd never feel this way again.
For some reason, I thought of Brandy Blue. On the night she'd been attacked, she'd cried like this, too – except in Brandy's case, it had all been a lie, right down to the torn clothes and drunken low-lifes who didn't even exist.
But Chloe's attackersdidexist. They were right here.Shewas right here. I was right here. I stroked her hair and then her shoulders, wanting to keep her safe and calm.
As for me, I wasn't calm. Inside, I was thirsting for revenge.
No. Not revenge. Justice.
With Brandy, there had been no justice, because, in spite of her claims, there had been no assault – only a staged boo-hoo-fest and a partner in crime, some player-wannabee who hung with my crowd. In the end, Brandy got exactly what she wanted, thanks to crocodile tears and a secret camera, mounted above her bed.
But out here, there were no cameras, just the girl I loved, nestled against me. She was still crying, quieter now. I held her close and stroked her back.
Forget Brandy. She didn't matter. Not anymore. The girl in my arms was the girl I loved. She was theonlygirl I'd ever loved, and the only girl I would love, if things played out the way I wanted.
The night was cold, and she felt unsteady. She gave a shudder that twisted my heart.
I needed to get her away from all this – the freezing air, the scene on the lawn, the sounds of Bishop, going through the guy's pockets.
I glanced toward Chloe's house. "Let's get you inside, okay?"
With a sad sniffle, she pulled back to look up at me. "Sorry," she mumbled. "What'd you say?"
"I'm taking you inside."
She glanced at the dark sedan, still sitting in the driveway. "But what about the other guy?"
The guy in the trunk? I wasn't worried. There was a reason I kept a stash of handcuffs at the house. Every once in a while, Bishop and I ran into trouble. We kept emergency supplies, just in case.
I'd be using some of those supplies later. For what, I still didn't know. But for starters, I'd be getting some answers. However it played out, those guys would never, ever hurt Chloe again.
But I'd deal with that later, after Chloe was warm and settled and safe.
I squeezed her hand. "Don't worry." I flicked my head toward the trunk of the car. "He's not going anywhere."
Bishop walked past, carrying the guy's partner over his shoulder. "Neither is this one," Bishop said.
"Oh my God," Chloe stammered. "You sure he's not –"
"He'll be fine," Bishop said. He kept on moving, heading toward the sedan.
Chloe watched the procession in obvious shock. It was the blood. It had to be. The guy's face was dripping with it, leaving a long, dark trail along the concrete.
Eh, I'd seen worse.
But the way it looked, Chloe hadn't. She gave Bishop a nervous look. "Are you sure?"
"Trust me," he said.
From the look in Chloe's eyes, trust wasn't exactly the thing she was feeling. She turned her questioning gaze on me.
I gave her hand another squeeze. "If he says he's fine, he's fine." Of course, the guy wouldn’t be fine later, but that was better left unsaid.
In the driveway, Bishop popped the trunk and dumped the guy into it. From somewhere inside, I heard muffled thumping. Obviously, the other guy had woken up.
