She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and I patiently wait as she types before holding the device out to me.
Taking it from her, I read the words, and I clench my jaw so hard that my molars grind against each other.
17. 4 Men. 4 hours.
“Who?” I growl, my eyes snapping to hers.
She shakes her head, then she turns around and walks in the direction of the kitchen.
I look down at her phone and read the words again.
She was gang raped for four hours.
I was in the back of that cab for five to ten minutes before he threw me out onto the icy street.
Four hours. That’s a fucking eternity.
Indescribable anger pours through my veins.
I will find out who they are, and I’ll do the same to them that I did to Martim.
My phone rings, ripping me out of my thoughts. Pulling the device out of my pocket, I check the screen and see it’s John.
“What?” I answer, my tone brimming with the rage I still feel.
“Just checking how you are?”
“I’m fine. Did the trucks go out on time?” I ask.
“Yeah. So…where are you?”
We don’t have the type of work relationship where we chat about trivial things, and it has me snapping, “Get back to work!”
I end the call and shove my phone back into my pocket, then I walk to the kitchen, where I find Jenna busy chopping up vegetables.
She sniffs and uses the back of her hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks, then continues cutting a carrot.
Without saying a word, I move closer. I grab the pack of rice from where she left it on the counter, and removing a pot from the cupboard, I pour some rice into it before adding water and setting it on the stove.
“Are you okay with stir-fry?” she asks, her voice soft again.
I nod, and now that I know what we’re making, I pull a pan out of the drawer where it’s kept. I set it down before going to the pantry to get the olive oil and spices.
Jenna moves the bowl with the strips of steak closer to me, then continues with the vegetables.
As I begin to fry the meat, Jenna keeps glancing at me until I say, “You’re going to cut yourself.”
Her eyes snap down, and she pays closer attention to what she’s doing. “How’s your wound?”
“Fine.”
“When we’re done eating, I’ll take a look.”
My eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of my mouth. “Okay.”
Do we have to eat first?
JENNA
