She doesn’t look at me. “Naomi.”
I chew on a million questions, but only ask one. “Got anywhere to go?”
A slight shake of her head, eyes downcast.
“Can you look at me?”
She turns her head slightly toward me and meets my eyes. “Yes sir?”
The “sir” bugs the shit out of me, but I’ve gotta take this fucked-up situation one step at a time. Right now, that’s the least of my worries.
I reach out a hand, slowly. “I’m gonna see if you’ve got a broken nose. Okay?” She pulls away, a sharp, abrupt movement, and I drop my hand. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
She lifts her shoulders, turtling. “It’s not broken. I’m okay.”
I bark a huff of laughter. “Darlin’, you’re far from okay. But if you say it ain’t broken, I’ll believe you.” I glance at her midsection. “The ribs?”
Another shake of her head. “Fine.”
“Not fine.” I frown in her direction. “Take a deep breath.”
She glances at me, as if assessing, and then I sense resignation in her. She sucks in a breath, but can’t fill her lungs all the way before her breath hitches, and she breaks off the inhalation with a soft cry of pain.
“Cracked, at least,” I say.
“No doctors. No hospital. Please.” Her voice is soft, but desperate.
“Why?”
A roll of her shoulders, a shake of her head.
I growl in annoyance. “I’ve got no problem avoiding a hospital, but I gotta know why.”
“They’ll take me away. Put me in jail.”
I frown. “What? Why? What’d you do?”
She looks at me in confusion. “They’re filled with sinful men of the world. They’ll take advantage of me. Take me away.”
I growl again. “That’s horse shit, Naomi. Lies they told you to keep you prisoner.” I glance at her. “Whoevertheyis.”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in this car with you.”
“You’d rather go back?” I ask, frustration creeping into my voice. “I can turn around and bring you back there.”
The terror in her eyes at this suggestion breaks something inside me. “No! Please. No. Please, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned you.” She shrinks against the window, shaking all over, as if I’d lifted my fist toward her.
“Hey, whoa.” I glance at her, trying to soften my tone. “I told you I won’t hurt you.”
“It’s my place.”
I snap my head around. “Yourplace? To be hurt?”
A shake of her head—this one means she can’t possibly explain it to me, and can’t even try.
“Jesus, Naomi.”
“You take the Lord’s name in vain rather liberally, Mr. Silas.”
