Page 44 of Ruthless Possession
"We're almost there," I tell her, squeezing her hand gently. "The doctor will check you over, and then we can figure out what happens next."
Trenton and Matthew flank us, their expressions a mirror of protective determination. Neither has left my side since we arrived, not even when the police tried to separate us for questioning. The club's reputation has its uses as officers who might have insisted on procedure seem willing to bend rules when Greyson speaks to them.
"She'll need blood work," the nurse tells us as we reach the pediatric wing. "Standard procedure for cases like this."
Charlie's eyes widen, filling with tears. "Do I have to?"
I crouch down beside her, brushing hair from her forehead. "It might sting a little, but it will be over fast. I'll stay right here with you."
They usher us into a private room, and a doctor appears, a woman with kind eyes and a gentle voice who explains each step before she takes it. When the nurse arrives with the blood draw kit, Charlie's breathing quickens.
"I don't want to," she whispers, tears spilling over. "Please."
Before I can respond, her small hands reach out, not to me, but to Trenton and Matthew. "Will you hold me?"
The request catches us all by surprise. Trenton recovers first, moving to the other side of the examination table while Matthew takes position near Charlie's head.
"Of course we will," Trenton says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "I'll hold this hand, and Matt will hold the other. You can squeeze as hard as you need to."
Charlie nods, her eyes fixed on them with complete trust. The nurse prepares her arm while Matthew tells her a story about a time he got lost in the woods as a child and how brave she's being now. Trenton's large hand engulfs Charlie's smaller one, his thumb tracing calming circles on her wrist.
When the needle goes in, Charlie doesn't make a sound, but her eyes squeeze shut and she pulls their hands up close against her chest, holding on. My heart swells watching them, these two dangerous men reduced to tender protectors by one small child's need.
"You did so well," I tell her when it's over, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so proud of you."
Charlie's eyes drift closed, exhaustion finally claiming her after the adrenaline of the day. We step back to let the medical staff finish their work, the three of us forming a silent wall between her and the world.
"Morgan." Greyson appears in the doorway, his voice low. "We need to talk."
We move to the hallway, careful to stay within sight of Charlie's room. Greyson looks grim, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
"Social services are on their way," he says. "Standard procedure when a child is found in these circumstances."
"No." The word slices through the corridor, sharper than I meant it to. My thoughts snag on the worst of it: social services show up, they take Charlie away, foster care, paperwork, a system that can't protect her from her father. "We can't let them take her."
Greyson's expression darkens. "It's not that simple, Morgan. The law?—"
"The law can go to hell," Trenton growls, voice low and dangerous. "That kid just found someone she trusts. She's been through hell."
Matthew steps closer, urgency in his eyes. "We need to call Isaac. He'll know people who can help."
I'm already pulling out my phone. On the first ring, my father's gruff voice answers, worry edging his tone. "Dad, we found Charlie," I say. "But social services are on their way. We need help."
"I'm already here," Dad replies. "Ethan's with me. We'll be at the pediatric wing in five minutes."
True to his word, ten minutes later I look up to see my father's broad frame at the end of the hallway, Ethan at his side. Behind them, Greyson and half a dozen club members form a wall of leather jackets and silent determination. A hush falls over the nurses and aides within sight.
"Room 307," I say, pointing down the hall. "The doctor's still with her."
Dad nods, lines of grim purpose etched across his weathered face. "Ethan knows the head of Child Protective Services. We've made calls already."
A woman in a gray suit steps out from behind the nurses' station, clipboard clutched in one hand. Her eyes widen at the imposing group before her, but her voice remains professional. "I'm looking for Charlotte Harris."
Dad murmurs, "Stay with the girl. We'll handle this." I slip back toward the door marked 307.
Inside, Charlie lies on the bed in a half dream, her breathing uneven. The doctor closes her chart and offers me a sympathetic look. "Physically, she's malnourished, but otherwise healthy," she says softly. "Mentally… that will take time."
I settle onto the edge of the bed and brush a stray lock of hair from Charlie's forehead. "She's been through trauma," I tell the doctor. "But she's strong."
