Page 78 of Operation: Defiance

“Finish it? Please?”

Tears well in her eyes. But her breathing has settled enough, it no longer feels like she’s borrowing oxygen she’ll have to repay.

I nod. “You don’t have to move. It’s only the back that needs rinsing now. My right hand is going to come up behind you to angle the water, then I’ll lift your hair one section at a time. My other hand won’t move at all.”

I wait long enough for her to nod, then get to work.

The moment the last of the shampoo is gone, I take a step back.

“That’s…enough,” she says softly. “The water is…too loud now.”

I wrench the knob so hard and fast, I’m surprised it doesn’t come off in my hand.

Passing her a towel, I peel off my wet socks and toss them in the hamper in the corner before I step out onto the mat. “I’ll get you something to put on.”

The closet is stocked with a week’s worth of my clothes, along with two pairs of sweatpants and two sweatshirts in my target’s size. They’ll be huge on Raine, but there’s no way in hell she’ll want to put those fucking scrubs back on. And she shouldn’t have to.

I add a pair of thick white socks from the dresser drawer to the top of the pile, then slide them onto the bathroom counter through the crack in the door. “These won’t be the best fitting, but they’re soft and warm. I’ll be right outside if you need help.”

Snagging another towel from the top of the closet, I strip, dry myself off in record time, and tug on a fresh pair of briefs and gray slacks.

That’s when the rage hits. I ball my hands into fists before I’m tempted to punch the wall.

Too many times, I’ve watched people start to rebuild after extreme trauma. They’re never quite the same. What Raine went through will be with her for the rest of her life.

I don’t know what scars she’ll carry. But, I know she’ll carry them.

Raine

The tile starts to cool under my feet. I try to draw my knees up to my chest, but pain flares along my ribs, forcing me to lower them again.

The towel catches on my swollen shoulder. Tears burn my eyes. Before they took me, I hadn’t cried in years. Now…I don’t know how to stop.

Dragging the back of my hand over my cheeks, I swallow hard. With every passing second, more of the comforting heat from the shower fades. I can cry when I’m warm again.

I squeeze my wet locks in the towel until they’re no longer dripping, then wrap the thick, black, cotton bath sheet around myself like a shield.

I feel a little less exposed now, and try standing. The room only tilts a little. Progress.

But after three steps, my legs are shaking so badly, I’m about to collapse.

Until I see them.

Socks.

Asher put a pair of thick, white socks on top of the folded pile of clothes.

That shouldn’t matter, but it does. More than I have language for at the moment.

I cradle them carefully as I ease myself back down onto the bench. The cotton snags on my damp, abused toes, sliding over the places cold concrete tore at until I stopped feeling anything but pain.

The second one goes on easier, and something deep inside me settles.

That’s when the words finally line up.

I hadn’t realized how much of me was braced for bare skin on freezing ground until now.

I sit with it for another breath. Two. Long enough I think my body will tolerate standing again.