She was sliding down the wall. Her nails scraped against it, scrambling to find a hold as her legs were going out from under her.
“Look what you made me do, you little whore. How are you supposed to talk to him like this?”
Oh fuck, that was a foot in her side. That was definitely her scream and her pain radiating through her body. But she didn’t know where that howl of rage came from.
They were standing outside the door when the first scream sounded. By the time Chase swiped the card, Kia’s scream was burning through his head. He jerked the door open and rushed into the room, tackling Harold Brockheim and throwing him away from Kia.
He’d been kicking her. Kicking her and kicking her. A red haze washed over his mind as his fist slammed into the older man’s face, knocking him across the room.
“Kia.” Chase dropped to his knees beside her.
She was huddled against the wall, blood on her face, her shoulder; her complexion was paper white, her eyes dazed and unfocused.
“No.” She coughed, a racking sound that tore through him.
“Get an ambulance!” he screamed as Cameron and Ian rushed through the door. “Get an ambulance. Ah God. Kia, baby.”
He was terrified to touch her. He’d seen Brockheim’s foot ramming into her side. God, how many times had he kicked her? How hard?
He turned and watched as Brockheim scrambled back from Khalid, the gun still in his hand. Khalid stood before him.
“I’ll kill you.” Brockheim was crying, his nose and mouth bleeding.
“Make the first shot count.” Khalid’s voice sounded demonic. “Because my shot will take off your head. And if mine doesn’t, theirs will.” He jerked his head to draw Brockheim’s attention away.
Chase, Cameron, Ian, and Drew watched him, guns drawn. And Chase wanted him dead. He wanted a piece of that bastard so fucking bad he couldn’t breathe.
But Kia. Sweet God, he moved in front of her as she reached out for him. Her face was tear-stained, sobs erupting from her chest as he gripped her hands with one of his and made certain she was shielded.
Brockheim was staring at them now in rage and panic. The gun was shaking in his hand, and Chase watched, cold, enraged, as Brockheim brought the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.
At the explosion Kia flinched and cried out.
“Chase!” She reached for him, panic filling her. “No. Chase.”
He caught her against his chest.
“Oh God, don’t be shot,” she sobbed. “Please, God, Chase, don’t be shot.”
He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m fine, baby.” He lowered his head over hers, and for the first time in too long, he felt tears fill his eyes. “I’m fine, baby. I have you.”
“Don’t be shot,” she cried hoarsely. “You can’t be.”
“No, baby. I swear.” He wanted to rock her and was too scared to. He wanted to lift her into his arms, but was terrified of the pain he might cause her.
Her hands were on his back, stroking down it. His chest. She was touching him, though he could tell it was hurting her to do so.
He could still hear the assault on Kia through that damned door, Brockheim demanding she call, and her attack. He could still feel the terror streaking through him. It was still feeding through him, growing and intensifying as she continued to sob against his chest.
Kia didn’t cry easily. And she didn’t cry like this.
“Ambulance is on its way.” Cameron hunkered down beside them, his expression somber. “So is Detective Allen.”
“She’s hurt.” Chase lifted his head to look intently at his brother. “God, Cameron. She let him hurt her, to save me.”
Just as Cameron had let their aunt hurt him to save Chase. He saw it in his brother’s eyes. Knew it in his heart.
“You killed for me,” Cameron whispered. “For me and Jaci. Because you loved us. She was watching your back, Chase, the same as you would have for her.”
Chase shook his head and looked down at her, so fragile in his arms, blood seeping from the wound on her head, her gown torn, sobs still pouring from her as she held on to him.
“I love you, Kia.” He pressed his head against hers, held her and prayed, prayed with everything inside him that he had gotten to her in time. “I love you. Ah God, baby, I love you.”
26
Dr. Sanjer didn’t let her out of the hospital that night, or even the next. Not that Kia was capable of asking to leave that first night.
Contact with the wall had somehow done more damage to Kia than Harold Brockheim had done when he attacked her outside her apartment building.
The concussion was severe enough that she had to be under constant supervision and checked hourly. Thinking was something she didn’t do well, and the pain in her head and in her ribs was excruciating.
She was aware of Chase arguing with the doctor, the nurses, though she wasn’t certain why he was arguing at first. She knew Detective Allen was there for a few minutes before Chase ran him out.
She knew Chase hadn’t left her side. He sat that night with her hand in his, barely dozing.
When she awoke the next morning she gave him the details he needed to make certain the detective had the statement. As she spoke fury darkened his eyes.
“Why didn’t you call me?” His face was in hers, his lips drawn back from his teeth as pain and anger marked his face. “Did you think I wasn’t capable of protecting you?”
He would have given his life for her, and she knew it. A part of her had always known it. She loved him with an intensity that could only come about if that love was returned.
Kia had known that. As she had felt the pain moving through her at the knowledge Brockheim just might kill her there, she knew Chase loved her. And that he would easily have tried to trade his life for hers.
“If I had done as you warned me, and not left your side, it wouldn’t have happened,” she whispered. “It was my fault, Chase. I couldn’t let him hurt you because I was stupid. Besides, would you have suspected Harold of doing something so insane? I always thought Moriah got her insanity from her mother. Margaret was always a little different. Harold was always so steady, so patient.”
He snarled, then groaned. His head dropped to the pillow by her shoulder, and she felt the tension radiating through him.
“I’m spanking you for this,” he growled, “when you’re better.”
“Ah, my reward.” She grinned, though it still hurt a bit. “I was wondering when you would get around to that.”
His chuckle was rough as he lifted his head. His fingers whispered above the bruise on her face.
“I love you.” He stared into her eyes, and she saw the truth of it. She saw all the bitter fury, the ragged pain he had felt when he burst into that room and saw her on the floor. She knew, because she knew how she would have felt. And she couldn’t have borne knowing he had been hurt so severely.
“I love you,” she whispered back. “But we really need to begin discussing events concerning Moriah Brockheim. You should have told me, Chase. Perhaps I would have understood more.”
He shook his head. “Steel fucking spine,” he whispered.
A frown snapped between her brow. That was what her father was always muttering to her mother. It couldn’t be a good thing.
“Is that a compliment or an insult?” she demanded, despite the lethargy stealing over her again.
“Hell, I think it’s both.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips gently. “Go to sleep, baby. You’re going to need your strength when you get out of here.”
“Don’t leave me,” she sighed. She was slipping away, the drugs they were giving her for the pain taking hold of her senses.
Her hand tightened on his. Chase laced his fingers with hers and brought them to his lips.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not even for a second.”