Page 26 of Rami

She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. Just feels nice.”

Ah, hell. He could tolerate a lot of things, but seeing her break had fucking gutted him. She didn’t need him hovering over her while she let out her trauma, but he also couldn’t leave her alone until she was steady.

He watched her pick up the bottle of shampoo, fill her palm, and work the liquid into a lather. Her movements were slow and laborious. Debris ran from her long strands, and if he broke his word and looked down, he knew he’d see brown water.

Poor thing.

He hadn’t considered the hell she’d go through after her rescue. All he’d thought about was getting her out and ending the abuse.

She was nowhere near out of this nightmare. He might have taken her away from the abusers, but the damage would linger for years. He could wipe every fucking tear from her cheeks and it wouldn’t do jack shit.

Hearing her say that cracking open her skull wouldn’t be so bad had cut him to the bone. Scared him. More than it should have. Maybe he’d just been affronted considering they’d risked everything to save her.

But no. It was more than that.

Her arm shot out to grab the wall of the shower, and he swept an arm around her waist. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just dizzy.”

Shit. She hadn’t even washed yet. “Can I give you a hand?”

A second became two. Then three. “Um, I guess.”

“Same as before. I won’t look.” He brought his hands to her hair, but seeing her reach for the wall again, he knew he had to reposition her. “Turn around and lean against me.”

Slowly, she did as he said, one arm clasped around her breasts as she met his eyes like a deer in the headlights. Christ, he hated that she was scared.

That she didn’t know he wouldn’t fucking hurt her.

Did her kidnappers?

They’d beaten, starved, and drugged her, but... Jesus, had they touched her? Red lace encircled his vision. He opened and closed his hands with the effort it took not to punch the wall.

She watched him as though she sensed he was going to spring. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He dragged his palm over his face and then eased her forward until she was plastered against the front of his body. Now his dick was really fucking confused. But at least he could save her the embarrassment of him seeing her buck-ass naked.

He brought his hands to her hair again and massaged her scalp. Her eyes closed and her lips parted, her head heavy in his hands. She pressed her palms against his sides for support.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, finally answering her. “I just—it bothers me. What they did to you.”

She opened her eyes, and the deep emeralds slammed into him. “Why?”

He jerked as if her question were a bullet. After guiding her head backward, he doused her hair under the spray and shook out the bubbles. Yup, brown.

“Why? ’Cause it was fucking wrong.”

She nodded. “I owe you a thank-you.”

Shame filled him. He squirted conditioner into his palm and coated her strands. “No, you don’t. Your sister paid us.” He didn’t hide the bite to his voice—she needed to know the circumstances. Thirty-six hours ago, he’d refused the fucking job. Numerous times. And if he hadn’t accepted, Ivy would’ve taken her last breath in that grungy camper.

He was no fucking hero.

She tilted her head to the side an inch. “Well, still. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The words came out strangled because he hated to accept her gratitude and didn’t want to talk about it another second. “Head back.”

She exposed the column of her throat, with way too much trust, and revealed more blasted bruises. He cradled the nape of her neck and rinsed the conditioner from her strands, which could probably have benefited from several rinses and repeats. Unfortunately, her stamina and his self-control didn’t have the time.

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