Page 67 of A Bond with the Dark

“I know,” he cuts me off.

“But how?”

“I heard. Her voice carried. Let’s go,” he demands, leading me quickly to the luxury car he’s renting while here.

Together, we drive to the address Claire had texted and see the two girls hobbling down the stairs.

Scrambling out of the car, I bound over to Claire and help support Anna, who seems drugged and drunk and incoherent, yet she can walk on her own.

In a breathless rush, Dominic passes us, his eyes cold and fierce, the features of his face contorted in a fury I’ve never seen on him.

He’s kinda scary.

“Dom!” I yell as he stomps up the stairs, but he either doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care.

Claire and I help Anna stagger to the car, where I open the door and help Anna in. Claire climbs in next to Anna, lying down on Claire’s lap.

“What the fuck happened?” I ask as soon as I’m in the passenger side.

“I don’t know, dude,” Claire says, her face still pale in shock. “We were there, chilling. I was talking to a boy named Logan. Anna was doing shots in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom and came back and saw fuckface try to spike my drink.

“I fucking yelled, and he pretended like he didn’t know what I was talking about. I was fucking pissed; I went looking for Anna 'cause we were gonna leave, but she wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.” Claire lovingly looks down at Anna and strokes her white-blonde hair. “There was a locked door at the end of the hallway, and I knocked on it. All I heard were shushes and laughs, but then I heard Anna say,‘No, don’t!’I was about to kick the door in when Logan grabbed me from behind.

“I head-butted him and fucking screamed, making a scene. Someone finally opened the door, and Anna was on the bed, just like now. There were like three guys in there. Sayah—they were . . . about to gang rape her.” Claire’s chin trembles and she begins to weep.

I can’t stand to see Claire cry; when she does, it breaks anyone who witnesses it; her anguish is so profound.

“I don’t know what came over me; I started punching and screaming and pulled out my phone and told them I was gonna call the cops. The guys scattered, I grabbed her and ran, calling you on the way out.”

“Oh my gods, Claire,” I say, holding her hand. “I am so sorry.”

She grabs it as we share a silent moment of understanding.

“Do we need to take her to the hospital?” I ask, still holding her hand.

“No,” she says muzzily, letting go of my hand. “I think she needs to sleep it off. I’m ready to go back home tomorrow.”

“Me too.”

She looks out her dark window. “Where do you think Dom went?”

“I have no idea,” I say, but my mind wanders.

What’s he doing up there?

As if my question wandered up those stairs and summoned him itself, I see him coming down the stairs, taking two at a time. It’s almost inhuman how fast he moves.

As he gets closer, I can see that he’s covered in blood.

My heart falls.

He climbs in the car, and there’s a gash on his eyebrow an inch long, and horror hangs on his features.

“Oh my gods, Dominic! What the fuck happened up there?”

Throwing the car into reverse, the tires screech as he speeds us off. “Let’s just say they won’t be drugging women anymore.”

That’s all he says; the air in the car and the tension in his voice tell me he has no desire to speak of it now—or ever.

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