Page 12 of Rugged Soul

Fuck this. I need to see her. I let her know I’d like to see the place this afternoon, as soon as possible. She sends me the address and I practically sprint out of the bar, not caring about Jett’s loud whistle as I mount my bike.

Calista said she’d meet me in an hour, which means she’s headed there now to do prep work. Good. I don’t know how much longer I can go without seeing her in person and confirming she’s okay. I’m probably just being irrational but I can’t seem to shake the thought that Calista is in danger somehow.

I lean into one turn and then another, my motorcycle and I moving as one down the winding roads. It’s a little cold out, but I don’t mind. The stinging wind against my skin suits me just fine.

The closer I get, the bigger the pit in my stomach grows. I have a sinking feeling I fucked up or something terrible happened. I squeeze the clutch and accelerate my speed, needing to get there faster. I’m annoyed I’m not there already.

Pulling up to the property, I'm so distracted I almost forget to shut off my bike before dismounting. The damn thing teeters to the side under my weight until I engage the kickstand. Calista isn't here yet, her ancient piece of shit car is nowhere in sight.

I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait. I start pacing back and forth, crossing and uncrossing my arms before shoving them in my pockets. This woman has me all wound up. My heart is racing while my head spins with possibilities of what happened over the weekend.

Nothing could prepare me for what I see when Calista pulls into the parking lot. She steps out of her vehicle and wraps her arms around her torso as if protecting herself… from me? Nothing is obviously wrong, and yet everything is off. The way she’s carrying herself, moving so delicately as if she’s sore.

I rush over to her and then stop abruptly, not sure what to say or how to help. I notice Calista has on a thick sweater with long sleeves as well as a silk scarf that doesn’t seem to match her style. I won’t claim to know anything about fashion, but it’s an odd combination for sure.

“Mr. Gabriel,” she says, her tone the same and yet totally off, like the rest of her.

“Domino,” I correct her, reaching out to take her purse and ever-present clipboard so she doesn’t have to carry anything. She seems so fragile, almost skittish, and so unlike the cheerful, energetic woman I’ve gotten to know over the last few weeks.

Calista is surprised that I'm offering to carry her things but lets me take the clipboard and giant bag she's always lugging around. The sleeves of her sweater ride up her arms, revealing angry, fingerprint-sized bruises on her wrist.

My goddamn heart stops and drops to the ground, shattering into a hundred thousand little pieces.

“Calista…” I murmur, though all I want to do is shout out a war cry to whoever hurt this precious woman.

She drops her arms to her sides and balls up the extra fabric of the sleeves in her hands, covering her arms completely and shielding herself from my view. My eyes focus on the silk scarf hanging precariously around her neck. I don’t even want to think about bruises being hidden underneath.

“Sorry,” she says, curling in on herself.

I swallow past the lump in my throat, knowing I need to speak. I need to say something, anything to get this woman to open up to me.

"There's nothing to apologize for," I finally say, keeping my voice even and calm. "Let's go inside, yeah?" I hold out a hand for her to take, unable to breathe until she slips her hand into mine.

I gently pull her closer, tucking Calista into my side and wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as we make our way to the front door. My girl leans into me, letting me support her weight. She’s exhausted through and through. I feel her sadness and fear and want nothing more than to scoop her up and demand to know who did this to her so I can end them.

Calista pauses outside the entrance, grabbing the keys from the bag I'm holding and opening the door with trembling hands. Once inside, my first priority is finding somewhere to sit and talk. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that the front half of the building is a pub-style restaurant, which is the perfect setup without having to do much work. I don't care about any of that at the moment, however. I'm just thankful to see a booth in the corner of the room.

Leading Calista over to our seats, I move the table out to give us some more room before sitting down and motioning for her to do the same. She does, though her movements are stilted as if in pain. Jesus, it’s hard to watch, especially not knowing what the hell happened.

When she’s seated next to me, I take both of her hands in one of mine, then gently push her sleeves up so I can see the extent of her wounds. The bruises around her wrists and forearms look to be a few days old, which makes me wonder when exactly this happened. It’s only been three days since our last meeting.

"Baby," I murmur, carefully tracing the greenish-brown outlines fading into her natural skin tone. Calista is looking down at her lap, shame rippling off of her. I hate seeing her like this but I have to know everything. Slowly, I move my hand from her arms up to her face, giving her plenty of time to turn away or protest. Instead, she leans into my touch when I cup her cheek. "Do you trust me?" I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her answer.

Calista inhales sharply, her eyes closing while she breathes out in a controlled manner. Much like the first day we met, I watch as this woman does a mental reset and tries to gather her thoughts. This time, however, she can’t just paste on a professional smile. I sense her scrambling to come up with an explanation, but in the end, my girl decides to tell me the truth. I see it in her emerald irises when she finally opens her eyes and meets my gaze.

“I trust you,” she murmurs.

My hand slides from her cheek down to the scarf she has loosely tied around her neck. Calista freezes but doesn’t stop me. Gently, so damn gently, I remove the fabric. Rage fills my veins when I see her swollen neck, littered with bruises and deep red marks. Someone fucking strangled her and I wasn’t there to rescue her. Swallowing down my initial reaction to go on a rampage around the goddamn city and burn it all to the ground, I manage to keep my tone even when I ask her what happened.

Calista sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. I adjust her slightly so my arm is wrapped around her waist and she's curled up against my chest. My woman buries her face into my shirt like she's ashamed or possibly scared to tell me what I need to know.

“Remember the guys from the other day? The ones who rode by on bikes?”

Every muscle in my body tenses and my vision tunnels until all I see is red. She doesn’t need to see this side of me right now. Calista needs someone to listen, someone she can rely on, and most importantly, someone to make her feel safe and protect her.

“Yes,” I grunt, a little more harshly than I intended.

“After you left the last property,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, “they showed up. I tried locking them out but he got in first. The one with the eyepatch.”

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