Page 20 of Emerald

"You thought you could break me," she said softly, her voice soft but pure steel. "Thought you could use me up and toss me aside, like I was nothing. Like I was weak."

Mikhail made a strangled noise, his eyes rolling wildly in their sockets. But Cara ignored him.

"But I am not nothing," she continued, the knife pressing harder, a thin trickle of blood welling up around the point. "I’m not weak. I am Cara fucking Maguire, and I bow to no one.” Then she ripped the knife across Mikhail's throat. A brutal, vicious slash that parted skin and muscle and artery in one sick, glorious rush of crimson.

Mikhail gurgled, his hands flying to his ruined throat. His life was pouring out of him in a steaming flood, soaking into the filthy concrete and splattering Cara's bare skin with viscous red droplets. She watched him die. Watched the light fade from his eyes, the last choked breath rattling in his chest. And as she did, as she stood there naked and trembling and drenched in her tormentor's blood, I saw something flicker to life in her eyes. Something fierce. Something defiant.

"Rot in hell, you sick fuck," she spat, letting Mikhail's corpse crumple to the ground in a heap. "I hope the devil fucks you with a rusty poker for all eternity."

And then she was turning, facing the dozen hard-eyed Irish soldiers who stood silently on, watching their Queen. Men who had seen their share of violence and brutality, but as they stared at Cara, at the slip of a girl who had endured horrors beyond imagining and come out the other side, I saw something like respect in their faces. The first stirrings of a devotion that went beyond loyalty to any man or cause.

They were looking at her like she was a goddess. Like she was vengeance and deliverance and absolution made flesh. I watched Cara square her shoulders, watched her lift her chin and meet their gazes. I knew that everything had changed.

My emerald queen was now theirs also.

Chapter 16: Cara

The journey back to the compound was a blur of pain and exhaustion, my battered body cradled against Finn's chest as he carried me out of that dank basement. He brought me home. Carried me straight to my bathroom.

He set me down on the cool marble tiles and began to strip away the blanket that someone had place over me. Finn turned on the shower, testing the temperature with the inside of his wrist before turning back to me. His eyes were soft and sad, filled with a tender sort of anguish that made my heart clench.

"Let's get you cleaned up, princess," he murmured, his brogue thicker than usual with suppressed emotion.

I let him guide me under the spray, let him take my weight when my knees buckled and threatened to give out. He washed me with infinite care, his hands gentle as he soaped away the blood and grime. He talked to me in a low, soothing rumble of Gaelic that settled over me like a balm.

When I was clean, when the water sluicing off my body finally ran clear instead of pink, Finn shut off the tap and bundled me into a fluffy towel. He dried me with the same tender care, his touch feather-light as he dabbed at the myriad cuts and abrasions littering my skin.

Then he carried me to the bed, laying me down on the soft sheets. I wanted to reach for him, to draw him down beside me and burrow into the solid warmth of his body. But exhaustion was dragging at my limbs. Finn brushed a kiss across my forehead, his lips lingering.

"Rest now, princess. The doctor will be here soon. I won't be far."

I wanted to protest, to beg him to stay. But oblivion was rising up to claim me, the events of the past hours finally catching up with merciless intensity. The last thing I saw before my eyes fluttered shut was Finn's face and I felt at peace.

I woke to the murmur of voices and the sting of antiseptic, my body throbbing with the dull, persistent ache of my broken body. I blinked groggily, trying to focus on the blurry figures hovering over me.

"There you are, princess." Finn's voice, low and soothing in my ear. "The doctor's just finishing up. You were out like a light, didn't even flinch when he stitched up the worst of it."

Stitched. Yes, I could feel them now, the tight, itchy pull of surgical thread knitting my flesh back together. How many, I wondered bleakly. How many gashes and gouges, how many tears in my most intimate places, from rough hands and vicious teeth and-

"Miss Maguire." The doctor's clipped, professional tones cut through the rising tide of panic, dragging me back to the present. "I've done what I can for the external injuries, but I'm afraid there was significant internal trauma as well. I need to do a more through exam soon, but you should heal. Physically.”

I stared at him blankly, the words taking a moment to penetrate the fog of drugs and lingering shock. When they did, when their cold, clinical meaning sank in, it felt like the floor had dropped out from under me.

"Are you saying..." My voice cracked, rusty with disuse and unshed tears. "Are you saying the internal damage means what exactly?”

The doctor's face softened, something like pity flickering in his eyes. "It's impossible to say for certain, but given the extent of the damage... conception would be very difficult. But I will know more when I am able to do a more thorough examination."

A keening noise escaped me, a wounded animal sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in my chest. Finn's arms tightened around me, his own breathing ragged and uneven. I wanted to scream. Wanted to rage and sob and fucking break something, this final, cruel twist of the knife almost worse than anything Mikhail and his brothers had done to me. They'd taken so much already, ripped away pieces of my soul that I'd never get back. And now this, this last, fundamental theft.

I had to stop. Had to become strong so this never happens to anyone else I knew. I simply nodded, numb and distant, as the doctor murmured a few more instructions to Finn before taking his leave.

Finn gathered me closer, his lips pressing against my hair. " I'm fucking sorry."

I shook my head, burrowing deeper into his embrace. "Not your fault," I mumbled, my voice muffled by his chest. "Not anyone's fault but those soulless bastards."

"I should have gotten there sooner," he whispered, self-loathing thick in his tone. "Should have torn apart the fucking world to find you before they could..."

"Stop." I pulled back to look at him, my hands framing his face. "You saved me, Finn. In every way a person can be saved. Don't you dare blame yourself for the things those animals did."

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