Page 173 of Unwrapping Deviance

A sucker isn’t going to fix what happened. It’s not going to help Mira forget those nine hours of hell. It’s not going to heal her injuries. It sure as fuck isn’t going to bring Dirk and Boyd back for me to kill so she doesn’t have to live with that in her head.

She’s in a soft, cotton hospital gown, bundled under a thin blanket. Most of the blood was washed by Dr. Hammell’s assistant, a tiny blonde who immediately went stark white when we brought Mira in. I can’t blame her. With all the blood, dirt and stench coming off her, Mira looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

She hasn’t said much. Her gaze has been latched to her filthy toes for nearly an hour and I can’t tell if she’s just tired or too traumatized to function. I’m too afraid to touch her, even to brush the matted hair off her temple.

Christian hasn’t come near her since scooping her up when we first arrived at the lodge. He’d crushed her up into his arms,held her until she stopped her deep, guttural sobbing before giving her to me. He’d climbed into the back and not said a word the entire drive back to Jefferson.

I know why she’s still and silent, but his distance bothers me. Mira doesn’t need him to pull away right now. She needs to know we’re here, no matter what.

But I can’t bring it up. Not yet.

“Baby?”

Her usually vibrant blue eyes are dull and wary lifting to my face, but it’s her face itself that catches in my chest. It’s the gash across her bottom lip, the patchwork of bruises in a deep violet explosion across the entire width of her left cheek. The swollen skin over her right eye where two thin stitches peek amongst the dried blood.

Aside from the damage to her face, skin has been shredded across her palms, along her knees. A thick, purple bruise burns bright across her ribs. Man shaped hands extend along her inner thighs.

I can’t stop staring at them, the long, blunt fingers. There had been so much blood covering her, I can’t be sure he hadn’t raped her. I know she’d been wearing panties that morning. I watched her slide into them. She’s not wearing any now.

I know I should say something. Ask even. But the prospect of triggering something she’s not ready to face has me swallowing back my words.

I’m also saved by Brewer charging into the room, having aged about fifty years since we saw him last.

“Mira.” His usually cold and hostile gaze is oddly soft ... kind as he does a once over of her sitting on the examination table. “How are you?”

How do you think she is, is on the tip of my tongue, but Mira answers quietly, “Fine, thank you. Tired. I’d like a shower.”

Brewer nods like that makes all the sense in the world. “My team and I just left the cabin.” He swipes a hand back through his gray locks. “I have no words.”

Mira bobs her head slightly. “It’s pretty awful.” She meets his gaze squarely. “Do you know any of the girls down there?”

The Sheriff shakes his head. “Might be from the towns over. Could be hitchhikers. Won’t know until we get prints and DNAs sorted. Get their families notified.”

“Can you let me know which girls don’t get to go home? I’d like to take care of their burial.”

Brewer seems as surprised as I feel, but Mira doesn’t bat an eye and the man relents with a slight inclination of his chin. “That’s kind of you.”

Mira drops her gaze back to her knees, but Brewer doesn’t leave. He shifts slightly. Glances between me and Christian before voicing the real reason he’s here.

“I know you want to go home, but I have some questions if you can spare me a few more minutes?”

It’s the kindest I’ve ever seen the man. Even before Chris and I got into trouble, Brewer was always a mean, asshole of a man. Hearing him speak so gently to Mira made me both grateful and suspicious.

“I figured,” Mira sighs.

Brewer shifts and reaches for his pen and pad from his front shirt pocket. “Can you tell us what happened the best you can remember it?”

She tugs the blanket tighter around her hunched shoulders and all I want to do is pull her into my arms, cradle her in my lap and never let her out of my sights again.

“Dirk came up behind me in the kitchen,” she mumbles to her knees. “I think Boyd was the one at the backdoor. He got Christian to follow him and Dirk grabbed me from behind. He got me in the truck. Boyd was already behind the wheel so Iguess he was a really good runner.” She scratches the tip of her nose with the corner of the blanket. “We drove for hours until we got to the lodge. Dirk tried to ... attack me in the truck. Boyd told him they were supposed to wait. Lucy told them to wait.”

Little by little, she unfurls every disgusting, infuriating moment of her captivity. She speaks calmly, evenly, like she’s relaying someone else’s experience. The detachment is understandable when she reaches the cellar.

“I guess I’m getting charged with manslaughter?”

I open my mouth, fully prepared to defend her against any charge Brewer might think of throwing at her, but the older man shakes his head slowly.

“Let’s not worry about that, okay? No one is going to fault you for anything you had to do to protect yourself.”

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