Page 22 of Break

“So, what brought us here today? I saw her arm in a sling. I’m sure it’s safe to assume that shit hit the fan last night?” I’m eager to move past Olson’s blunder and get the information we need so we can get this woman situated today.

Leaning over the table, he opens the file in front of him. “Right. The victim came to the station yesterday to file yetanotherreport, photos and journal in hand as proof, and was once again shut down by Olson. We don’t have all the evidence yet, but we’re fairly certain that Olson called her husband and informed him of this. He confronted her last night and their fight escalated quickly. She fled the house and was found walking down the road by a concerned driver, who drove her to the emergency room. There, she was treated for multiple bruises, a minor concussion, and a dislocated shoulder. This, along with a massive amount of documentation provided by her-”

“What documentation?” I cut in, taking notes as he lists out the details.

Growling softly, Coop clenches his jaw. “She brought an entire folder filled with detailed journal entries where she’s described every physical altercation between the two of them. Along with hundreds of photos depicting bruises, cuts, and fucking handprints all over her body. She’s been trying to get out of this situation for a while, and thankfully, built the case against him for herself.”

“Why didn’t she just leave?” Ethan asks. I know he’s asking out of curiosity, and in no way judging her, but it immediately pisses me off.

Snapping at him, I bite out, “Not everyone knows they can leave or how to do it. Rarely does this kind of abuse not include verbal and emotional with it. These types of men start with making a woman dependent on them both financially and emotionally, convincing them they can’t do better or can’t survive on their own. They’re completely stripped of their independence and self-worth. They’re pushed to their breaking point, and the abuser hooks them back in with a ‘good day’. They promise they’ll do better, showing them affection or love that seems to come with no strings attached, until the victim feels safe. Then the cycle begins again, each time escalating and pushing against that new line that’s been set.”

“Max,” Coop says, gently calling my attention to him, but I ignore it and keep my glare fixed on my friend.

Ethan holds his hands up in a placating manner. “I meant nothing by my question. I’m just trying to get the full picture here.”

“It’s a fair question, and Max’s explanation is basically what we’re looking at here. She’s never been allowed to be on her own, and her husband fostered a co-dependency on her. But her fear of him has her backing up against the wall. This man is fucking dangerous, guys. I’ve got some officers out looking for him, but right now we’ve got to get her someplace safe where he won’t be able to find her.”

Coop taps his fingers on the table, thinking, then adds, “You know the system takes forever and right now we’ve only got her written words against whatever his excuses are. The photos help a lot, but he doesn’t have much of a rap sheet, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s able to get out on bond instead of being held. I’ve been around long enough to know when we’re dealing with an individual who’s going to have a problem staying away and accepting that she’s leaving him.”

Jerking my head sharply down, I show him I hear what he’s saying. “Alright, let’s go meet her and see what we can do, yeah?”

Snatching the folder up from the table, Coop leads the two of us out into the hall, holding the door so we can step inside in front of him.

Ethan mutters “Fuck” at the same time as my eyes widen. The woman sitting before us is the same one that we ran into outside the precinct yesterday afternoon, and she looks like she’s been run over by a fucking truck.

Chapter 11

History

Ethan

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Shock is emanating from Max in waves as he stares at the woman we stood in front of less than twenty-four hours ago. She’s battered, bruised, and fucking terrified as she looks back and forth between the two of us.

I know I can come across as intimidating with how I look, standing at 6’4”, bearded, tattooed, pierced, and rough around the edges. It probably played into how she reacted to having her path blocked by us yesterday, so I drop my shoulders slightly to look less… well,big.

Max steps forward, drawing her attention to him. Then stops when he sees how she sits up straighter in her chair, leaning her body backwards as far as the chair will allow her. Standing a couple inches shorter, and slightly leaner, I would have expected her to be more comfortable speaking with him rather than me. That doesn’t seem to be the case here. If anything, Max’s presence is more upsetting to her if the noise of her crunching water bottle indicates anything. She’s holding it between her right hand and the table, trembling fingers fighting to separate the label from the glue.

Her face is mottled with bruising, one of her eyes partially swollen shut, a deep purple bruise changing the color of her lower lip. I wince when she bites down on it, flinches, then licks away the pain. She’s dressed in puke-green hospital scrubs, which leaves the arm she has wrapped up in a sling, bare. Giving us a front-row seat to finger-length bruising spanning from wrist to upper arm. The bruises disappear under the hem of her sleeve, but I know if she were to pull it up, they would continue winding their way around her arm.

Max holds his hands out to show that he’s not going to surprise her with anything and slides into the seat on the opposite side of the table. The screeching of the feet as he adjusts his chair is grating, but only lasts for a moment. “It’s nice to see you again, ma’am, although I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m Max and this-”

Coop clears his throat and interrupts him, ignoring Max’s scowl. “This is Max Bennett, owner of a company called Breaking Barriers, and his co-worker, Ethan Riley. They’re the ones we told you about,” he says to the woman who still hasn’t taken her eyes off Max. “Guys, this is-”

“Is this a joke?” Her voice is soft, lower than I had expected, and filled with a wavering tremor and brimming with accusation. She turns her face toward Trina, who’s sitting next to her with a look of confusion and a hint of betrayal.

“Mi-” Trina starts to ask, but we’re all shocked when this battered woman slams her hand down on the tabletop to stop her.

“NO!No… I thought-” Her voice cracks, and she audibly swallows her emotions down. “Why are they here? Were you all just messing with me?”

Coop squats down on the other side of her to speak to her at eye-level. “Of course we aren’t. We’re doing everything we can to help and get you into a place where you’ll be safe and protected,” he explains to her, but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe him.

Shoving herself away from the table, her chair clatters backwards and she cries out when she unintentionally uses her injured arm. Gripping her shoulder, she stands away from everyone and squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s a joke. It’s all just a terribly mean and twisted joke, right?” Snapping her eyes open, she focuses on Coop, who’s standing back up at his full height, clearly uneasy with her reaction.

“There’s no joke going on here, sweetheart. I swear to you. Will you sit down so we can try to work through this?” he begs her.

Shaking my head at Coop, I fight back an eyeroll. This woman has clearly been traumatized by the events of last night and whatever the hell she’s been going through for God knows how long. He should have brought in a counselor to help ease her through the transition of bringing in new people hours after she left the hospital.

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