Page 57 of Corrupt Vows

“Where? What hurts?” I ask.

“My head.”

“What kind of pain? Where in your head?” Doctor Hennessy takes over.

“Behind my eyes.”

“Are you dizzy?” he asks.

“Yes.”

She hisses when he runs his fingers over her scalp.

“Contusion on her right side. Fluids, ice, and acetaminophen, stat,” he says to the nurse.

“Do you hurt anywhere else?” I ask.

“No,” she responds.

Her fingers ooze blood and her jeans gape open, but she slips in and out of a doze, only responding when someone touches her head or face. In a flurry of coordinated chaos, the medical team takes her vitals, gives her a quick head-to-toe check for obvious injuries, and coaxes her to swallow some pills.

When the nurse cleans the crook of her arm and inserts the IV, she turns her face to mine and squints at me for the briefest of moments.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs.

“Don’t lie to me,principessa.”

She scrunches her brow but hisses in pain and stops.

“I didn’t hit that hard. I never blacked out,” she continues, but her voice lacks its normal strength.

“Yeah, well, let the doc take care of you anyway,” I insist.

She sighs and murmurs an apology before falling asleep. My heart lurches in my chest, but Hennessy pats my shoulder and assures me she’s just resting.

When the nurse brings a gown, I take it from her and snarl for everyone but her to leave the room.

“Do you want us to check for sexual assault?” Doctor Hennessy asks.

“No,” I snarl.

He nods and shuts the door behind him. I recall the nurse’s face from the night shift when we cleared the warehouse. She gathers supplies for a sponge bath before waiting on the other side of the bed with the slightest trace of concern on her face. Her efficiency and compassion are the only reason I allowed her to stay in the room.

We work together with no need to exchange words. I lift and undress while she cleans and clothes. Bruises color Serenity’s shoulder, hip, knees, and elbows.

Miaprincipessafought so hard. Her screams and the sounds of struggle I heard over the phone echo in my ears.

I should have gotten to her faster. She should never have been in danger. I should have demanded her guards go with her everywhere, including her classroom, instead of agreeing to limit them to the hall.

Serenity jerks when the nurse pours water over her hand, but I keep her wrist poised above the bedpan. After an efficient inspection and cleaning, the nurse bandages her fingertips and gathers all the used supplies as I wash my hands and take off my stained button down. My white undershirt smells of acrid stress sweat and violence despite me taking a shower less than three hours ago, so I send Ermanno a text as I stride across the room.

“Doctor Hennessy will be in to check on you in a few minutes,” the nurse says before leaving.

I pull the chair from the table to Serenity’s bedside and wrap my hand around her forearm. She’s too delicate. My heart aches as my adrenaline fades and memories rise. I replay the terrifying moments from when she answered my call to now. My mind weaves older nightmares into the mix. Natalie’s arms were much smaller than Serenity’s are now, but compared to my hands, she seems just as fragile as my infant sister.

I push the musings aside and weave my fingers into hers.

She’s fine. She’ll be okay.

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