Page 59 of The Keeper

The detective’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing there was more I wasn’t saying. But before he could press further, my mother intervened.

“No more,” she stated firmly. “My daughter needs medical attention.”

He gave a reluctant nod. “Of course. Here’s my card if you need to reach me. Once we get an ID on the man inside, we’ll likely need you to come to the station for a formal statement. We’ll be in touch as soon as we have an update.”

After what felt like an eternity later, he walked away, and I exhaled a breath of relief. The sick feeling in my gut was growing worse by the second, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about Dane and the club.

Not yet.

Not until I understood what was going on.

My mother helped me to my feet, wrapping her arm around my waist as we made our way to her car. The familiar scent of her perfume mixed with the sharp tang of the antiseptic they’d used to clean my skin, heightening my sense of disorientation.

The drive passed in a blur. I stared out the window, watching as the sun crept over the horizon and the city came to life. It seemed unfair that the world was operating as if it were business as usual when my own felt like it had just been hit by a meteor.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” she murmured as we pulled intothe driveway behind Dane’s motorcycle, her voice tight with barely contained emotion. “Then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

I shook my head slowly. “I can’t let Avery see me like this.”

Her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. “I know, sweetheart,” she said gently. “That’s why we’re going to my house first.”

The home had been built in the 1930s. My grandfather grew up in it, followed by my mother and, eventually, me. It was the place of some of my happiest childhood memories, but even the familiar comfort of home couldn’t chase away the ice that had taken up residence deep in my bones.

She helped me upstairs to my old bedroom while she ran a bath. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the sheer voile curtains hanging above the windows. The crimson was the same color as the blood on my jacket…

“Amelia, honey?” My mom’s voice drifted through the fog in my mind, and I blinked, slowly coming back to reality. “Tub’s ready.”

It felt like I’d only been sitting for seconds, but given her worried expression, it must have been longer. I let her usher me into the bathroom, feeling numb—disconnected from my own body.

“I’ll find you something clean to wear,” she said, her movements gentle but purposeful as she removed my torn jacket before directing me to raise my arms overhead. She peeled off my blood-stained sports bra before sucking in a sharp breath.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinched. A stranger stared back at me, her cheek swollen and eyes haunted. Dark bruises bloomed across my breasts and belly, and I looked away quickly, unable to face the broken woman I’d become.

She reached for the drawstring on my pants before pausing. “Do we need to go to the hospital…for a kit?”

“A kit?” I echoed with a frown.

“Baby, did they rape you?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “He tried, but Derek stopped him before…” My voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Relief flashed across my mother’s face, immediately replaced by concern. She helped me out of my pants and into the steaming tub. Thewarm water stung against my bruised skin, but I welcomed the pain. It was proof I was still alive.

To my surprise, instead of leaving, Mom knelt beside the tub. She dipped a washcloth into the water and began gently cleaning the dried blood and flour from my face and neck.

“You don’t have to do this,” I mumbled, embarrassed by my helplessness.

She gave me a watery smile. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just this once.”

The tenderness of her touch broke something inside me, and I started to cry again, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. For a moment, I was a little girl again, safe in my mother’s arms. But the illusion shattered as pain flared across my bruised ribs.

“You’re safe now,” she murmured, a tear sliding down her cheek and into the water. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

I felt raw, exposed in a way that went beyond my naked body. All my carefully constructed walls had crumbled, leaving me as vulnerable as a newborn.

An anguished sob tore from my throat, followed by another and another until I was weeping uncontrollably. My mother held me as I cried, murmuring soft words of comfort and love as she washed away the last traces of blood.

When she was finished, she helped me into an old T-shirt and sweatpants of hers that were soft with age before leading me downstairs to the kitchen.

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