Page 68 of The Woman in the Garage

“Baby, it’s me,” I called.

There was a little whimpering sound, then a shuffling. Then, finally, the slide of the lock.

The door creaked open.

And there was Dasha.

Clutching the toilet tank lid.

There was a split second of pride that she’d been quick enough to think on her feet and grab whatever was around to defend herself with.

But then I got a look at her.

Blood was all over her chest and chin, likely having come from her nose that had dried blood all around her nostrils. Bruises were starting to form on her forehead, under her eyes, and around her throat.

I didn’t realize a growling sound escaped me until she jerked.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re alright,” I said, keeping my voice low and soft. “Can I take that lid and put it back, so I can get you out of there?”

She gave me a nod before handing me the lid.

I offered her back her purse, returned the lid, then placed a hand behind her back. “We are going to go out the front door and right into my car, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, we moved out the front door.

I did pause to lock the door, but I left all the lights on.

My main concern was to get Dasha to my place, safe, assess her injuries, fix her up, and then maybe get her story if she was up to telling it.

I—or someone else in the Family—could deal with the garage some other time.

Because this was officially no longer just a personal matter. That garage was under our protection. The owner getting attacked fell squarely in the parameters of the kind of assistance we provided.

All that could wait, though, until Dasha felt safe.

“We’re gonna go slow so I can look around, then we run,” I said, holding Dasha to my side with one arm, holding the gun as I glanced around, hyper-aware of all the places someone could hide. Lying in wait until they caught us unaware, then picking us off.

My paranoia was for nothing, though.

No one was ducked down behind the cars in the lot or hiding behind the dumpsters to the side.

It was just us.

“Okay. Now the quick part,” I said, shuffling her to the car, checking in the backseat, then pressing her into her seat before climbing in.

On the passenger side, she had her face in her hands and was crying quietly as I slid into the driver’s seat.

I wanted nothing more than to reach over, to pull her against me. But I had to get her away from the garage first.

So that was what I did, pulling out into traffic and ignoring someone who laid on their horn.

I drove down the road, pulling off into the parking lot of the local supermarket. It was well-lit and crowded, safe enough not to have to worry about any kind of ambush.

Parking in the back so no one would gape at us, I reached for Dasha.

I expected tension, but she just melted into me, letting me hold her as she purged the rest of the fear and pain. Eventually, her arms went around me, holding me tight as I stroked her hair.

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