Page 99 of Innocent Intentions

Margot flinches at the sight of him. Her breathing hitches, and she presses deeper into my chest for protection.

She flinches.

Margot’s never been afraid. Her fear crushes me.

This isn’t my spitfire.

Roman freezes. He doesn’t move any closer, just crouches at a distance, and sets the clothes beside us.

“It’s okay, Margot,” he says softly. “I’m Roman, Matthias’s brother. I’m not going to hurt you.” He gestures to the sweatshirt. “I just wanted to give you something warm to wear. You don’t need to be in that anymore.”

I don’t know this Roman. This caring Roman. But I’m grateful for him.

Margot doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.

Then, slowly, she looks down at herself. At the blood smeared across her skin. At the torn fabric clinging to her. And reality sinks in.

Before she can spiral, I gently lift her chin again. “Remember, eyes on me, sweet girl.”

She obeys, blinking up at me like she’s trying to process everything.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

She nods, just barely, but it’s enough to make my chest ache.

I grab the towel and begin wiping away the blood. Roman disappears into the house and returns with a wet cloth and a first aid kit before stepping back, giving us space. I clean her off the best I can, each wipe over her skin making me sicker. Then I slip the sweatshirt over her head and pull her hands through the sleeves.

I hate having to ask this next question, but I have to. I need to know.

“Sweetheart,” my voice is raw, barely audible. “Did they… did they touch you anywhere else? Did they hurt you?”

I’m praying to every higher power that I arrived in time. That she didn’t endure anything worse than what I saw.

She swallows hard. Then, wordlessly, she lifts her wrists.

Bruises.

Dark, ugly, large bruises mar her delicate skin. Purple, what was once so beautifully pale.

Rage fills me so suddenly, my vision blurs. My grip tightens around her fingers.

I will make them pay.

I press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. A silent promise. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

When she’s as ready as can be, I scoop her up and carry her outside.

The second I open the passenger door, Benny launches himself out of the car. He’s all over her, sniffing every inch of her body, whining, circling, protecting. He stops at her wrists and licks them, his way of trying to make her better.

For the first time since I found her, I see a flicker of something real.

A small, weak smile.

It’s barely visible, but it’s there.

My heart finally starts beating again.

I place her in the seat and round the car. I take a deep breath before getting into the driver’s seat. My hands grip the wheel, but I don’t move.

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