Page 41 of Harbor (The Wanderers 3)

Today, Dario took a quick look in the scope before tugging the rope to unlock the hatch.

They were immediately assaulted with the distinct sound of a woman moaning in pain. A man hurried down the stairs, carrying her, his gaze wide and furious.

“What happened?” Dario asked as he motioned for the man to carry her into the clinic.

“Fucking militants happened,” the tall, slender man exclaimed. “What the fuck is wrong with people? I’ll never understand it.” He hurried through the living room and into the clinic.

Two more men descended behind the first. They also looked fit to kill. Their gazes never left the woman in the arms of the first man.

Maya cringed as she glanced at the woman’s face. She was beaten so badly it was hard to tell what she might have looked like before today. Her long brown hair was in a braid that hung loose and disheveled. Her face was bloody. Her eyes were swollen shut. Her lip was split in at least two places.

Maya’s heart went out to her, but bile also rose in her throat. She knew that look. She knew that pain. The anguish. The violation. Even if the militants hadn’t managed to rape her before she was rescued by these men, she would bear the scars—emotional and physical. She would forever look over her shoulder, afraid.

Maya hobbled on her good foot to follow the men into the clinic area. She stayed outside the exam room, but she could hear them as they all spoke over one another.

There were too many people in the room. Six men surrounded the woman, the three who came in with her as well as the three doctors.

Maya figured half of the reason the woman was moaning was caused by the presence of so damn many people hovering around her.

As soon as the slender man gently lay her on the hospital bed, the woman rolled to her side and pulled her knees up, holding her stomach. Broken ribs probably. Maya knew that feeling too.

“Tell me where it hurts,” Dario encouraged as he felt the woman’s pulse.

The woman didn’t answer.

“We were in the barn,” the shortest man, a blond, stated, his words as frantic as his expression. Every time Maya caught a glimpse of his face as he paced back and forth, she winced. He was scared out of his mind. “We never heard those fuckers approaching. I don’t know how they knew we had a woman, but they must have. They must have been watching for the exact moment we left her alone in the cabin and descended like fucking rabid wolves.”

“We heard her scream,” the third man with thick dark hair and darker skin said. “We ran toward the house, but by the time we got there, the men had already kicked her around pretty hard.”

“How did you get away?” Keanu asked, glancing at each of the men.

The tall slender one had his hands on his head. “I killed them. My gun was in my pocket. She was on the floor curled up in a ball in the corner of the kitchen. I knew I wouldn’t hit her with a bullet, so I pulled my gun and started shooting.”

The blond set his hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “They weren’t looking. Jed caught them off guard.”

“And you’re sure they’re dead?” Advic asked.

“Very sure,” the darker man said. “Jed didn’t shoot them once. He unloaded the weapon.”

All during this discussion, Dario was examining the woman. She continued to moan and grip her stomach while he listened to her heart and lungs before getting a closer inspection of her lip.

“She’s pregnant,” the man named Jed stated flatly.

A hush filled the room. The only sound was that of the woman whimpering.

Maya swallowed over the lump growing in her throat. Fuck. If those assholes had kicked her, and it was obvious they had…

“Okay,” Dario said. “Can you roll onto your back for me, Anastasia?”

The woman groaned as Jed and the blond helped her. They each took a hand.

“How far along do you think she is?” Dario asked calmly as he gently began to prod the woman’s stomach.

“Not sure. Eight weeks she thinks,” Jed answered. The men were calmer now. Anxious. Fidgeting. Worried about their woman.

Maya stood rooted to her spot, feeling like she was intruding but unable to move. Flashes of her own experience with militants kept running in front of her mind’s eye. She was frozen, trapped in visions of the past, unable to move or even breathe properly.

She’d seen other women like this, women who’d been caught by militants and beaten or raped or both. Usually, when Maya came upon them, they were dead. Militants liked to plunder, pillage, and leave. It was their MO. They made a statement. Their message was clear—any woman found hidden anywhere was fair game and the penalty for harboring a woman was beating and raping her. Sometimes they left her for dead. Sometimes they enslaved her.

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