Page 3 of In The Trenches (Owens Protective Services)

Rolling my head to the side, I saw Art staring intently at me before shutting the door and walking around the car. I closed my eyes, just wanting to go to sleep, until I heard him speak.

“I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

“No,” I said as urgently as I could. “Don’t. No hospital,” I croaked out.

“What? Beth, you need to see a doctor.”

But I knew if I went to the hospital, I would never be safe. Art didn’t know it, but he not only saved my life tonight, he saved me from something worse than death. Reaching across the seat with my uninjured arm, I used every ounce of strength left in me to plead with him.

“Art…take me home,” I gasped.

“You’re in no condition—”

“Please,” I begged, staring at him through my rapidly swelling eye. He watched me for a moment, and something in my voice must have gotten through to him.

He started the car and sighed. “Where am I taking you?”

“The…Fairfield Apartments,” I wheezed.

His brows pinched for a second, before he shook his head. They were basically slums. No one dared go there unless they absolutely had to. And I absolutely had to. It was the only place I could rent in cash.

We drove quickly through the streets, neither of us saying a word. I drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of anything going on around me. I squinted at the overhead light in the car and realized we stopped. Art came around to my side and helped me out, putting his arm around me as I struggled to reach my apartment complex.

“My purse,” I mumbled, just now realizing that it didn’t matter if he took me here or not. I couldn’t get in.

“I’ve got it. Where are your keys?”

“Pocket,” I answered, swaying on my feet as he released me just long enough to grab my keys. He quickly caught me and hauled me up against his body as he shoved the key in the lock, only for the door to creak open. I could practically feel the anger coming off him as he realized just how shitty this place was.

“Which apartment is yours?”

“1A,” I answered, thankful that we didn’t have that much further to go.

He nodded and got me down the hall, then opened the door and helped me inside to the couch. Sighing in relief, I allowed myself a minute to catalog just how bad my injuries were. I wouldn’t make it far in my condition. One look down at the way my arm hung limply at my side, and I knew I had dislocated it.

Art sat down on the rickety coffee table across from me and leaned forward. “Let’s check out the damage.”

I closed my eyes as he shifted the hair from the side of my head and sucked in a breath. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” His fingers prodded at my head. “How bad does your head hurt?”

“Pounding,” I responded, unable to say more than that. My stomach was still churning from all the pain, but I kept taking deep breaths to ward off the nausea.

He let out a deep sigh and started to unbutton my coat. “I’m going to check out your arm. Do you think you can help me with your coat?”

I nodded and allowed him to shift his arm behind me and help me sit upright. I pulled my right arm out of the sleeve, wincing when he slid the other sleeve off my limp arm. His face crinkled as he looked at my shoulder.

“You need to have that set.”

“Can you do it?”

He shook his head. “Beth, I’m not a doctor. We need to take you to a hospital.”

“No,” I said firmly, pushing aside the pain long enough to remind myself what was at stake. “I can’t.”

“If you don’t have insurance—”

“It’s not about that,” I said weakly. “I…” Against my will, tears leaked from the corners of my eyes and I quickly swiped them away.

“Are you in trouble?”

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