Page 149 of Marks of Rebellion
Her eyes are closed. They briefly flutter open, but she can't seem to become coherent.
I blink hard, assessing her. The two months she's been with Carlos have damaged her. Her body is thinner, as if she hasn't been eating. Her face is stained with tears and sorrow. She has a Band-Aid on her hand, and it's covered in makeup.
Those bastards tried to camouflage her dressing. She could get an infection from that alone.
Her cheeks have more foundation over purple bruises that are peeking through.
More rage soaks my very being, and I regret not abducting Carlos so I could terrorize him before putting the bullet in his head.
Hives cover Vanessa's arms, along with fresh scratches that still slowly seep with her blood. More makeup cakes in her wounds.
"She needs a doctor," I yell to Mack, and Vanessa jumps in my arms but doesn't open her eyes.
Keep your voice soft.
"There's one on the ship. He's already waiting for you."
I hold my Flower in my arms, kissing her head and stroking her hair. I murmur over and over, "Everything is going to be okay now, Flower."
She's so broken.
How am I going to get her to come back to me?
Did he break her so badly she won't be able to return?
She whimpers quietly in my arms and doesn't stop trembling. Her forehead is hot and her face flushed.
Mack stops the car in the jungle and gets out.
"I need to clean you up so we can get on the boat, Flower."
I don't know if she hears me. Her eyes only flutter as she quietly sobs.
As gently as I can, I pull Vanessa out of the car. Mack helps me remove the wedding dress and veil from her limp body. Normally, I wouldn't let any other man touch my woman, but she isn't capable of standing, and I can't do both.
When she's only in her undergarments, Mack hands me a sponge with soap and water on it. I clean her as best as possible, and he gets the blood off the backs of her legs.
I rinse her with several bottles of water, spray her wounds with antiseptic, then put a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of yoga pants on her.
She never opens her eyes or stops crying, and my heart twists more with every moment that passes.
I've never seen her like this. She would go into her own world whenever she had a night terror or panic attack, but this is different.
Watching her from the jungle with my binoculars, day by day, I saw her deterioration. Yesterday, when she never came outside, I knew something terrible was going on.
But I never imagined this.
Mack puts a blanket down. I gently set her down and lay next to her then put my arm under her head. She curls into my chest.
I don't know if she's sleeping or awake. Her sobs become less frequent but never disappear. I try to feed her some food, but she won't eat. I put the bottle of water to her lips, but she's too incoherent to drink.
Mack takes a fresh sponge and pours water on it, and for hours I press it to her lips, hoping she is getting some hydration.
When it turns dark, we get back in the car. She stirs but still stays asleep, lost in her own world. A few times, I think I hear her whisper my name, but it's so quiet I can't be sure.
At two in the morning, Mack parks and turns. "You got everything?"
"Yes."
