59

Portia
I wake to the smell of coffee. I move, rolling onto my side, but wince and stop as soon as l do. I remember instantly why I’m sore. Everything that happened comes flooding back to me at once.
“Good morning,” Callahan says. I open my eyes. Deep orange light, the first light of morning, filters into the room washing it in its warm glow. I watch Callahan get to his feet from the armchair he was sitting on. His clothes look rumpled, his hair like he’s been running his hands through it all night.
I’m back on the island. Back in his room. In his bed.
“Morning,” I say, slow to push myself up to a seat.
“Easy.” He’s by my side in an instant, lifting me gently.
I suck in a breath and he draws back. Even the lightest touch hurts.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s okay.”
He adjusts the pillows behind my back.
“Is Nathan okay? Did anyone -”
“He’s fine. Safe. They only hit the house you were in.”
“The soldiers are dead.”
He nods.
“Alec. Is he…”
There’s a momentarily shadow that crosses his features but he hides it quickly. “He’ll be okay. Took two bullets, but nothing fatal.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.” I adjust the blankets, just wanting to feel their softness, their warmth. Almost not believing I’m here and safe. I look back up to find Callahan watching me. “Did I dream your brother in the water?”
He smiles. “No. He went in after you.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really.”
“How did my uncle know I was there at that house? That I was alone?”
“He was tipped off.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know that yet.”
I nod, look down to find I’m wearing a negligee in dusty pink. I don’t remember it, but it must have been in the things Callahan bought for me on our shopping trip. It’s meant to be sexy but with my striped, bruised skin beneath it, it falls short.
“I don’t remember coming back here,” I say. It’s true. I don’t remember much after my breakdown in the shower. The thought of that makes blood rush to my face. I’m embarrassed.
That person breaking down, that woman who couldn’t hold her own, that’s not me. I don’t lean on people. I don’t trust people. Not even him. I can’t.
And I’m embarrassed about it.
“You were pretty out of it,” he says.
It’s silent for an awkward minute and I watch him turn to the side table to pour me a cup of coffee from the small pot.
“Have you slept?” I ask.
He returns, cup in hand, eyebrows raised.
“Sleep. Did you sleep?” I repeat only to get the signature grunt as he hands me the cup. I take it. Sip the burning-hot liquid. It feels good after all that cold. The memory of the ocean, of being dumped in, sends a shiver through me. I’ve never been afraid of water. I don’t know that I am now, but I was scared then. The vastness of it. The depth. The dark.
“Cold?” He picks up the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head. Clearing it. “Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Jump into the water after me.”
“The alternative would mean you drowned,” he says like he’s confused by the question.
I know. I’ve come close to death more times than I care to remember but this one, it feels closer. More daunting. More real.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He studies me, big and silent. “I wasn’t going to let you drown, Portia.”
“You could have had him.”
“The cost was too high.”
“I wasn’t going to let you die. Period. Is that so hard to understand?”
It is.
“Besides, I’ll find him again. I’m not worried about that.”
I nod and silence falls again for a long minute. I feel him close by. Feel his eyes on me. I can’t look at him just yet though. “I’m not a whore.” I don’t know why I care if he thinks I am, but I do.
“No, you’re not. I know that.”
I look up at him. *Why did you accuse me of being one then?”
“I expected..” he shakes his head, gaze shifting away from me, forehead wrinkling, “No, that doesn’t matter.” He looks back at me. “I heard what you said. Finally.”
“What did I say?”
“It won’t hurt as much.”
I’m surprised. I guess I don’t expect to hear that. I remember the words. My words. Did I expect him to understand their meaning? Did I want him to? Why say it otherwise?
I shift my gaze away from him feeling suddenly too hot.
“Did he hurt you? Before, I mean? Did Fernando – ”
I snap my gaze back to his.
“Fernando didn’t touch me. Not like that.”
Callahan looks confused. “Then – ”
“He made me watch him hurt others, but not me,” I cut him off before he can ask the question I know he wants to ask. If not Fernando, then who? That’s what he wants to know.
I remember my uncle then. Shot. Dead. The bullet an utter surprise from the look on his face. I don’t feel anything at the memory. Not afraid. Not upset. Not relieved.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” I ask.
Again, I see confusion.
“I mean I don’t get upset… It doesn’t bother me.”
“What doesn’t bother you?”
“I watched my uncle kill my brothers. I watched Fernando kill him in turn. And I can’t tell you how many other murders I’ve seen. I don’t get upset anymore. I’m not even sure I get scared. I don’t feel anything when I see it. Even when I feel their blood splatter my skin, I feel nothing. Not an accelerated heartbeat. Not fear. Not upset. Nothing. I just… stand there and
watch.”
He grunts. Takes my coffee mug and sets it down.
I wipe a lone tear, looking down as I process. “Maybe I’m more like them than I think.” A monster.
“They were bad men, Portia. I know monsters and you are not one. Not even close.”
“I’m not so sure, Callahan.”
“Listen, you have many, many things wrong with you, but this isn’t one of them.”
His comment catches me off guard and when I look up at him, I see a corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes are bright. Opposite how dark they were on the boat. He winks and his smile stretches wide.
“Jerk.”
He shrugs as if saying ‘if the shoe fits’
I push the blanket off and it takes me a good minute to process the pain as I swing my legs too quickly off the bed.
“What are you doing? You need to stay in bed.”
“I need to pee.”
From the expression on his face, he’s surprised I’d have this human need, but then he nods. Looking like he’s on a mission, he puts his coffee cup down and bends toward me. He slides his arms underneath me to lift me up.
“Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “I draw the line at you taking me to the bathroom.”
“You could fall.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s literally two steps away.”
“Fernando did that? Put those marks on you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“But it was him?”
I nod.
“I’ll punish him for it,” he says after a long moment.
I give him a weak smile and he steps aside, giving me some space. I put my hand on the nightstand, just in case, before getting to my feet and making my way to the bathroom. I’m slow, each step painful, but nothing I can’t handle.
When I get to the bathroom and close the door, the first thing I do is look at my reflection. I want to see how bad it is. And it’s bad. There are a couple of bruises on my face but most of the damage is down my front. The marks of Fernando’s belt.
My wrists are raw, too, but I remind myself that it’s nothing compared to what could be happening to the other women right now.
I need to talk to Callahan about that. Need to figure out a way to help them.