Steele’s Redemption

Chapter 2

Jake

"You did that?"

She didn't answer. Her mouth opened, closed. Her whole body was shaking too hard to get words out.

I crouched lower, keeping my voice even. "Hey. It's okay. You don't have to answer that right now."

Behind me, Nash was already on the phone, voice low and clipped. "Ambulance, non-critical, unconscious male, possible domestic assault." He gave the address, hung up, and looked at me. "Called in anonymous. They'll be here in a few minutes."

"Good." I kept my eyes on her. "Cops'll probably follow the ambulance. You don't have to be here for that."

That got a reaction—her eyes widened, and she pushed herself up onto her knees like she meant to run again.

"Easy." I held up both hands, didn't move closer. "Nobody's making you stay. I just need to know a few things so I can help you, if you want help. That's it."

She went still, watching me the way you'd watch a dog you didn't know was friendly yet.

"Do you want to leave? Away from here, I mean."

A jerky nod.

"Do you have somewhere safe to go? Family, a friend, anywhere?"

Her breath hitched. "No. There's nowhere. I was trying to get to the bus station."

"That's three miles, and you can barely stand." I glanced at Derek's still shape on the grass again—chest rising, one leg twitching slightly. "Is he going to have people coming after you? Anybody else involved in this?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "He knows people. I don't know what he'll do."

I filed that away. Not an answer, but not nothing either.

"Do you want medical attention? I can get you to a hospital right now."

"No." Immediate, sharp. "No hospitals."

"Okay. That's your call." I kept my tone level. "I've got a shop a few minutes from here. Couch, bathroom, a door that locks. You don't have to go there. But it's warmer than a bus stop bench, and nobody's going to bother you."

She looked past me at the dark houses lining the street, every window still black. Nobody had come when she screamed. Nobody was coming now.

"Okay," she said finally.

I stood, giving her room. "Marcus has a spare helmet. He'll ride you there—I'll be right in front the whole way."

Marcus stepped up without a word, holding the helmet out at arm's length so she could take it herself. She flinched anyway when she reached for it, and he immediately backed off half a step.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's fine," she said, though her voice shook.

I swung onto my bike and waited until I heard hers settle onto the back of Marcus's before I pulled out. I checked my mirror every few blocks, making sure she was still upright, still there.

Ten minutes later we rolled into the shop's back lot. I cut the engine and was off before she'd even climbed down.

"Easy," I said, hands loose at my sides. "You're okay."

She slid off carefully, wincing when her feet hit the pavement. Marcus reached to steady her elbow on instinct, and she jerked back so hard she nearly lost her balance.

"Sorry," he said again, stepping well back this time.

"It's fine," she whispered.

I unlocked the side door and held it open. "After you."

She hesitated at the threshold, eyes moving over the dark shop floor—rows of half-finished bikes, tool chests, the smell of oil and metal.

"It's just us," I said. "Marcus and Deacon are heading out. I'll lock up behind you, if that helps."

She studied my face for a long moment, like she was deciding whether I meant it. Then she stepped inside.

I flipped on the office light and nodded toward the couch. "Sit if you want. Or don't. Your call."

She chose the couch, perching on the edge, arms wrapped tight around her ribs.

I stayed by the desk, putting space between us. "Can I ask a couple more things? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

A small nod.

"What happened tonight? Just—as much as you want to tell me."

Her eyes dropped to her hands. "He came home. I was trying to leave. He grabbed me, and I hit him with something. I don't even remember what. Then I ran."

"You did the right thing," I said. "Getting out."

She didn't answer that.

"Can I look at your face? I won't touch you without asking first."

"Okay."

I knelt in front of her, keeping distance so she could pull back if she needed to. Up close, the damage was worse than I'd first thought—bruise blooming dark across her cheekbone, swelling around one eye, the careful way she held her side like something under it might be cracked.

"This is going to sting," I said, holding up the antiseptic. "Alright if I clean the cut on your lip?"

"Okay."

She hissed when it touched but didn't pull away.

"You should get that cheek looked at. Might be nothing, might not."

"I'm fine."

"You don't have to be fine tonight."

Something flickered across her face—not quite a smile, but close to one.

I stood, grabbed a bag of ice from the mini-fridge, wrapped it in a shop rag, and handed it over without letting our fingers touch. "There's water in the fridge. Food too, if you're hungry. Bathroom's through that door."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet. I don't know what you need yet, and I'd rather ask than guess."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't know if you've got somewhere to go tomorrow, or someone I should call for you tonight. I'm not going to decide any of that without asking first."

She was quiet for a long moment. "There's no one. I don't have anywhere to go."

"Nowhere at all?"

She shook her head, and something in the gesture—small, defeated—made my jaw tighten.

"You can stay here tonight," I said. "Couch, locked door, nobody bothers you. Tomorrow we figure out what's next. That's your call, not mine."

"Why?"

"Because you asked, and because I've got the room. That's it."

She glanced at the bathroom door, then back at me. "Will you still be here? If I need something?"

"I'll be at my desk. Not going anywhere."

She disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the lock click.

I sat on the edge of the desk and dragged a hand down my face.

I didn't know her name an hour ago. I didn't know what she was running from beyond what I'd seen, or what might come looking for her here. I had guesses, and none of them were good, but guesses weren't answers—and I wasn't going to start treating them like facts.

The door opened. She came out with her face scrubbed clean, damp hair clinging to her neck.

"Better?" I asked.

"A little."

She settled onto the couch, pulling the blanket around her shoulders.

"Door locks from the inside," I said. "That's yours."

"Okay."

"You don't have to talk more tonight. If you need something, just say so."

Her eyes glistened, but she didn't cry. "Thank you. For not asking more than I could answer."

I nodded and turned back toward the desk before I said something I had no right to promise yet.

Within minutes, her breathing slowed into sleep.

I sat there a long while, running through everything I still didn't know—her name until an hour ago, what waited for her outside these walls, what I'd be asking next.

I didn't have answers. Just a locked door, and the sense that whatever came next, I'd need to keep asking instead of assuming.