Before You Knew Me

Chapter 10

ELARA POV

I finished the last sip of juice. It was warm and sour on my tongue, but I swallowed it anyway. For the first time in hours, my head felt clear. More like me.

Daniel had come in a few minutes earlier. No words, just the painkillers the doctor left and the antibiotic, set down on the tray next to me. I took them both with that last sip.

I couldn't stay like this.

The tray had dried blood crusted on the edge of it. My blood. I shoved it away. I needed to feel clean. I needed to not smell like fear anymore.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. White-hot pain lanced up my bad leg. I knew I wasn't supposed to move. I knew I should be lying still. But I couldn't lie here all day marinating in it.

I pushed up, balancing on my good leg. My other leg hovered, throbbing. How was I supposed to get to the door? Where was all that survival adrenaline now when I actually needed to pee and get this off me?

I pressed my back to the wall and shuffled. Stubborn as a mule — that's what Dad always called me. I refused to call for Daniel. I don't trust him. No matter how safe his arms felt, I don't trust him.

I took one more step, my palm sweating against the paint, and my balance just left me.

I went down hard. My hands shot out to break the fall, my injured leg jerked up on instinct. I hit the floor with a dull thud and just sat there, breathing hard through my teeth.

"Really? Now you're going to fail me?" I hissed at my own body.

I froze. Listened.

No footsteps. He didn't hear me. Good! I nodded in reassurance and congratulations for not drawing attention.

So I started to drag myself. Backward, on my butt, using my hands, like a beached mermaid. The floor was freezing cold against my skin.

It took forever, but I made it to the door. I reached up for the handle. My hand slipped, slick with sweat. I tried again. Slipped again.

"Come on, come on," I whispered, angry at my own fingers, trying to force them to close around the handle.

I reached a third time — and the door opened from the other side on its own.

I looked up.

Daniel. He filled the small c***k between the wall and the door , a towering shadow looking down at me on the floor.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, stern I could see a faint smile tug at the side of his cheek . But more Worried-trying-to-sound-angry. "I told you to call me if you needed anything."

He slipped through the small gap and shut the door behind him, and then he did the last thing I expected.

He crouched, slid one arm under my knees and the other around my back, and lifted me. Bridal-style. Like I weighed nothing.

I gasped and grabbed onto his shirt without thinking.

I was suddenly so aware of everything — how warm his chest was against my cheek, how effortlessly strong his arms were, how careful he was to keep my bad leg from bumping anything. I felt embarrassed and small and... safe. And I hated that I liked feeling safe with him.

"Tell me what you need to do," he said quietly, his eyes on mine.

My brain short-circuited. "U-uhm... I... I needed the bathroom. And a shower. Please."

He didn't answer. He just carried me out into the hall, two doors down to the right, and into the bathroom. He set me down gently so I was standing on my good leg, one hand hovering at my waist to steady me.

Then his hands moved to the waistband of my pants.

"What are you doing?!" I snapped, flinching back.

"Helping you," he said like it was obvious.

"No, it's okay, I can do this part myself!" My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. I was wobbling, but I was standing.

He understood instantly. He turned his back to me completely.

"I'll be right outside. When you're done, call me. I'll run the bath. You can't get that leg wet," he said, and walked out.

My hands were shaking. The pants were tighter than I remembered — every tug sent pain up my leg. I finally sat, did what I needed to do, just trying to breathe and not feel so exposed.

I flushed. The door opened a second later — too fast. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder.

I hadn't pulled my pants up. They were around my ankles. I was standing there in my underwear and that disgusting, blood-stiff shirt.

His eyes met mine, then dropped for a fraction of a second to my legs, to all the bruises blooming there. He looked away instantly, his jaw clenching like he was angry at himself.

He dropped the bag and without looking at me, he lifted me onto the counter to sit. He knelt to draw the bath, his back to me the whole time.

"Clothes in the bag. Not sure about the sizes," he muttered, testing the water. Then he pulled out waterproof plasters and knelt to wrap my leg. His hands were steady, but I saw it — a sharp inhale when he bent too far, his free hand pressing briefly to his own side, right under his ribs.

"How are you even standing?" I whispered. "You were stabbed."

"It's normal for me," he said, focused on the plaster. "I've felt worse." His voice was tight.

The bath was ready. He lifted me off the counter again, and I saw him hesitate — wanting to help me with the rest, but stopping himself.

"Call if you need me," he said, and left, closing the door softly.

I leaned against the cold counter, tore that blood-soaked shirt off and threw it across the room. Then the rest.

There was a grab bar on the wall. Thank Goodness. I used it to lower myself in, laying flat, my injured leg propped up out of the water on the edge of the tub.

The second I sank in, the water changed.

A pale red cloud bloomed around me, swirling. All the dried blood lifting off my skin in the hot water. The heat stung every scratch, every cut.

That was it. That broke me.

I lay there, surrounded by pink water, feeling utterly defeated, and the tears finally came. Silent at first, then shaking sobs as I scrubbed at my arms, my neck, trying to wash it all away.

I rinsed, hauled myself up with the bar, slipped once, caught myself, and got out. I dried off with rough, quick strokes.

The bag had a huge t-shirt that fell to my mid-thighs like a dress, and sweatpants that were too long and too loose but had elastics at the ankles and a drawstring I could yank tight. I didn't bother with anything else. I just wanted to be covered.

My wet hair dripped down my back. I didn't even towel it.

I opened the door and hopped into the hallway.

And that's when I heard him in the office. Low voice, on speakerphone.

Then the other man spoke, and my blood ran cold.

I knew that laugh. That dry, amused little huff before he speaks. I'd heard it a hundred times sitting outside Dad's home office when I was little, when Dad thought I wasn't listening to his "business calls."

It was the same man. Dad's secret business partner.

My stomach dropped. My dad had hidden a whole other life from me.

DANIEL POV

I've seen her pissed off, terrified but still holding her head high, throwing that damn locket at my chest like a weapon.

Now I had to carry her to the toilet, she looks at me like I'm going to bite, she's right not to trust me. I watched her apartment for weeks like a stalker. Then I stared at her half-naked like a creep without even meaning to.

I went to the office because I needed to hear that we weren't about to die in this house.

This safe house — the Agency built it, my company owns it on paper. It's supposed to be invisible. After I left the Agency, I made a deal with them. I give them intel, they give me places like this.

But if Marcus found us once...

I dialed. Put it on loudspeaker. It rang twice.

"Daniel," he answered.

"Is it secure?" I asked. No hello.

A pause. "I'm so happy you and the girl are safe. We are—"

"Don't," I cut him off, pressing a hand to my ribs where it was burning. "Are we locked down?"

"We locked it down the minute the doctor left the property," he said. "No one in or out. We have teams looking for the guys who hit you."

"And the locket?"

That was the only reason he was still taking my calls. He was the only one I ever told about where the real information was. Marcus only knew it had something to do with Elara. He never knew Gabriel put the documents inside her locket.

"I have it," I said, and I could still feel the sting of it hitting my chest when she threw it at me.

"Does she know?" he asked.

"Not everything. Enough to be scared. Enough to hate me," I said. "I'll tell her the rest when she can actually stand on her own."

"Then get that file decrypted fast, Daniel. We are running out of time to prove what her father did."

We hung up.

I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, head in my hands, fingers pulling at my hair. The pain in my side was pulsing now, hot and deep.

I was useless. A sitting duck. Bleeding in a safe house that didn't feel safe anymore.

I let my guard down around Marcus. I trusted him like a brother. Like a fool.