Guarded Hearts

Chapter 5:Shackled by the System

Erik Pov.

I sat at my desk, studying the photographs spread out before me—crime scene images from Kim Blake’s house and the medical documentation detailing her injuries. The bruises, the welts, the broken bones. The sheer brutality of it made my stomach turn. My fists clenched involuntarily.

How could a father do this to his own daughter?

I’d been a cop for a long time. I’d seen horrors that would keep most people awake at night—bodies dumped in alleyways, children starved by neglect, families torn apart by violence. But something about this case hit differently. Maybe it was the way she had looked at me in that hospital room, her face hollow and pale, her voice a whisper of disbelief when she asked if her father was dead.

She hadn’t asked out of fear. She had asked because she needed to know if her nightmare was truly over.

And the truth was, even though that monster was gone, her suffering wasn’t. The bruises on her body would fade, but the scars inside her—those would last a lifetime.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling sharply, trying to shake the frustration clawing at my chest. If that man had still been alive, I don’t know what I would have done. A part of me, the part that had long since grown tired of seeing victims suffer while monsters walked free, wanted to believe that justice had been served.

But justice wasn’t so simple.

A knock at my door snapped me from my thoughts.

"Sir, what are we doing with Kim Blake?" Officer Reed stepped inside, his expression uncertain. "It’s been two weeks since her hospitalization, and the doctor’s approved her for discharge."

I turned toward him, already knowing what needed to be done but hating it nonetheless.

"We’re bringing her to the station," I said, my voice calm but firm. "She’ll remain under our supervision until the case is closed."

Reed nodded but didn’t move. The hesitation in his posture told me he felt the same way I did—uncomfortable, guilty even.

Taking Kim into custody felt wrong.

This girl had spent her entire life trapped, controlled, humiliated. And now, because of legal protocol, I had to put her in a holding cell, however temporarily. It made my blood boil. But the law left no room for sentiment.

I grabbed my coat and headed for the hospital myself. I could have sent someone else, but I wouldn’t. Kim deserved someone who understood, someone who wouldn’t make this harder than it already was.

When I entered her hospital room, she was sitting up in bed, propped against pillows. She looked even smaller than she had two weeks ago. Fragile. Lost. Her skin was too pale, and her eyes—God, her eyes—were dull, as if she had already given up on everything.

She barely reacted when I walked in.

I took slow steps, careful not to startle her.

"Miss Blake, it’s time to move you," I said gently. "The doctors say you’re stable enough to be discharged."

She looked up at me, and for the first time since I met her, I saw real fear in her expression.

"Where…where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice weak, hesitant.

I pulled up a chair beside her bed, keeping my tone even. "Kim, we have to take you to the station. It’s standard procedure." I sighed, hating every word that came next. "You won’t be locked up any longer than absolutely necessary. I’ll make sure of that."

Her fingers tightened around the hospital blanket. I saw her swallow hard, her throat working against the emotions threatening to spill over.

"I don’t want to…stay behind bars," she murmured, voice shaking with unshed tears. "I didn’t do anything wrong."

"I know, Kim." My voice was firm but quiet. "Trust me, I know. But we have to follow the legal process. I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t stay longer than necessary."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could see her struggling to hold back tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of me. I respected that.

"Come on," I said, offering my hand. "I’ll help you up."

She hesitated before placing her small, cold fingers in mine. The moment she shifted her weight onto me, I could feel how fragile she truly was. She was light, too light, and unsteady on her feet. I guided her carefully, making sure she didn’t fall.

When we reached the car, I opened the door for her. She hesitated, staring at the seatbelt. Her fingers twitched as if she wanted to fasten it herself but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

"Let me help you," I said softly.

She nodded, barely perceptible.

I reached across, moving slowly, making sure my actions weren’t abrupt or forceful. When my fingers brushed against the buckle, I realized how close we were. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about something like this—it was routine, automatic. But with Kim, everything was different. She had spent years flinching away from touch, expecting pain, expecting control.

I clicked the seatbelt into place and stepped back.

She sat rigidly, staring out the window, hands clenched into fists on her lap.

I got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and glanced at her.

"You’re safe, Kim," I told her. "We’ll get through this together."

She didn’t respond, but her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

That was enough for now.

As I pulled onto the road, I made a silent vow.

I would fight for her.

Because if there was one thing I had learned in all my years as a cop, it was this—some people deserved justice, not just by the letter of the law, but by something deeper. Something real.

And Kim Blake deserved it more than anyone.