Even if what they said a few minutes ago didn’t sound all that great.
“Lilith Rayne. Fifteen-year-old female.”
“Possible domestic assault.”
“Vitals unstable, but she’s responsive.”
“Lost consciousness twice in transport.”
Yes, it meant I was broken. That I might die.
It also meant I wasseen.
After years of Mom forcing the world to look the other way, I’m grateful to have so many people genuinely giving a damn about whether I live or die.
For the first time in what seems like forever, I matter.
“Lilith.” The bass, gravelly voice from before rumbles my name. It’s louder than the murmurs around us. Louder than the bed’s wheels as they roll, roll, roll. “My name is Dr. Alaric Lockwood. Can you open your eyes for me?”
Dr. Alaric Lockwood.
Even in my dazed state, I appreciate how beautiful his name is.
Kind of.
Because my priority isn’t his name or his voice. What’s important is that he’s not trying to move me somewhere private to keep Mom’s abuse quiet like Dr. Simmons does.
Since she pays Dr. Simmons a ton, he always clears out his practice whenever she calls. Ultrasounds, scans, stitches. He does everything, no questions asked, no records kept. Asshole Simmons simply patches me up and sends me back like nothing happened.
Sometimes I think if I ended up dead and she asked him to bury the body, Dr. Simmons would just nod and dump me into an unmarked grave.
Not today, though. It took years, but eventually the screaming and the sounds of her beating me got so loud that a neighbor called it in. They’re probably the ones whomoved in last week, who have no idea how connected she is, how dangerous the people around her can be.
Whoever they were, they saved me. I wasthis closeto passing out when the police and paramedics pounded on our door until I thought the hinges might give.
I’m alive. I’m alive.
And Dr. Lockwood is going to make sure I stay that way. I just know it.
“Lilith.”
Oh, right. He asked me to open my eyes.
“I…” My mouth is dry. When I gulp, I swallow a mouthful of blood. Gross. “Can you help me?”
The words feel foreign on my tongue. I learned a long time ago to stop asking for help, once I realized everyone around me was terrified of my mom.
Renata Rayne, partner at one of the biggest criminal law firms in New York, has the power to make her problems disappear.
She bribes anyone who so much as comments on my bruises whenever I show up at school with them. If that doesn’t shut them up, she starts dropping her clients’ names, letting the threat hang in the air.
No one wants to fuck with them.
“Yes, I can.” The bed slows, but doesn’t stop. Then, there it is—the light pressure of Dr. Lockwood’s warm thumb on my eyelid. “Tell me if it hurts.”
“I’m fine.” Gratitude clogs my throat. I can’t remember the last time anyone handled me this gently.
“That’s good.” He’s steady but careful as he lifts my eyelid.