Committed (38 page)

“Poppy, I’m here.”

He wasn’t in her head.

All the fight drained out of her.

Damien was there.

He’d come for her.

God, she loved this man.

Her vision grew dim and the voices were suddenly very distant. She couldn’t hold on, but it was okay. Damien had her. He wouldn’t let her hurt anymore.

Damien strode through the hospital corridors with their uniform slate-and-blue tile. The very air smelled sterile. He clenched a bouquet of roses, anxious to cross the distance faster.

This was no place for Poppy.

He hadn’t seen her for almost a whole day. A fucking day. Between the red tape and doctors, his last glimpse of her had been when she was being taken out of the ambulance on a gurney, a small army of nurses, paramedics, and doctors surrounding her. Since he wasn’t family, he’d been excluded from that moment on. Knowing she was safe hadn’t helped him through the night. He’d paced the ER until Cooper sent Gio to get him that morning.

He checked the room number he’d been given—finally—and followed the signs.

The door stood open, no officer posted outside. He’d been assured someone would be standing guard at all times. He stepped through the door and stopped.

An orderly paused in the process of mopping the floor.

“Can I help you?” the young man asked.

“I’m looking for someone who was supposed to be in this room. Poppy Mercer?”

He dunked his mop in the bucket. “Blond? Really nice?”

To a T
.

Damien nodded.

“She was released. Went home an hour ago. Sorry.”

Damien gritted his teeth. Already gone?

“Thanks, man.” He pivoted and stalked back the way he’d come.

Poppy was out—and she hadn’t called him? Emilio had disposed of her phone, no doubt, but still. He should have heard from her. Chances were her mother was involved. He had no idea how extensive her wounds were.

He needed to see Poppy. He needed to hold her and convince himself this nightmare was over.

Poppy clenched the armrest as the van hit every bump, pothole, and crevice in the road.

God, I do not miss House drivers!

Since the commune residents didn’t all need cars, there was a small fleet, and a group of
drivers who served the general community. Her luck, the oldest and most chatty had been sent with her mother to pick her up.

If I survive this, I’ll walk everywhere
.

The painkillers were beginning to wear off, but the sense of being in a fog hadn’t gone away. The only thing that seemed to pierce it was the jolt of pain to her neck every few moments.

“Almost home.” Her mother squeezed her hand, which was a different kind of torture.

The gashes Emilio had administered to her arms had all needed stitches, and even her mother’s little squeeze was painful.

Why was she going to The House? She couldn’t remember.

“What about my cats?” she mumbled, unable to master her voice any better than that. Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and dry. She’d never have enough water after this.

Where was Damien? Why hadn’t he come to see her?

“Your friends came by and got the key to go take care of them. Everything is fine. We’re almost home.” Her mother’s smile was tight, her cheeriness fake as the diamonds glued on her glasses, but she was trying.

“Friends? Which ones?” Who had her mother unwittingly allowed into her home?

“An Asian man in a suit and a dark-haired woman. Foul language.” Her mother frowned and shook her head.

Nikki and Kyle.

Poppy breathed a sigh of relief. At least her cats would be in good hands. She didn’t know if she could say the same for herself.

Her torment finally ended when they drove into the half-circle drive of The House. A few people hung out in front of the building, younger faces she didn’t recognize. Probably new additions. The House was a haven for all sorts of people.

The driver helped her out of the van and her mother held the doors for her. Residents paused in the entry to smile or say something to her, but the noise melded together. All the talking felt like someone trying to drive an ice pick into her skull.

“Mom, I just want to go home,” she mumbled.

“You are home, honey. We’ll go upstairs in a second. I just need to grab the mail and say hi.”

She didn’t want to go upstairs. She wanted to go home. To her little apartment, with her cats, and hair everywhere. She wanted Damien. Not exactly in that order. But she didn’t even
have keys to her place anymore. Her purse was a distant memory, probably long gone by now.

Poppy glanced over her shoulder and jiggled her knee. It didn’t feel safe here, not without Damien. She couldn’t even hear him in her head anymore.

Damien groped for his phone in the darkness.

Figures, as soon as I fall asleep, someone calls
.

“Hello?”

“Is this Damien?” a woman said on the other end of the line.

“Yeah. Who is this?” He glanced at the clock. Only a little past two. Great.

“It’s Rose.”

Poppy’s sister
.

“Rose. What’s wrong?” He swung his legs out of bed and turned on the light.

“I’m worried about Poppy.”

“Why?”

“Mom didn’t want me to call, but whatever. She’s been asking for you. Won’t sleep. She’s barely eaten anything, and if she doesn’t eat she can’t take her pain medicine. She’s in pain, too. I’m worried.”

“Where is she?”

“Here, at The House. I just woke up because of the baby and ran into mom in the hallway. I think she was going to hunt for movies for Poppy.” He could hear the baby gurgling and making noises.

“What do you want me to do?” He knew what he wanted to do. Go get Poppy, take her to her home, and never let her go.

“Come here, of course, but I know it’s late.” Rose groaned. “I shouldn’t have called. I just don’t know what to do for her.”

“No, no. I’ve been calling all day but the desk people won’t put me through.” He’d almost gone to The House, but Matías had talked him out of that decision. He couldn’t force himself on the family without an invitation.

Rose sighed. “Mom probably did that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m coming over. It’ll take me half an hour to get there.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

“Rose?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He hung up the phone and got ready as fast as he could. On the off chance he wouldn’t come home for a few days, he tossed the necessities in a bag and left in less than fifteen minutes. He was on the highway headed toward North Shore Drive minutes later, willing the streets clear and the cops to look the other way.

He tapped the steering wheel and glanced at the clock every few seconds, the sense of anticipation increasing the closer he got to Poppy’s neighborhood. The streets were dark and lined with cars. There wasn’t a soul to be seen at this hour. He took a chance and squeezed the truck into a sliver of open space at the end of the circular drive in front of the building. He might get a ticket, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

True to her word, Rose was waiting for him in the lobby once the desk worker buzzed him in, the same baby he’d seen earlier nestled in her arms.

“Hi,” she said as she turned toward the elevators. Her face was lined from stress.

“How is she?”

“I think Mom found a movie, but I’m guessing she’s about the same.”

“What about her physical injuries?”

“The eye and her neck are really hurting her. I think her arms are the worst of it. She’s got a lot of bruises. I think she was hit a lot.” Rose kissed the baby’s head, her face twisted in pain.

Damien knew the truth. A lot of those bruises were not left by Emilio. They were Damien’s marks. He felt sick to his stomach at the idea that the marks she’d begged him for were now mixed with signs of the abuse she’d received at Emilio’s hand.

The elevator dinged and they stepped off on the third floor. The hall was painted in horizontal spearmint and pale-green stripes. The effect was sickening, sort of like a madhouse.

“Some decorating,” Damien said before he could think better of it.

Rose merely laughed. “I’ve started a petition to get it painted. It makes me sick just looking at it, but the biggest family apartments are on this floor, so we make do.” She paused by a door painted emerald green and tapped.

The door creaked open a hair and Poppy’s mother peeked through. Her brow drew down and she quickly slid through the space, closing it behind her.

“I told you not to call him,” she whispered to Rose, ignoring Damien.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Mom, Poppy’s not a child. You can’t make the rules for her. All she keeps saying is she wants to go home and she wants to see him.”

“I’m her mother. I know best.”

“Maybe, but you have to let her make her own choices.” Rose bounced the baby as she spoke.

“She’s my baby.” Her mother glanced at him, then Rose. There were cracks in her stubborn facade.

“I know, Mom. We all want to take care of her.” Rose nodded at him. “Go in.”

“Wait, we can’t leave them alone together.” Her mother shielded the door with her body.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Mother, please. She’s in no shape to do anything except sit there. Let’s give them a little privacy. He can go in, get her to relax a bit, you and I can go get something she might eat, and maybe she’ll finally sleep a little.”

Her mother’s lip quivered and her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

“Ma’am, I’d never disrespect you or your daughter.” If he had to follow the house rules, he could. He’d played that game a few times in his life.

“See, Mom?” Rose said.

“You can call me Sheila,” her mother said, and moved out of the way.

“Nice to meet you, Sheila. I’m Damien.” He extended his hand toward her. Sheila took it after a moment and gave it a little shake.

“We’ll be back in about fifteen minutes, okay?” Rose ushered Sheila down the hall.

Damien pushed the door open and stepped into the single-room apartment. The room was about eight feet across, and twelve feet long at its longest point. Altogether, it was smaller than his bathroom, but there was a couch against the right wall, bookshelves on either side, and a small TV sitting on a milk crate in the middle of the floor, casting hazy light. Sitting swaddled in a blanket on the small sofa, her head resting on the cushions, blinking her wide eyes at him, was Poppy.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” he said.

“Damien?” Poppy sat up. Her voice cracked.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He took two steps and went to his knee beside the couch as Poppy dove into his arms, clutching him. All the tension he’d been carrying drained from his body, replaced by relief and joy. He buried his face in her hair. The short strands tickled his face.

“Oh my God, I tried to call you but I didn’t know your number.” Her voice was brittle and high-pitched. “I don’t know where my cell phone is. I wanted to call you.”

“It’s okay, I’m here now.” He rubbed her back and for the first time since this whole
nightmare started he took an easy breath.

“I tried to get away,” she whispered for his ears only. “I tried.”

“I know, baby. You did get away. You clocked him good, too.” He’d never forget the sight either. He’d seen Emilio reaching, then
bam
, she hit him in the side of the head so hard he staggered.

“No, I tried to get away before that, but I couldn’t. He was there.”

Her tears burned his skin. He would take this burden from her if he could. If he could have been the one Emilio had taken instead of her, he’d have done anything to save her the pain and torment she’d endured.

“I want to go home, but Mom wants me here,” she whispered.

“I know. Rose told me.”

“She did?” There was a watery quality to her voice that broke his heart.

“Yeah, she called me and told me to come over, so I did. Without her I’m pretty sure the desk worker would have called the cops on me. Scary black man, trying to break and enter.”

Poppy chuckled despite the tears she shed. She sat up and wiped her cheeks. He took the opportunity to sit on the couch next to her.

“I’m a mess,” Poppy muttered.

Her black eye wasn’t as swollen as he remembered, but the shiner would be a colorful reminder of her ordeal for a while, along with several scratches on her cheeks. They looked a lot like knife wounds.

Damien was almost sorry SWAT had killed Emilio, because it meant he couldn’t do the deed himself. The sight of Poppy wearing a soft neck brace and bandages on her forearms was something he wished he could have gone his whole life without seeing.

She patted her hair, which stood out and up in places. The hack-job haircut left most of her hair near chin length, but some was even shorter.

He took her hand and patted his lap, not wanting her to move any faster than she was capable of. She came willingly, settling against him with a soft sigh. Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply.

“Rose said you haven’t eaten.”

“Are they gone?” Poppy asked.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to convince you to eat something.”

“Oh, thank God. Mom just keeps hovering and driving me batty. Can you turn that lamp on? She keeps turning it off.”

“Sure thing.”

There was a lamp mounted to the wall with a little chain pull. One tug and the bulb shed warm light into the apartment.

“Thanks.” She rested her cheek against his chest and sighed.

Damien wanted to say so many things.
I’m sorry
, for starters. He couldn’t get his mouth to work. He didn’t want to break this precious moment. Hell, he almost wanted to cry.

“I think I’m going crazy,” Poppy said quietly.

“Why’s that?” He passed his fingers through the short hairs at her crown, the ones that refused to lie flat.

“I had entire conversations with you, in my head, while he had me locked up.”

He stared at the wall, guilt, shame, and disgust rolling in his gut. This was all his fault. “What was I saying?”

“Well this one time, I was taped to a chair and I tried so hard to get out. I wanted to give up but you kept telling me to keep going.”