Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (23 page)

“Cat. Kitten.” He threw a sheet over her, scared to touch her but desperate to take care of her. Aggression blinded him, and he couldn’t breathe fast enough. Or slowly enough. Couldn’t figure out which way was up or down. His world shattered, just fucking shattered, lying, bleeding on the bed in front of him.

Tears choked him. Anger fueled his madness. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

She wouldn’t look him in his eye, even as he crouched in her line of sight.

“The police—”

“No,” she croaked then cried harder.

Rocco clawed hands into his hair, desperate to release the violence. He was undone. Completely changed. This couldn’t be happening.

“Cat. Please. Say something.”

“I…” Her tears streamed. “Hurt.”

Right then, a part of him died. “A doctor then. Something. Somebody. Fuck!”

Goddamn it. She needed help, and this cleanup needed more than just him. He touched her face. He’d slice El Mateperros to pieces. Dick first.

“Take me away from here.” She choked on tears. “I can’t be here.”

He nodded, held her hand. “Can you move? Can you…” Can she what? Get up, get dressed? What did he want her to do?

“Whatever it takes. Take me away.” The raspy heartbreak in her words would haunt him.

Roman
. Rocco needed Roman because he couldn't think straight. Grabbing his phone, he direct connected again.

Roman answered immediately. “What’s going on?”

Rocco couldn’t form the words. Instead, he gave the shit-hit-the-fan call sign. “Code thirteen. Get up here.”

“On my way.” The line went dead. He knew Roman was running. Code thirteen was the bring hell, the world’s ending call for assistance.

Caterina had curled into a ball. Her body shook and shivered, and muffled sobs came from behind the pillow she now had over her head. He placed a hand on her ankle, and she shot back, nearly jumping off the bed. The pillow fell away. Her eyes were wild, mouth wide open. Panting. She blinked.

“I’m… sorry.” Head shaking back and forth, over and over. “I didn’t—I’m…”

The hotel room door opened and closed. A curse joined the occasional groans from the downed ACG men.

Roman rounded the corner. “Whoa—” Then backed out, jaw clenching and eyes flashing to Rocco.

“Be back in a min.” Rocco didn’t know what else to say to her. Wasn’t sure of how to comfort her or if he should even try. He walked out of the bedroom, over an ACG thug and nailed Roman with a look so full of uncontrollable hatred that he shook.

“Cat?” Roman asked, his throat bobbing. Silence ticked for an eternity. “The Dog Killer?”

“He. Hurt. Her.” Rocco raged inside, twitching from unexpended devastation.

“She was…”

Grinding his teeth, he couldn’t acknowledge his woman had been raped. He was going to be sick. And kill. He was going to fucking murder.

“Jesus Christ.” The veins in Roman’s neck stood out. Fury pounded through him too.

“We have to get her to a doctor. She’s bad off.”

“Calling Jared.” Roman pulled out his phone. “He’ll get someone good and off the grid.”

Rocco stepped back to Cat. “We’re getting you out of here. Give us a minute.” He scrounged anything they couldn’t leave behind and spent a minute wiping their prints. “You’ll be okay. Promise you. I swear on my life.”

She nodded.

“I have to get you dressed.”

Another nod.

Tearing apart his closet, he found clothes that’d be baggy on her, and as carefully as he could, he slipped his sweatpants and shirt onto her. Too much blood. Her eyes followed his movements. “It’s gonna be all right, Kitten.”

It had to be all right. He’d found something special, and nothing would steal that from him.

Roman walked in, eyes averted though Caterina was now curled in a ball at the top of the bed, wearing his clothes and burying her head back into the pillows.

“Jared.” His outstretched hand held the cell. “Needs to talk to you.”

Rocco wasn’t sure he could talk about Caterina, but Jared needed to bring down all the hell Titan was known for. That moment wasn’t the first time he’d thanked God he worked for Boss Man, but it was the most important of those times.

“Whatever you need,” Jared grumbled.

“Bring everything we got.” Rocco seethed, stormed into the kitchenette, and swallowed the need to rip the hotel room to pieces. The pressure in his jaw would crush his teeth. His mind spiraled in shock. “
Everything
.”

He watched Roman drag the two ACG men, check pulses—they were still alive, damn it—and tie them together in a corner with curtains he’d ripped into ropes.

“What do you want to do?” Jared paused and told someone to shut the hell up in the background. Then all his attention focused back on Rocco. “What’s your next move?”

Next move… Rocco sat on the bed, careful not to touch her without warning again. “I need a doctor. Fast.”

“Parker’s finding you a doctor.” Jared yelled away from the phone. “Where’s the doctor already?” He mumbled offline again, then back to Rocco. “You need to clean it up and get out.”

“I know.”

“How bad is she, Roc?”

An angry, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He hurt for her. Pain wracked his mind. Tension in his fists begged for an outlet as he eyed the two men bleeding and groaning in corner. Just a few more punches. Anything. And when he got his hands on El Mateperros—

“Rocco,” Jared snapped. “What’s going on with our girl?”

He looked down and could barely describe his personal hell. “Tell me you’ve got someone we can see quickly.” Turning away, he couldn’t get the images from his mind. Whispering, he could barely take it. “A lot of blood, Jared. It’s bad.”

“God—I’m bringing the fuckin’ cavalry.”

“I’m not leaving her side until I know she’s okay.” He watched Roman clear the room of Titan-identifiers. “But I want that son of a bitch. You find him. I kill him. No discussion.”

“Parker texted a doc’s address and directions to you. About four blocks away.”

Holy fuck, he couldn’t breathe. She had to be okay. “Jared.” He choked trying to talk. “I…Caterina is…”

“I got it. Get her to the doc.”

The call ended, and Parker’s text came through.

Roman walked over. “We gotta roll. Someone probably heard something.”

“We’re going here.” Rocco tossed him the phone. Roman nodded. They both looked at Cat. The sobbing had stopped, or at least the shaking had. “She’s not going to be able to walk.”

“Fuck it. Someone tries to stop you, I stop them.”

Right. “Kitten, honey. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“
No policia
.”

“I know. But you need a doctor.”

She nodded.

“So I have to pick you up, sweetheart. Okay? I have to touch you.”

She nodded again, and it shattered his heart. “Help me.”

“I’m all over it. Just…” He slipped an arm under her shoulder and the other behind her knees. “Easy there.” The clothes drowned her, and she buried her face into his chest. He sat down with her in his arms and begged God that something he would say could help. “That’s my girl. Shhh. You’re a survivor. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Roman tilted his head, nodding Rocco off the bed. He looked down at sheets and a comforter stained with blood. He stood. “I need you to be okay. Okay? Just look at me. Just a second.”

She did, and his soul bled out. All he could do was nod, promising that he’d make this right somehow.

Roman stripped the bed, and then they headed to the door. Because of the number on the door Rocco had done knocking it in, the door was ajar and scratching when Roman pulled it open. He stuck his head out, then they were off. At the elevators, Rocco pushed the button, and Roman jimmied open the supply closet, coming back out with the soiled bedding in a bag.

The elevator chimed, and they got on. A family—mom, dad, two kids—took a step back when they boarded, but then got out. Good idea, but surely they would call the cops. Classical music played, and Roman held the closed door button down, skipping any floors that expected them to stop.

When they hit the lobby, tourists parted to let them exit. They were quite the sight, he was sure: Rocco bloody from the fight, torn shirt, busted face, a roughed-up, near comatose Caterina in his arms, next to Roman, holding a giant trash bag. They needed out of there before London coppers rolled up asking questions. Fists would fly if someone tried to stop them, or God forbid, tried to take her away from him.

The automatic front door opened, and they spilled out onto a crowded sidewalk. Rocco got his bearings, turned left, and checked on his girl. Caterina’s eyes locked with his. She hung in his arms limp and a galaxy away, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen, and her nose red. Dried blood stained her cheeks and chin.

“I need you to be okay. Okay?” It was all he could keep saying.

A cold prickle chased down his spine. That spiky slide, like a thousand tiny shanks. It was fear, terror at losing someone he’d connected with. More than connected. He loved everything from her Spanish sass to the secrets that shaped her life.

She
had
to be okay. Had to.

His stomach turned. Passing a trash can, he ignored the urge to retch then watched Roman stop. Well, hell, now was as good a time as ever. Roman smashed the bag into the trashcan, pulled out a lighter, and lit it. It took a moment for it to catch. The comforter was probably flame retardant, but the sheets and bag weren’t, and retardant didn’t mean wouldn’t burn. It only meant a pain in their ass. But it started to burn while he kept walking. Black smoke and burning plastic filled the air.

Cat’s eyes flitted to the side like she wanted to watch her DNA burn away but couldn’t control her line of sight. Concussion? The hell with walking. He broke into a jog, bumping people out of his way. Boots behind him said Roman agreed with the move. He broke in front of them, clearing their path on the sidewalk.

“Half a block, man,” Roman called over his shoulder.

With Cat still cradled in his arms, Rocco pushed through the thick mob of bystanders. Her eyelids slid shut and jarred to open slits each time his feet pounded against the sidewalk. “Come on, Kitten. Stay with me.”

I need you
.

Her eyes shut, and her head lolled. No control. How much blood had she lost? Internal bleeding? Head injury? Combat mode took over. He saw no one, nothing but the end goal: the doctor’s office. It was the only way she’d survive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Caterina cringed as she drifted awake. Her memory was fuzzy. The film on her tongue made nausea roll. Instinctively, her body lurched to vomit. Bile and nothingness came up as she twisted on her side. Her limbs twitched and spasmed. Her abdominal muscles ached like she’d thrown up for days. Pain between her legs throbbed. Her abdomen was sore, bruised. Her insides—

The memory of El Mateperros above her, forcing himself in her—

Her stomach cramped. She dry heaved. Once, twice. Again and again. The memory made her retch. Relief seemed almost impossible. Her body disgusted her. She needed a shower. Needed to scrub and purge. Needed help…

Grunts and El Mateperros’s voice.
No
. Tears fell again.

Her head spun, worsening with every remembered syllable of the disgusting memory. A headache panged her temples. Reality was awful. Hatred and misery took over. Why had this happened? Why couldn’t she stop it? Strength and tenacity, impervious and impassable. That was how she would have described herself. Not pathetic.

Friction-burned flesh was raw between her legs. How had she—
oh
… a cool cloth pressed against her forehead.
Ah
. Relief. Only a small flicker.

But one ounce of it was enough to keep the maddening pain at bay for a microsecond. Disheveled strands of hair were tucked behind her ear, and again, the cool cloth. On her forehead. Her cheeks. Her neck. Opening her eyes was too much. Strong and stable warmth patted her hair, repositioning the cloth.

“I think she’s waking up.” An echoing, distantly familiar voice tugged her awake—
Rocco
.

The caress of his voice drew her eyes open. His chiseled face was furrowed. Soft caramel eyes had darkened and dulled. Her stomach twisted again, and her headache quadrupled, stomach roiling as the memories came back in jolting chunks, like flipping channels on the TV. A gap in memory, El Mateperros’s face. Another gap, the ice bath. A gap, her sickening attack and—Rocco arrived. She hadn’t seen him, but she heard him. All American-cartoon-style. Bow. Bam. Pop. The brute force. The sounds of the room being destroyed had screamed in her ears. Rocco had wanted to save her life, her
dignity
. One out of two at least…She gagged, wallowing until she boxed up the self-pity, hiding it from herself, and re-prioritized her feelings. Rage. That was better. If nothing else, it would make this survivable. Caterina would have El Mateperros’s balls if it killed her. She’d castrate him with a toothbrush. Or a toothpick. Whichever one was slower and more painful. Soon as her body healed.