Page 9 of The King of Hearts

“She has multiple contusions, but they aren’t too concerning. None of the wounds need stitches. The cut near her mouth will leave a nasty scar, but it’s not deep enough to require sutures. I noticed she has several scars. Some are quite old, while others are from more recent injuries.” He looks over at the little girl. “Physically, the child appears to be unharmed other than the bruise on her thigh.”

It’s not lost on anyone in the room that he used the word “physically”. Mental wounds can be more damaging than ones inflicted by physical touch.

“I’ll come back in a few hours. I’ve left a painkiller that shouldn’t make her too drowsy on the nightstand, should she wake before I return. She’s going to be in a lot of pain, so I highly encourage her to take it. Call me if you need me before I return.”

“Thank you, Markus,” Dad says.

He nods before leaving the room.

The three of us turn to face the bed. We’re all quiet for several moments, each with our own thoughts.

“I’ll have one of the staff bring in a rollaway,” Dad says to me. “Cassio, I want you on standby in case she wakes. We don’t know how she’s going to react waking in an unfamiliar house.”

“You got it,” Cassio replies.

“We’ll figure everything else out later.” He turns to Ryker. “Find out what you can.”

Ryker jerks his chin up in acknowledgment. If there’s any one member of The Raven Group capable of finding out secrets, it’s Ryker.

A few minutes later, the others have left, and a rollaway sits against one of the walls near the bed. I settle on the thin mattress and tuck my legs under me. The rollaway is just a formality. I don’t plan to sleep tonight. I don’t think I could, even if I tried.

Not when there’s a woman who’s been beaten half to death and her child lies nearby.

Instead, I sit and stare at the shadows that dance across the wall from the trees outside the window.

CHAPTER FOUR

HER

“Next weekend, you and I have a date on the mainland to go dress shopping,” Emersyn says, stuffing a piece of muffin in her mouth and not waiting to swallow before she continues. “Adele Bastien agreed to a private showing of her latest designs.”

Em and I are at The Bean Shop for our bi-weekly coffee get-together. Tuesdays and Fridays, we meet here andpeople watchas we spend an hour gossiping about the latest news happening on the island. Sometimes Tomas will join us, but not this morning. It’s days like today that make me forget how dark the world is.

“Adele agreed to a private showing? How did you pull that off?” I ask.

Adele Bastien is one of the most sought-after clothing designers on the East Coast. She doesn’t showcase her dresses publicly. She only offers private showings, and those usually only happen a handful of times a year. They book up years inadvance, and it’s damn near impossible to get on the list. Em and I have been trying to get a showing with her for years.

Em licks her fingertips with a loud pop. “I honestly don’t know. It was the strangest thing. I submitted the request months ago, not really expecting to get a response. But I did. Yesterday, actually.” She leans forward, her eyes going wide with excitement. “Adele fucking Bastien called me herself and offered the invitation.”

“Holy shit. That’s kinda unbelievable.”

“I know, right!” she exclaims. “I spoke withtheAdele Bastien.”

“We should make a weekend of it,” I tell her. “We rarely visit the mainland anymore.”

“Does that mean Marcelo will be coming with us?”

I shake my head with an eye roll. “Yes. You know it does.”

A lascivious smile curls her lips. “We should book up all the rooms in the hotel so it’s sold out. He’d be forced to stay with us. I’d happily share my bed with him.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You’re a whore, you know that, right?”

Dimples pop out on her cheeks when she grins big. “So?” She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m a lover of all hot male specimens. Especially ones who wear eye patches.”

Looking over by the front door of the coffee shop where Marcelo leans against the wall, I can understand why Em is so enamored by him.

Marcelo has been my personal guard for over two years. He stands well over six feet tall, has the body of a linebacker, and is uncommonly gorgeous. Both arms are covered in black, gray, and red tattoos. He even has some crawling up his neck. His dark-brown hair goes down past his shoulders, but most of the time he has it pulled back into a haphazard ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wears a black patch over his left eye, with ajagged scar peeking from under the material that travels halfway down his cheek. I’ve never seen what’s under the patch. I don’t even know if the eyeball is there, but the patch and scar add to the mysterious appeal of his rugged good looks. I once asked him what happened, and the only answer I received was a blank stare from his one good, vivid-green eye. It wasn’t my business to pry, so I let the subject drop.

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