“Kricket,” Trey says, relief in his tone.
“Where’s Dylan?” I ask again. I can hear panic in my voice, my breaths coming in shallow pants.
Trey doesn’t answer me. He nods at Jax, a clear indication that he’s to follow us. He walks swiftly to an adjoining room and crosses the large sitting room before leaving it and entering a palatial bedroom. Definitely feminine in design and decor, it has white and lavender tones. Large, velvety-soft chairs with high backs face an opaque, smoke-filled window wall that must also hide the expensive-to-maintain garden outside.
As he walks by the chairs, it’s clear he intends to put me on the bed.
“Chair.” I motion to them. I don’t want to lie down. I want to find out where Dylan is. Trey frowns and ignores me. He takes me to the bed and places me gingerly upon it. Jax is next to him; pulling a medical pack from his back, he rummages through it.
He pulls out the “grandma goggles” from his pack that I know to be an ostioscope—a medical device that performs full-body scans.
Weakly, I fight Jax, trying to look him in the eyes instead. I croak softly, “Dylan?”
Jax’s jaw tenses. “They got him, Kricket. He’s dead,” he says with a shrug I know he doesn’t feel. In shock, I don’t fight him when he puts the ostioscope on my eyes. Green lights flash and readouts flicker on the lens, but I couldn’t read them even if I wanted to, because my eyes blur with tears. A single tear slips out, sliding down my cheek. I try to hold the rest back. I don’t cry in front of people. It’s weak. It doesn’t happen. It can’t happen.
Jax says to Trey, “She has bruises everywhere. Some look several days old—not new, but she didn’t have them days ago. Some of the stages of healing I’m seeing are off somehow . . . they’re not reading right. Three of her ribs had hairline fractures—here and here.” He touches my ribs lightly. “But now they’re recalcified—growing stronger than before, I’d say. Did someone give her a rapid bone regenerator recently? If they did, I can’t find a trace of it in her system—and yet . . . she’s healing at a rate I’m not used to seeing. Still, this has to hurt, Kricket.” He touches my ribs lightly before touching sore patches on my back. “Have you been suffering with these contusions for long? How did you get them all?” he asks with a surly disgust that’s not aimed at me.
He pulls the glasses from my eyes, but I avoid looking into his. “I haven’t been suffering,” I murmur numbly. “I was drugged most of the time since they pulled me from my cell—I don’t remember much from the last couple of days.” I rub my wrists where I’d been shackled. Thick, yellowish armband bruises tattoo my swollen skin. “I only woke up today—midday.” I meet his eyes. “Did they . . .” My throat squeezes tight. “Did anyone . . .” I inhale a deep breath.
With a concerned expression, Jax waits patiently for me to ask my question. Finally I ask, “Was I raped?”
He looks startled. For all his experience, he’s shockingly naïve. He jerks his head to the side, studying the readouts on the glasses again. I look over his shoulder at a point on the wall. I can’t look at Trey; it’s impossible. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking.
Jax begins to shake his head. “No, Kricket,” he says in a gentle tone. “You must have suffered a beating—your back is—there’s bruising there, but there are no internal injuries evident aside from your ribs. No internal trauma associated with rape. And everything is normal—just like when we did this before.”
I nod my head expressionlessly, acknowledging his words. It takes a second for relief to flood me and with it, the unbearable need to weep. I hold it back.
“Are you thirsty?” Jax asks me, pulling a canteen from his pack. He offers it to me. I nod silently, taking the canteen and putting it to my lips. Swallowing big gulps helps to ease the rawness of my throat.
“Here,” Jax says, taking the canteen from me and shoving a protein bar into my hand.
My stomach rebels against the thought of putting it in my mouth. “I can’t eat—”
Ignoring my protest, Jax nudges my arm up, urging me to eat it. “It’s not the same kind as the ones we ate in the Forest of O. Those were especially made to ward off parasites—this one is just nutritious. You need to eat it—your stomach is completely empty—you’re literally starving. Do you want to be the weakest link on our team?”