Brendan looked at me with cold, flat eyes. Disappointment. As if to say: Can you stop being so dramatic for once?
Charity drank in the fury and desperation on my face. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Relax, sis. I'll be gentle. I won't wake your little girl."
Click. Her nail flicked open the last button.
I could only watch—helpless, frozen—as Charity lifted my baby's legs and exposed her to the room full of men.
Tyler, the crudest of them all, leered with open amusement. His hand actually started to reach out—
Something inside me snapped.
I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into Brendan's hand. Deep. Until I tasted iron.
He hissed in pain, and his grip loosened.
I threw myself forward, using my body as a shield to block that reaching hand, to block all those mocking eyes from my daughter.
Looking down at Sophia's peaceful sleeping face, I finally broke. Tears spilled over, hot and uncontrollable.
The violent movement had torn something inside me. Pain ripped through my lower abdomen, and I felt warmth spreading—blood soaking through my hospital gown, seeping into the sheets beneath me.
I didn't feel it. I couldn't afford to.