Chapter Seven
By the time he got Twyla home it was dark. He was half expecting the cops to show up any second, but he wasn’t exactly surprised that a squad car hadn’t pulled them over and there were no flashing lights outside his house.
Twyla’s step-dad might not have liked getting punched in the face—especially since Gunnar was ninety-five percent certain he’d broken the asshole’s nose—but he also didn’t seem to give a shit about Twyla. He could’ve sworn he heard the man yelling as he carried Twyla to his car, and it had sounded a lot like “Get the fuck out of here, you bitch. And don’t come back.”
The house was dark and quiet just as it should be and he planned ahead well enough to be able to unlock the door without putting Twyla down. She felt like a rag doll in his arms, barely conscious which wasn’t at all surprising given what she’d been through today but he had to get some food in her and then get her cleaned up and give her another dose of painkillers before putting her to bed.
He would put her to bed in the guest bedroom, but before that, he had a nicer bathroom upstairs off his room. One with a soaking tub he could bathe her in without her chest and knees sticking up and her shivering because she was cold. He wanted her as comfortable as possible, warm and safe.
Gunnar carried her upstairs and set her on the wide ledge of the tub before starting the water running. Then he kept a steady hand on her while he took off the scrubs Eric had provided.
“Twyla, sweetheart?”
“Mmm?”
She didn’t even open her eyes.
“I’m going to give you a bath so I’m going to take your bra and panties off. You can tell me not to and I won’t, but…”
“Yes, bath, please,” she mumbled. The trusting way she gave herself over to him made his heart squeeze and he felt a tweak of guilt knowing that while his behavior would be entirely honorable, he wasn’t above looking at her full breasts spilling out of the ill-fitting bra she had on. The bra he unhooked and slid down her arms to reveal large creamy breasts topped with dark rosy nipples. He tried not to notice them as he helped her to her feet and slid her panties down before lifting her up and slipping her gently into the hot water, not minding that his sleeves got wet to his elbows.
Twyla’s eyes and mouth widened into surprised Os when she sunk into the tub, but he petted her hair and shushed her back into complacency.
“Just relax, sweetheart. Yes, that’s right, there you go. I know it’s hot but it’ll feel good in a minute. Just settle down, I’m going to take care of you.”
And he would.
It hadn’t occurred to him when he was basically kidnapping Twyla that he didn’t have any clothes that were suitable for her at his house. She was so tiny; everything he had would slip right off her and while Eric had cleaned most of the blood off her, the scrubs had still gotten stained.
Her head lolled against the side of the tub while he waited for the water to be high enough to cover her, but not overflowing. When it was nearly full, he turned off the faucet.
“I need to go get a towel and some clothes for you. I’ll be right back, promise.”
He sealed his pledge with a kiss to her forehead. While her eyes didn’t open, the corners of her mouth tipped up in a small smile. Despite the bruises and cuts, he still thought she looked beautiful. She’d look even more beautiful once she was healthy again.
Gunnar grabbed a couple of towels from the linen closet before ducking back into his room and fishing a button-up shirt from his closet. It would be easier to get her into without hurting her than a t-shirt, he thought.
Twyla was in the same position he’d left her in and he set to bathing her; running a washcloth gently over every inch of her body before soaping up her hair and gently massaging her scalp. There was a knot under his fingertips that made her wince and squeak but when he dug his fingers into the nape of her neck and rubbed, she sighed. Gunnar rinsed the suds out and put in some conditioner before rinsing that out too, and left her in the tub while he grabbed a comb and gingerly combed out her hair, trying his best not to hurt her.
She seemed calm and sleepy, and she was rosy-cheeked probably from the heat of the bath. Bruises were darkening all over her body and it made him suck air through his teeth, but he also didn’t want her to worry that he was in distress from looking at her. He was furious and sick, but that had to do with the boys who had done this, not her. Twyla? She was lovely and soft and pliant with him right now and he wanted to wrap her in a blanket and keep her in his lap for hours. Maybe he would. He shouldn’t, but wasn’t it a little late for shouldn’ts?
Once she was squeaky clean and he’d combed out her hair, he lifted her out of the tub and sat her on the tiled edge while he did his best to towel her off without hurting her and then replaced the bandages Eric had put on some of the worse abrasions.
Once she was as dry as she was going to get, he pulled the shirt onto her and buttoned up the front. She looked so small and pale in the chambray shirt but her red hair looked pretty against it. He plaited it into a hasty braid because even though he had a hairdryer he didn’t want to bother her with the noise, or hurt her by pulling a brush through the hair that went halfway down her back. No, he wanted to get her fed and then put to bed.