Wincing, she sits up and glances dubiously at the tray. “You made this?”
“Of course. You know I’m capable of boiling water and putting cheese on bread, right? I used to do it all the time before Julian kidnapped me and made me live in luxury.”
A ghost of a smile flits across Rosa’s battered lips. “Ah, yes. Those dark times in the past when you had to fend for yourself.”
“Exactly.” I reach for a steaming cup of tea and carefully hand it to Rosa. “Here you go. Chamomile with honey. Should cure all ills, according to Ana.”
Rosa takes a small sip and raises an eyebrow at me. “Impressive. Almost as good as Ana’s.”
“Hey now.” I give her an exaggerated frown. “Almost? And here I thought I had this tea-making thing down.”
Her smile is a shade brighter this time. “You’re very close, I promise. Now let me try one of those sandwiches. I have to say, they look appetizing.”
I give her a plate and watch as she eats her sandwich. “You’re not joining me?” she asks halfway, and I shake my head.
“No, I grabbed a little something in the kitchen earlier,” I explain.
“I shouldn’t be hungry either,” Rosa says after she polishes off most of her sandwich. “Lucas brought me an omelet earlier this morning.”
“He did?” I blink at her in surprise. “I didn’t know he can cook.”
“I didn’t know either.” She takes the last few bites and hands the plate back to me. “That was really good, Nora, thank you.”
“Of course.” I stand up, ignoring the painful stiffness in my back. “Can I get anything else for you? Maybe a book to read?”
“No, that’s okay.” Wincing again, she pushes the blanket off, revealing a long T-shirt, and swings her feet to the floor. “I’m going to get up. I can’t stay in bed all day.”
I frown at her. “Of course you can. You should rest today, take it easy.”
“Like you’re resting?” She gives me a sardonic look and walks over to the dresser on the other side of the room. “I’m done lounging in bed. I want to talk to Lucas and find out what’s being done about the fuckers who attacked us.”
I look at her. “Rosa . . .” I hesitate, uncertain whether to proceed.
“You want to know what happened last night with those guys, right?” She pulls on a pair of jeans and stops to look at me, her eyes glittering. “You want to know what they did to me before you got there.”
“Only if you want to tell me,” I say quickly. “If you don’t feel comfortable—”
She holds up her hand, silencing me mid-sentence. Then she takes a deep breath and says, “They followed me to the bathroom.” There’s only a hint of brittleness in her voice. “When I came out, they were there, both of them, and the older one, Sean, said there’s a VIP room in the back that they want to show me. You know, like they sometimes have in the movies?”
I nod, feeling a growing lump in my throat.
“Well, idiot that I am, I believed them.” She turns away, reaching into the dresser. I watch in silence as she pulls off her T-shirt and puts on a bra, followed by a black, long-sleeved shirt. There are scratches and bruises on her smooth skin, some in the shape of finger marks, and I have to hide my reaction as she turns back to face me and says, “I told them earlier that this was my first visit to this country, so I thought they wanted to show me a good time.”
“Oh, Rosa . . .” I step toward her, my chest aching, but she holds up her hand.
“Don’t.” She swallows. “Just let me finish.”
I stop a couple of feet from her, and she continues after a moment. “As soon as we got past the bathrooms, out of sight of the people standing in line, the younger one, Brian, jumped me and dragged me into that room. There was this teenage guy too, and he watched the whole thing before Sean told him to go stand out in the hallway and make sure no one came in. I think they were going to”—she stops to compose herself for a second—“going to give him a turn after they were both done.”
As she speaks, the rage I felt in the club returns. It had gotten subsumed beneath the weight of grief, pushed aside by the agony of my own loss, but now I’m aware of it again. Sharp and burning hot, the anger fills me until I’m all but shaking with it, my hands clenching and unclenching by my sides.
“I think you know the rest of the story,” Rosa continues, her voice growing more brittle by the second. “You came in just as I was trying to fight off Sean. If it hadn’t been for you . . .” Her face crumples, and this time I can’t hang back.
Closing the distance between us, I embrace her, holding her as she begins to shake. Underneath my anger, I feel helpless, utterly inadequate to the task at hand. What happened to Rosa is every woman’s worst nightmare, and I have no idea how to console her. To an outsider, what Julian did to me on the island might seem the same, but even during that traumatic first time, he had given me some semblance of tenderness. I’d felt violated, but also cherished, as incongruous as that combination might be.
I’ve never felt the way Rosa must be feeling now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry. Those bastards will pay. We’ll make them pay.”
She sniffles and pulls away, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Yes.” Her voice is choked as she steps back. “I want them to, Nora. I want it more than anything.”