When Doyle woke, the pain hit her. Foggy snippets came to her. Mick. Gio. She put her hand on her tender belly. Her head throbbed worse than at dinner. The family around the table with Jimmy and Tate felt like a year ago.

Why did Mick betray her? She was going to kiss him. The cross. She felt her neck and found the chain. Her fingers ran along the chain until she felt the cross. If Gio had stolen it, her father would never forgive her. She held the chain through the cotton. What was she wearing? She opened her eyes and saw a shadow of a large man. Gio! She trembled.

"No. Don't kill me."

A voice she didn't recognize said, "You're safe. I saved you. Some guy was beating you."

One eye came into focus to see the face with the kind voice. He was big and built, but he looked like Adonis with his blond hair which was a little messy. Her eyes wandered to the ink peeking out of his sleeve. She would love to photograph his defined features.

"Do you? Do you need to get up?"

"Water. Head. Hurt."

"I'll get you something."

When he disappeared, she tried to sit up, but her head spun. She fell back down on the bed. As she put her fingers on her cheek to wipe her tears the pain ripped through her. Ever so gently she touched flesh that wasn't hers, except it was. Her eye was so puffy she couldn't open it. She could never go home. Where could she go? Baxter's? No, he would send her to rehab and lock her up. Tate's? No, her sister would feel responsible and Doyle would ruin her happiness. Her family thought she was with the band. Maybe she could go away and stay in a hotel. First, she needed to get out of bed.

He came back. "Here, drink this."

The cold water felt good on her throat. She felt like one of those girls who screamed the entire concert. Wincing, she didn't want to think about Mick.

"You feel warm. I want to take your temperature." He shoved something in her ear. "You have a fever." His face looked perplexed. "I've never heard of getting a fever from having the shit kicked out of a person."

She groaned. "I felt like crap before. Head." She had been cold at dinner, but warm by the end of the long meal. "Hot, cold."

His shoulders relaxed. "Maybe it's not your injuries. I can't have you dying from lack of treatment."

"I don't want to die. I want the pain to go away."

"Eat these."

He handed her crackers that tasted like cardboard. "Yuck."

"That's all I have. Some old matzoh."

She had heard the word, but her brain wasn't processing. It reminded her of when she struggled in school. She tried to swallow but needed water to wash it down.

"Here." He handed her pills. "Hopefully, your belly will hold it down. You need it for your face." He returned quickly and put an ice-cold plastic bag on her face. "Who did this to you?"

His gentle voice lodged in her chest. He was a virtual stranger, but he cared. She shook her head, unwilling to point her finger at the band's manager. Maybe she didn't love Mick. He had been fucking that girl. She cringed as she thought about the girl. Doyle had been with Mick, but she had become a person even she didn't recognize. After fighting against misogyny, she allowed herself to be controlled and treated as a sex object. She hadn't hidden her background from Mick, because he had never cared enough to ask her.

She cried for her own stupidity. She had been under a spell. The pain opened her eyes, not literally. The Adonis sat next to her on the bed and rubbed her back while she softly wept, and the warmth of his hand brought comfort and calm.

Refusing to look at him, she asked, "Where's my dress?"

He cleared his throat. "Over there. I tried not to look, and it was dark. Honestly, your bruised abdomen was my primary concern. Does it hurt?"

"I need the bathroom."

"Can you sit up? Go slow."

As she sat, the shirt rode up, so she quickly pulled it down. Her head swirled, but it slowed as she sat still for a few moments. She wanted to erase the things she did with the band. Lust had stolen her dignity. In the light of day through one unbeaten eye, she wondered why she liked Mick so much.

"Do you want to try standing?"

She nodded as she slid her feet onto the hardwood floor. Before she tested her legs, she looked around for the first time. Whoever he was, his place was not a dive. He lived in better conditions than the tour bus.

"What's your name?"

"Gray. Do you have a name?"

She paused. The need to protect her family came a bit late, so she answered using her middle name. "Katherine."

"Is that what your K is for?" He turned over her wrist.

His fingers felt warm. A smile slipped past her lips briefly because it hurt. "It's for my twin." They had reverse initials, Doyle Katherine - DK, and Kasper David - KD. Then there was Baxter Philip and Tate Christine.

"Are you ready to stand? I'll support you." She nodded. "Slowly."

Her legs felt weak, and her head swam. "Don't let go."

He walked her to the bathroom. It was a lot cleaner than on the bus. How had she lived that way?

She gripped the sink to pivot to the toilet. "I'm okay. Please close the door."

"I'll stay right here in case you need me."

She looked above the sink. There was just the soft steel blue paint, but also four holes. Her heart felt weird. She knew she looked awful, but the stranger tried to protect her.

Once on the toilet, she lifted her shirt and looked at her bruises. She'd be lucky if the lunatic hadn't damaged her ovaries or uterus. Jesus. He was probably making sure she didn't have a hold over Mick. Even in her state of oblivion, she never broke her mother's rule. Condoms were mandatory for Kanes.

When she stood and washed her hands, she wished she had her hair brush. A tooth brush would be nice too. Slowly she opened the door.

"You okay?"

She nodded as she gingerly sat on the bed before lying down again. "Where's my bag and phone?" The minute she asked she closed her eyes. Her bag was in Mick's suite.

"I didn't see a bag. I thought I saw the guy throw your phone. Sorry, I was only worried about you."

"It's okay."

"You can use mine to make a call. Do you have someplace to be?"

"No. I can't." Go home. "I can't go anywhere. My wallet was in my bag."

"Are you afraid the guy will come after you?"

She bit her lip. "He might. I don't even know why he did it." He had been hostile to her and Mick had argued with him. Gio probably arranged for that girl to follow the band to Boston. He wanted Doyle gone.

"Does he know where you live?"

She nodded. Although she doubted it, she wouldn't put it past the band manager. She would hate for him to hurt Percy or Kasper.

"You can stay until you feel better. Are you sure you don't want to tell the police? I have friends on the force. You are the victim even if he was a John."

"A John. A John! I'm not a prostitute."

"Sorry. I just thought. You picked the wrong guys to party with."

"No kidding."

He cleared his throat. "I said you can stay, but you can't do drugs or drink. I'm an alcoholic, and my house, my rules."

"I understand. How did you know?"

"You had shit in your nose."

She lifted her hand and wiped her nose unladylike. "It was one long party until I wore out my welcome."

"Jesus, did they ask you to leave?"

"Not with words." She motioned to her face.

He cringed. "I can't imagine touching a woman in anger."

"But you're a fighter."

His eyes widened. "I might have broken his jaw."

He deserved it. "I meant because of this." She touched the Semper Fi inked on his skin.

He looked at her fingers touching him. It felt strangely intimate. She pulled her hand back with a jerk.

"I've been out a long time and will leave it at that."

She nodded and closed her eyes, as she wondered why he felt so warm to touch.

"Let me take your temperature again. Your fingers felt warm." He put the probe in her ear. When it beeped, he took it out. "It's lower. The medicine helped. How's your pain?"

"Head's a dull ache. It was worse before he kicked me. My cheek and eye hurt the worst."

"From experience. It'll hurt for a few days."

"You said you weren't a fighter."

He smiled and shook his head. "I'm a protector."

"A lot of good my self-defense classes were."

"Seriously, you didn't have a chance. He was a big guy, and you were sick and..."

"High. I know, but I'm not an addict. I don't have withdrawals."

"Have you been clean before?"

"Yeah. Except for weed for weeks."

She hadn't done coke for weeks from before their weekend in Vegas until she joined the band. "I'll admit I partied for a month. Just coke. No pills or anything worse."

"You'll be clean here. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe a little. Not that cardboard you gave me."

"Sorry. I need to throw it out. Passover was a couple of months ago."

"Are you religious?"

"Not really. I guilt myself into eating matzoh every year."

She smiled. Amelia would take a fit over a Jewish ex-Marine, yet Doyle thought Mick would fit in. "I think my head's clear already. I keep remembering my stupid decisions, especially hanging with the wrong crowd."

"Did anyone else hurt you?"

She nodded. Mick pushed her. "I thought we had something, but I was wrong."

"The guy who tried to give you an abortion."

She gasped. "He shouldn't have bothered. I'm always careful. I thought the same thing. Not him."

He cleared his throat. "I have pictures of you but not your abdomen."

"Can I see my face?"

"It's better you don't."

"Normally, I don't look hideous." It seemed important for him to know. She looked hot when she entered the parlor. Tate and Jimmy. Mick would never have given her what they had. Why did she think she liked him? She groaned.

"Are you okay? I'll get you something to eat."

"What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Do you have a job to go to?"

He shook his head. "Not this morning. I might need to shop. I don't keep a lot of food here."

"Maybe a cup of tea and toast. If you have it."

"I can do that. I'll be back."

Sleep pulled her under. She had dreamed of kissing Mick. Her eye popped open. It felt so real.

"Do you think you can sit up in a chair or in bed?" He appeared at the door and she stared at him.

She had forgotten he was so good looking. Gorgeous. Hot. "Um, I don't know."

"Let's leave you for now. I'll help you scrunch up."

"Scrunch." She giggled.

He moved his closed mouth sideways. "My mother said that."

"Are you close to your family?"

He looked at her as he handed her a mug of tea. "That's a complicated answer."

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