Boston Avant-Garde: Impetuous by Kaitlin Maitland Page B

there was no telling what kind of trouble she’d found. He left Flynn and the driver at the bar and strode out the front door into the balmy night.
    The battered yellow cab sat on the curb. He could barely see a passenger huddled in the backseat. He wrenched open the back door, hearing the cabbie on his heels.
    “Hey, what about my fare? I brought her all the way from Cambridge. Do you know what the traffic is like this time of night?”
    Nicolai pulled a wad of cash from his front pocket. Peeling off a hundred-dollar bill, he pushed it against the smaller man’s chest. “Will this cover it or not?”
    “Yeah, man, we’re good.”
    “Then get the fuck out of my way.”
    The cabbie danced back, and Nicolai leaned into the car. The scent alone told him it was Desiree. Her personal perfume was burned into his senses in a way that wasn’t likely to fade. She was huddled in the corner, knees pulled against her chest, and arms wrapped around.
    His chest grew tight when he saw she wore no shoes. “What trouble found you now, wild girl?”
    “Nicolai?” Her voice was shaky.
    “I’m right here. Can you walk?”
    She unfolded herself and scooted closer. He noticed her dress was ripped down the front. Fury unlike anything he’d ever known washed him in fire. He struggled to keep control of his tone. Losing it wasn’t going to help her now. “Come here, wild girl.”
    He scooped her into his arms, holding her close and heading for the side of the building. There was no way he could carry her through the crowded bar looking like she did.
    Her nails dug into his arm. “Where are we going?”
    “Around the back. I’m going to take you upstairs.”
    Navigating the narrow alley, he entered the tiny employee parking area and moved toward the bar’s back entrance. He was deciding the best way to extract his keys from his pocket without putting Desiree down when the door popped open.
    “Hold it open, Logan.”
    The cook jerked in surprise, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. “What happened to her?”
    “I’m not sure.” Nicolai maneuvered her carefully through the doorway. “Tell Flynn I’m not going to make it back down tonight. If he needs help, Donal might need to float until it slows down.”
    “We’re good, Nicky. Just go take care of business.”
    She was so quiet when he carried her up the stairs that Nicolai wondered if she’d lost consciousness. He leaned down to listen for her breathing. The whisper-soft feel of her exhalation against his cheek was reassuring.
    “I’m going to put you down on the sofa.” He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to keep narrating his actions. “I’m not trying to hurt you, but I need to have a look at your injuries.”
    She shivered when he set her down on the worn leather. He pulled a throw off the back of a nearby chair and drew it around her shoulders. The only light came from the fixture above the sink. It wasn’t enough to tell him what he needed to know. Reaching over, he switched on the table lamp.
    In the soft white circle of light, he could see she was a mess. Her makeup was smeared, giving her eyes a haunted look. Her hair was a rat’s nest of tangles. She was clutching the blanket to her chest like a shield.
    He knelt before the sofa until they were eye to eye. “Open the blanket, Desiree. I need to understand.”
    Her shaky hands separated, parting the soft blue chenille until he could see the bruises on her chest. He clenched his jaw tight, trying to remain analytical. Her neckline was torn. What he could see of her bra looked to be in similar condition. The curve of her left breast sported red blotches edged in purple and black.
    “My throat hurts.” Her voice was a whisper, as if it hurt to speak.
    “Can you tell me what happened?” Gently cupping her chin, he lifted it until he could see the stark purple mark across her windpipe. “Fuck, Desiree, I’m going to call Erik. You need to go to the hospital.”
    “No!” She grabbed his