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continued running her hands over my chest.
    “What are you doing?” My voice was confused, and I felt strangely out-of-place.
    “Working out where the damage is.” The calm, sensible response caught me by surprise.
    “Everywhere.” It was a muttered comment, my mind still confused.
    The light laughter I got in return made me want to join her, but a quick breath told me my ribs wouldn’t appreciate it.
    I did a mental assessment myself, and figured that although the beating would leave me hurting for a few days, nothing was really damaged - apart from the cut on my arm, which felt like it was going to need some of my rudimentary medical attention soon. Still, I wasn’t really bothered by the pain - I was more distracted by the way laughter played over the sweet, serious face of the woman above me. She gave me a brief grin, even as she opened my shirt and inspected the light cut at my side.
    “At least you’re not one of those types that claim you don’t need my help.”
    The feel of her hands on my bare skin had me holding my breath in a way that had nothing to do with the pain.
    Damn it, get yourself under control!
    “I don’t need your help.”
    She scowled at me, but there was amusement in her eyes as she continued.
    “No, seriously. Don’t help me.” This time I did take her hands again, firmly pushing them away and raising myself to stare at her.
    She shouldn’t be doing this - shouldn’t be here at all. I could just imagine Jorge’s reaction to that .
    As I slowly came back to full awareness, my head throbbing unpleasantly, the significance of the situation hit me.
    “What do you think you’re doing? You’re Jorge’s girl.”
    That was enough to catch her full attention - head snapping up and eyes flaring as she glared at me.
    “I am not his girl.”
    The unexpected reaction made me pause and consider her carefully.
    Reminded of her previous defiance, my eyes drifted to the fading purple bruise on her cheek, my previous anger lighting inside me again. Without thinking, I lifted my hand to her chin, tilting her head so that it was obvious what I was inspecting.
    My heart seized in my chest as, for a moment, the sight and memory hurt worse than the beating. Then she met my eyes full-on and took my breath for another reason entirely.
    I’d seen victims of abuse before. They tended to turn away or start justifying it - trying to hide their shame of both themselves and the abuser.
    This girl didn’t. Her eyes were open and honest as she looked at me, letting me see the result of Jorge’s temper. She knew what this was, knew it was wrong, and acknowledged it as such with no shame. Her attitude reminded me more of the wounded veterans I’d known than a helpless girl, accepting the injury for what it was and not letting it affect her beyond the simple physical discomfort.
    It still made my blood boil, but I reconsidered my assessment of her.
    Okay, maybe not Jorge’s girl.
    My finger stroked her cheek lightly as I met those determined eyes.
    “You should be careful, girl.”
    I didn’t know what she was doing or involved with, but I had the feeling that she was in over her head whether she knew it or not. If she was going toe-to-toe with someone like Jorge, it could get ugly pretty fast.
    My voice was rough, but her face lit with amusement as she gave me a pointed glance.
    “Says the battered guy I’m fixing up. And I’m Lottie, not girl .”
    My mouth curved up at the corners and I sank back down with a sigh, letting her continue as I tried to get my mind straight. This whole thing had taken on a surreal quality, and I couldn’t tell which of us was more insane here.
    “Why are you helping me, Lottie?”
    “Why not?” She gave me an equally puzzled look, brow furrowing.
    I could think of a dozen reasons.
    “Most of this looks worse than it is - just that arm that needs attention.” She continued unperturbed.
    “It’s fine.” I really did not want her involved in this.
    She just rolled