In his twenty six years of existence, Noah had never been so scared. When he received her text, he was scared, fearing the unknown. He knew Jossy. He knew her strength and her stubborn pride. If she had texted him for help, if she had said 911, then it had to be bad.
Maybe Damien had snapped and locked her inside, maybe she was being held against her will, or maybe the couple was in danger. The thought alone made his jaw clench. That's why he had notified the police before heading over, and had several of his security Men with him.
When he finally found the room she had described, he opened the door carefully.
Then he froze, because nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.
Jossy lay there, crumpled on the bed in a black dress, her body small against the huge mattress. For a second, he thought she was unconscious, then he remembered she had just talked to him a minute ago. She stirred weakly, and the air left his lungs.
Her face, God! It was barely recognizable beneath the swelling and bruises. Her hands and legs were smeared with blood, and her right eye was purple and swollen shut. She didn't look like a woman who had been in a fight, she looked like someone who had barely survived a car accident. But he knew exactly what had transpired tonight.
"No no no no!," Noah whispered, then his voice broke in anger. "He did this to you? I swear to God, I'm going to kill him."
But he forced himself to calm down. Anger was not going to save her. He had to be calm. With great care, he slid his arms beneath her fragile figure and lifted her against his chest.
"Jerry!" he commanded his driver into his phone, his voice sharp and urgent "Get the car started. Now."