It took a moment for him to fully register that it was actually, truly, his own daughter that he held tightly against his racing heart, her hands feebly wrapped into the sweaty, bloody shirt beneath his jacket that suddenly felt too hot, too heavy, too dirty, on his shoulders.
Standing there in the dead sheikh's bedroom, in the deafening silence, it sank in how close he had come to losing her entirely. Mere moments of delay here and there could have culminated in missing the boat completely, and she would never have been seen again, at least not alive.
Of course he still didn't know what the horrors had befallen his Kim during the last few terrible days, but right now all he cared about was the comfort in knowing that bastard wouldn't touch her again. He couldn't change the past, but he could change the future, and he had done everything in his power to do so. The way that the old man had roughly grasped and wrangled his daughter into a human shield, thinking that it would somehow buy him some time, played over and over and over in Bryan's head, the same frame flitting through his brain in millisecond succession until he wanted to drive the heels of his palms into his eye sockets to make it stop.
It also suddenly dawned on him, his consciousness slowly coming down from its adrenaline and survival induced drunkenness that she was shaking, she was cold, and she was extremely underdressed.
"Here," he said quietly, voice rough and low, shrugging off his jacket. "Put this on. We will look around the room a bit. Looks like a closet over there, there has to be something for you to wear around here."
"I don't want to even touch his things," Kim muttered stubbornly, taking his offered jacket and huddling under it, the sleeves sticking out awkwardly at the sides, making her look like some kind of comical scarecrow. Had he not been slowly becoming acutely aware of the gunshot wound in his shoulder and the ragged gash in his side that was drop by drop turning his shirt crimson, he might have laughed at her brave petulance at the situation. So much like him. As it was, all he could offer her was a weak half smile that was strangely comforting even to himself.
"I know you don't," he rumbled, limping toward the closet. "But everyone that is a threat on here is dead, and we are going to have to drive this boat to the port and I can get us to the consulate in a day from there. I have a friend that works there that can get us plane tickets home."
"How long will it take," she asked in a small voice, and he pulled a blue dress, far too fancy for Kim's taste, out of the closet and turned to look at her. She was still huddled under his coat, long fingers clutching the lapels around her neck like a cape. He knew by looking at her that she had not been physically abused, as the sheikh would have wanted a perfect woman for his lusts and desires, based on the things Bryan had heard along the way. Bruised, battered girls did not bring in the kind of money that this boat indicated the man to have had.
But there was a hollowness in her eyes, the way they followed him as he moved, as if fearful that he would disappear. Her lower lip quivered unconsciously, and she glanced away from his scrutinizing gaze, her eyes focusing on anything to her left, as the sheikh lay to the right, eyes gazing unseeingly up at the ceiling.
His lip quirked up fondly as he moved toward her, holding out the dress. "Not exactly your style, but it'll get us to the port where we can get you some real clothes."
She nodded, her face reddening as if suddenly aware of her bare legs, the lace coverup leaving nothing to the imagination. She gave a pretend frustrated sigh, and took the dress from him.
"Thanks, Dad. Here, let me have it, you're getting blood on it." Her face suddenly blanched as if noticing his injury for the first time.
"Dad! You're bleeding!" A mortified look of horror flooded her face and one pale hand drifted faintly to her crimson lips in shock. Bryan realized it was the first time that she had ever seen him hurt. And this time, it was at her expense. He wished it could have been different, but here they were, and it was what it was.
He held up a hand, eyes closing wearily as he nodded. "I know, Kim. I know, nothing major, not going to die. Just get dressed and we will go up to the captain's quarters. Less carnage up there. He's still alive, but he can be easily persuaded to comply."
Her mouth opened and closed as she gazed at his injuries, as if hypnotized, a visible wave of grief and shame washing over her, her lower lip trembling. He saw the emotional shutdown as it happened, and moved gently to comfort her, but she was faster than he was and in three steps, she shut herself into the gold and crystal bathroom, his hand landing uselessly against the doorframe just as the lock on the door clicked shut.
"Kim," he commanded patiently, studying the lock with a practiced eye, running a rough hand along the frame, ignoring the smudges of red he was leaving behind. "Kim, it's okay, baby, it's alright. I'll be fine, I promise, it's nothing a little bandaging and some rest can't fix. Stop blaming yourself and let's get out of here as quick as we can, okay? Come on."
"I should have listened to you," she called through the door, her voice thick with emotion. "I never should have come to Paris. I never should have asked to come." He shook his head once, fiercely, trying to imagine what she was feeling. Every word she spoke drove into him like the stab of a knife, and while he understood her viewpoint, now was not the time to waste energy on emotions. It was a long way to port.
Her naivety and his giving in to her desire to travel to Paris because of Lenore's presence and silent pleading for him to be the cool dad and go along with the flow for once, had brought the last few terrible days upon them and as he stood there, pain coursing through his body, feeling every bruise and beating he had taken over the last few days, listening to Kim's halting sobs beyond the gold door, he found himself wishing upon whatever genie could give him a wish, that he could go back and tell her no. That he could be the paranoid dad and tell her absolutely not on her life was she going overseas alone. Without him.
Because at the end of the day, whether Lenore agreed or not, girls need their dads.
"Kim, come on out, baby," he rumbled against the crack in the door frame. "You know I can open this door, I'd rather like to not have to." He could have kicked himself, using a little guilt-tripping to get his daughter out of her self-sequester in the bathroom, but it worked and in a moment, the door swung inward, Kim standing there in the outrageous blue dress, her face streaked with mascara, smudged red lipstick, and hair stuck to her porcelain cheeks with tears.
"Have you looked at yourself lately?" he asked lightly, taking back the jacket she held out to him.
"I could say the same to you," she mumbled, crossing her arms protectively against her chest, one hand rubbing up and down her upper arm. "You look rough too." Her eyes were focused mournfully on the crimson showing on his shirt and he took a breath, buttoning the jacket once to hide the blood.
"I'm kidding, you look beautiful," he replied gruffly. "Come on, let's get this boat headed in the right direction." He moved to the door he had entered, and hearing no sound behind him, he turned, to see Kim standing there in the middle of the room, a heart wrenching sadness in her eyes. It was as if she was watching him leave for good, and her hand slowly raised, fingers flickering in the air in a half wave of farewell.
"Kim?" He asked, frowning in confusion at her. "Come on, kid, hurry up, let's go. Time's ticking."
"You don't have to make me hope," she whispered, her face crumpling like so many years ago when her doll's arm broke and he couldn't fix it. "I know this is how it ends."
"Ends?" he repeated, his brain searching the last few moments for any clue as to what on earth she was talking about. "Kim, let's go, it doesn't end here, we have to go upstairs and I am going to get that captain to drive this boat into the port so we can get to the consulate. It's a day and a half trip, so let's go."
"But this is where it always ends," she said again, a sob catching in her throat in a broken gasp of pain. She wrapped her arms even tighter around herself, her gaze falling to the carpet, drifting slowly to the still sheikh laying across the bed that she would have been thrown across by now if Bryan hadn't come when he did.
But now it was all going to end.
Again.
"End?" His mouth opened and closed for a moment, like a fish out of water, as he desperately tried to understand. "Got to give me something more than that, Kim. What is ending?"
"Every night," she cried softly. "Every night, the same dream. But we never leave the room. You come in, you save me, but when we try to leave, I wake up." Her voice trailed off, then she added, her voice completely broken and barely intelligible. "Then I wake up and I am still here."
His face relaxed in horrified understanding and in two seconds, he had limped across the room, taking her firmly in his arms again. "Kim, Kim, shh, it's okay. This time, it's real. I promise. It's not a dream."
"You always promise," she sobbed against his uninjured shoulder, her hands grasping at him like a drowning person might cling to a lifeguard. He supposed he sort of was one in her terrified imaginations.
His blood ran cold as he wondered how many times he had lied to her in her dreams.
"This time, Kim, it's real," he said to her firmly, pulling her away far enough to cup her shaking chin in both blood-smeared hands. "This time, we are leaving. And we are not coming back."
"Promise," she pleaded desperately, shaking, broken in his arms, and his heart clenched painfully. "Please. Promise me. If you don't, I can't keep doing this, I just can't."
"I promise," he breathed desperately against her scalp, pulling her close to his chest, her head right beneath his chin. "Now listen, and listen carefully, Kim. There is a lot of disarray on the other side of that door. I want you to close your eyes, and don't open them until I tell you, alright?"
She nodded against him, and he took no chances. He knew Kim was curious, and that was what had gotten her into this mess, but he was not about to voice that thought aloud. Carefully, he tucked her under his right arm, his elbow holding her against his side, while his right hand settled firmly across her eyes, gently pinning her head to his chest. "Stay right there, Kim, alright? I will guide you, listen to my voice. I won't steer you wrong."
He pushed open the door, his gun at the ready in his left hand, eyes gazing fiercely out of a haggard, lined face. He had gotten what he had come for and he was mentally challenging every villain on earth to dare to try to take her now.
He guided her around pools of blood, shards of glass, mindful of her bare feet. Still, unseeing eyes gazed up at him from the bodies of those he had taken down to get his daughter back, and his nose flared in anger as he pushed past each one. Kim's hands clasped around the wrist that held her captive against him shook slightly, and her fingernails unintentionally digging into his skin kept him grounded in the moment as he made his way to the captain's quarters. Once in the hallway. he released her, and barricaded the door for good measure. He turned to see Kim, her face incredulous and filled with every emotion known to mankind, as she tried to breathe. Her breath came in short, painful looking gasps, and he quickly grabbed her shoulders.
"Focus, Kim, breathe. You got this. Easy, kid, we made it, see I told you we would."
"We made it," she whispered, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. "We actually made it."
"Yes," he replied firmly, one hand cupping the back of her neck. "And Kim, I want you to talk it all out, don't bottle up any of it. But focus just a little longer, we have to get to port."
She nodded, almost in a daze, and sank into a chair as he crept to the door of the wheelhouse. He glanced back at her for one second, as if afraid she would vanish from his sight, before shoving open the wheelhouse door and vanishing inside.