When Bella ignored him, Oliver stalked over and grabbed a handful of her dark, silky hair. She screamed as she was dragged from the bench at the vanity and across to the door that led to Victoria's room.

Oliver yanked that door open and marched through, depositing his wife in the middle of the white-carpeted floor. Victoria flinched and sat up from her reclined position in her large bed. 

"What's the meaning of this?" Victoria snapped, sharp eyes narrowing as they met Oliver's.

"You know damn well what this is about," Oliver growled, planting his feet. "Who helped you?"

Victoria's face hardened, and she smiled a little. "I don't know what you mean."

Oliver let out a cry of frustration. "If you don't tell me right now, I'm going to get Griffin involved. And he'll make the consequences for what you've done a lot more painful--"

"We were just having fun--" Bella said from the floor, her voice lilting and whiny, like a spoiled child. "You had sex with him, so why couldn't we?"

"I did not. And what you did wasn't 'sex'," Oliver hissed, glaring down at his wife. "You assaulted him. And I want to know how many goddamn men you had involved."

Victoria grinned. "How do you know there were any men involved?" she tested, tilting her head.

"The hand-shaped bruises on him were too large to be yours. And the room stunk like cheap cologne. Stop playing games and tell me right now!" Oliver demanded, anxious to get back to Caleb.

"Two," Bella admitted. "But we're not going to tell you who, so don't even ask."

Oliver stood in silence for a moment, processing that. Two men. . . two men had come into his home and hurt someone he was supposed to protect. Caleb would never be the same. Should he tell Griffin? Would he even care? 

Oliver's racing thoughts were interrupted by Victoria practically lunging off the bed. She stormed over and flung open the door to the outer hallway. "Leave," She demanded, planting her feet and holding the door open. "Get out and leave us alone, you bastard."

Oliver had to clench his fists to keep from swinging a punch as he passed her. The door slammed behind him, and he picked up his pace. He hadn't left because she'd wanted him to-- he needed to get back to Caleb. 

He raced back to Griffin's bedroom, flinging the door open and rushing over to the bed, where Caleb still lay. He hadn't moved and inch. Oliver crouched by the bed and slowly reached up his shaky hands. He untied the blindfold and gingerly pulled it away. 

Caleb's closed eyes were swollen and red, and his cheek was bruised from being slapped repeatedly. 

Oliver trailed a fingertip down the boy's cheek, trying to see if he was really asleep. When he didn't move, Oliver blew out a breath. He stood and gently turned Caleb onto his side, adjusting his position so he wasn't so twisted up anymore. Oliver felt a flush of anger as he stared at Caleb's body. . . something so beautiful had been marred by others.

Oliver took a deep breath and stepped away. He walked to the bathroom and found some cloths, wetting them in warm water at the sink and wringing them out. He walked back to the bed.

He crouched and started to clean Caleb. There were all kinds of slimy fluids he didn't even want to think about what they were. He switched out the soiled cloth for a clean one and moved up to wipe Caleb's face. He gently circled his eyes, cleaning away the tearstains. 

When Oliver was finished with that part, he took the cloths to the bathroom and tossed them into the sink. Let Griffin deal with them. He walked back out and went through to his adjoined bedroom, digging through the drawers of Caleb's few items to find him something to wear. He grabbed what he wanted and once again headed back to the bedside. 

Caleb didn't stir as Oliver manipulated his limbs into the clothes. He didn't move when Oliver scooped him up into his arms, and he didn't open his eyes as Oliver walked down the winding hallways. 

Oliver was starting to worry. Why wasn't he waking up? Was he seriously injured? He'd thought it was just shock, but. . . did Caleb need to see a doctor? That could pose some issues. . . he had no way to give a believable explanation for Caleb's condition.

Oliver headed into one of the old wings of the house that was no longer in use. It was staff quarters, but had been abandoned when nicer, newer rooms were put in for the workers. Oliver picked a room at the very end of the dark hall, the last door on the left. He opened it and went inside. 

The room was dusty and dark. The furniture had been shielded in dust covers, which Oliver pulled off the bed with one hand and tossed to the side. He laid Caleb down in the soft sheets, tucking him in tightly, and stepped away. 

He stood in the door of the room, gazing back in at the unmoving bundle in bed. Would Caleb be alright in here? It didn't matter. This was the best way to keep him safe. 

Oliver stepped out, locking the door from the outside.

             Part 31 Coming Soon