All of my muscles ache so profoundly that I feel as if a hard shell has molded around my bones. I’m incredibly stiff, and every movement twinges.
Breathing through the aches, I glance around. I’m in a darkened, white room. It’s… sterile in here. Not clean like a hospital, which is where I expected to be, but we’re not in a dungeon, either.
I’m not sure why I even expected that.
Dirty white walls, concrete flooring, and silver cabinets line nearly every wall in the room. Next to the hospital bed is a large metal table with a bowl and various instruments laid out on a bloody cloth.
Different sorts of machines are placed throughout the room. While I don’t recognize most of them, the beeping device next to me monitoring my vitals is familiar, along with the IV that leads directly into my arm.
The doctor grabs a Styrofoam cup from the table next to my bed and hands it to me.
“Drink slowly,” he instructs.
Shakily, I grab the cup and sip on it. The cold water feels like dumping ice on a burn. Painfully relieving.
Scratchy, white blankets cover me up to my waist, and when I look down, I notice I’m in nothing but a light blue gown.
Somehow, that’s the worst part. They can see the evidence of just how cold it is in here.
Noticing where my eyes are trained, the doctor speaks up. “I do apologize for your clothing. I had to cut them off of you so I could properly treat you and assess the damage you’ve suffered.”
“You can thank Rio for that,” the grungy man mutters under his breath. Plenty loud enough for me to pick up on through the near-constant fear steadily swirling in my bloodstream.
“Shut the fuck up, Rick,” Rio snaps back, his accent deepening with fury. “Or I will kill you myself, and unlike your precious diamond, no one will miss you.”
This… this is a terror unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s nothing like the fear Zade invoked in me, and definitely not a cheap thrill I get from haunted houses and scary movies. This is what it feels like when you’re well and truly fucked.
The monitor betrays my body, the beeping increasing until the doctor glances at it with concern.
I scarcely remember the events after they sent my car rolling. However, I do vaguely recall Rio’s face hovering over me after he dragged me out of the car, his mouth moving but his words evading me. All except six.
Time to go to sleep, princess.
“Where am I?” I whisper and then cough, clearing some of the phlegm from my throat.
“At the fucking Ritz-Carlton, princess. Where do you think?” Rio snaps, his features still tight with anger.
Rick looks at him with an accusatory expression on his pock-marked face, but otherwise, he keeps his mouth shut, clearly taking Rio’s threat seriously.
It’s obvious Rio fucked up, and there’s a part of me that hopes they kill him for it.
“My name is Dr. Garrison,” the gray-haired man introduces, deliberately stepping in front of Rio. Swallowing, I stay silent. If the creep expects me to give him my name as if we’re in a fucking interview, then he can shove the IV pole up his ass.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking a step closer. I bristle, and before I can tell him precisely what I’m feeling, he powers on, seeming to sense my incoming smart-ass response. “I imagine a headache. Any nausea?”
I tighten my lips. Probably for the best that he diverted the questioning. My mouth is only going to get me killed if I let it run wild.
I’m not going to get away with that like I did with Zade-though I’d still consider ‘getting away with it’ subjective. Even when he first made himself known and terrified the absolute shit out of me, there was always an odd sense of security in pushing his buttons, as if deep down, I knew Zade would never truly hurt me. Something that only makes sense now that he’s managed to worm his way into my life.
The man is incredibly dangerous… to everyone else but me. Even when he had a loaded gun pointed in my direction and used it for more than just a weapon.
But these men? Not only would they hurt me, but they would kill me, too.
“Nausea,” I clip, my voice still hoarse. Dr. Garrison begins fiddling with the IV, replacing the empty fluid bag with a new one. I hope it’s morphine.
I drain the rest of the water in my cup, yet it does little to acquiesce the perpetual dryness in my throat. No matter how many times I lick my chapped lips, there’s never enough moisture.
“You have a pretty nasty concussion. Which means we’ll have to monitor you closely. I want to ensure you receive no further damage.” He shoots the pair a nasty look, and I get the feeling this is something they already argued over.
My mouth moves on autopilot, opening and readying to tell him not to waste his time-the two other men will ensure that my body endures plenty of more damage.
Sensing my intent, Rio snips, “I dare you.” His voice is stern and threatening, drawing my attention to him. “Your pussy will still work regardless, even if you’ve got brain damage.”
My mouth snaps closed, and I avert my gaze back to Dr. Garrison. His lips flatten into a white line, seemingly not impressed with Rio’s crude words.
Keep your mouth shut, Addie.
We just went over this, dumbass.
“You’ve experienced extensive trauma, and despite what anyone says-” he gives Rio a nasty look- “we need you in tip-top shape.”
They need me in shape so that I will be worth something. But I don’t argue, not when it benefits me. Healing means gaining the energy to flee.
Licking my lips, I ask, “What day is it?”
“You really think that’s important?” Rick barks. “You don’t get to ask questions.”
I struggle not to mouth back. My lips tremble with the urge to impart nasty, hateful words to spew past them. But I manage to refrain.
“It’s Thursday,” Dr. Garrison answers anyway, ignoring the filthy look from the grungy man.
Thursday…
It’s been five days already since the car accident.
Zade would be looking for me by now. Most likely out of his mind and on a rampage… Jesus, he’s probably going to kill a lot of people. No, he definitely is. And when a grin begins to form, I know that man has well and truly corrupted me.
“Something funny?” Rick asks. I squash the grin and shake my head, but all I can think is that even though I may die, so will all of them. And their end is going to be so much worse than mine.
As the fantasies take root in all the ways Zade will wreak havoc, my eyelids begin to grow heavy, and fatigue weighs down the little burst of adrenaline I was running on.
The three men watch me closely, and even in my concussed, broken state, I don’t need a scientist to tell me that whatever he drugged me with, it’s not morphine.
My eyes land on Rio, and my lids involuntarily close before I force them open. His lips quirk up at the sides, dry amusement swirling in those dark pits.
“Time to go to sleep, princess.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.