Hawk (A Stepbrother Romance #3)(72)

The needle slides into my arm. I jerk from the pain, and then the burning as the ice cold liquid slides into my muscle.

It takes only a few beats of my frantic heart before a heavy, dreamy feeling spreads through my limbs. It starts in my hands and feet, like they're filling up with sand, and then my legs and arms, and then my whole body, and they carry me, limp, back to the gurney. The men leave, the nurse stays, more come. They close the door and they take scissors with little blunt tips and they cut through my clothes.

Distantly, I remember that I borrowed these clothes, and I am very sad that they are being treated this way. I fight to stay awake but there's a pulsing warm lamp in my middle, pulling me down into a warm dark place, like a substance.

I'm sinking into it. My clothes come away in strips and they lift me up, like a doll, and pull new ones onto me. A nurse stands at the end of the bed and cleans the cuts on my feet and sticks tiny bandages on the wounds.

When I'm dressed they put the big leather cuffs on my arms and legs.

The nurse stands over me and she says, "You should just go to sleep."

"Fuck you," I whisper cheerfully.

She frowns and shakes her head, like I am very sad. Then she walks out.

I will not go to sleep. I am not going to sleep and they are not going to make me. My eyes grow heavy, my eyelids sinking closed until I force them open again. I would like to go to sleep. It would feel very good. It would be better than lying here, staring at a broken ceiling tile.

Damn it all to hell, I fall asleep.

Then I open my eyes. I still can't move. My arms and legs aren't sand anymore, they're cement. I can't even move my mouth. My tongue and throat are dry, my breathing ragged.

Tom is here.

"Hello," he says, softly. "Alexis, how do you feel?"

"Fuh, fuh," I choke out.

"Fine?"

"Fuh… fuh… uck… you…"

He sighs. "I was hoping you'd realize how pointless this is by now."

"Hawk. Find me."

"I think not. Do you know where you are?"

I shake my head. At least I think I do. I'm not sure it moved.

"You're still in the hospital. I've had you moved to another room. I'd like to talk."

"Go. Away."

He shakes his head, and sits down in a white chair. Everything is white. I hate it.

"When they come in to talk to you, you're going to tell them what I tell you to tell them, and that's this. You went home on an errand for me, to fetch something from my office. While you were there, my son, Howard, attacked you. My younger son, Lance, sprang to your defense, and Howard beat him and took you and your sister, and forced you to go with him. Do you understand?"

"Lie."

"Yes, it is, but this lie is better than the truth. The truth will keep you in here for a very long time," He touches my thigh, "Or I might just decide to make good on my promise. Do you remember the last time we were here?"

"Please. No."

"I still have the knife," he says, and slips it from his pocket.

He flicks it open. The edge is so sharp it blurs.

"I could cut into your leg," he says, resting the edge on my thigh.

I whimper. "Please no."

"Cut into the artery. You’ll lay there and bleed out. Extremely painful, bleeding out. Not peaceful at all, like people think. I think only drowning’s worse. We'd have to ask your father."

He draws the knife back.

"You die, and the hospital writes it off as an unusually determined suicide. There’s no investigation. My friends own the police. They own everything. They own me, in a way. Like I own you. Howard isn’t going to be a problem for us anymore. You can be a good girl like you should, and we can all be a nice happy family."

"I hate you."

"I know. I've always known. I'm not that dense. Honestly, I rather like it. I've been savoring it, a long, long appetizer before the main course. You're going to continue hating me while you work for me, while you follow my orders, and while I take you to bed. You don't have to pretend while I'm f*cking you. I'd rather you didn't, actually."

My stomach churns. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Tom folds the knife, and pockets it.

"Now, I'm in no hurry. First, I'm going to have you moved to another facility upstate. After you've learned what I want you to tell them, and you've been observed long enough that I'm confident you’ll behave yourself again, I’ll bring you home. You need to understand, Alexis, I’ve won. Howard isn’t coming. I don't know who you were working with, but they’ll be dealt with as well. I have your sister. If you don't behave yourself, she will. She's younger than you are, too. Not so pretty, but youth has its virtues. I think I might enjoy her."

I jerk on the bed. They still have me strapped down.

"I like the fight in you. I don't expect you to break, only bend. You're mine, Alexis. There are no heroes, there are no good guys, your good brave teenage fling isn’t going to appear and save you." He stands. "We'll be moving you now. Excuse me."

He knocks on the door, it opens, and he steps out.

It closes behind him.

I start to sob.

I'm not sure how long it takes for the door to open. I have no idea how long I've been here. A pair of nurses wheel the bed out into the hallway. The walls slide by and I can't move. The elevator opens and I can't move. We ride down and I can't move. The elevator lurches to a stop.