Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Raking both hands through my blood-saturated hair, I snarled, “Do whatever you want with him, but give me some painkillers and stuff for bruises first.”
Ily.
I needed to fix Ily before I lost my mind.
Her keen eye landed on my bleeding arm, her body tensing beneath light green scrubs. “I have orders to treat Masters before jewels.” She shot a longing look at Peter before gritting her teeth and stepping toward me. “That looks bad. You’ll need stitches.”
Clamping a hand over the wound, I backed up. “Drugs and bruise ointments. While you’re at it give me some bandages and salve too.” I flicked a look at Ily, noticing her shredded feet. They looked as bad as mine.
Fuck, I’m sorry.
The door opened and closed behind us.
I whipped around as the nurse who’d helped take my blood when I’d first arrived on this godforsaken island appeared.
I couldn’t remember her name, but the doctor snapped her fingers and ordered, “Rose, prep everything we need to disinfect and bandage Peter. I’ll need intravenous antibiotics and—”
“Give me what I need,” I said coldly, calmly. “I won’t ask again.”
Dr Belford scowled and shook her head. “While Rose starts on Peter, I’ll sew you up.” Her nose wrinkled at my sorry state. “You need tending to.”
“You’re not fucking listening! I don’t care about me. Give me what I want, and I’ll leave.”
She flinched at my aggression.
A fracture in her medical professionalism appeared. “Please don’t raise your voice at me.” She couldn’t hide her true feelings or the hatred she harboured. “You’re the reason I have a full-time job patching up sex slaves, so allow me to do that job and stop throwing your weight around.”
“The supplies, woman. Or I’ll make you instead of asking you.”
Every second prevented me from tending the only one who mattered to me.
Ily wisely didn’t make a peep as the doctor swallowed back her loathing and went to a cupboard full of narrow drawers, each typed neatly with white labels. Drawing out the things I’d asked for, she placed them in a kidney-shaped dish and shoved them at me. “Here.”
She made the mistake of looking behind me. Of noticing Ily swaying on the spot.
Red-soaked Ily with bruises pockmarking her from head to breakable toe.
“Goddamn you to hell,” Dr Belford hissed under her breath, pinning me with livid eyes. “You’re all fucking monsters.” Darting past me, she grabbed Ily’s hand. “Sweetheart, you need to sit down. How are you even still standing?”
Ily shot me a worried look—a look full of true fear and wariness. She shook her head. “I-I’ll be fine after I’ve showered and rested. I just need—” She swallowed hard as the nurse placed Peter’s hand into a metal bowl stinking of antiseptic solution. Whatever the liquid was immediately frothed as if dissolving his flesh like acid. “Oh…” Ily wobbled. “I’m suddenly feeling rather faint.”
“I’m not surprised.” The doctor couldn’t hide her horror at the number of bruises covering Ily. “You’re black and blue. Can you breathe okay? Any sharp pains in your side?”
Ily nodded weakly. “I didn’t want to say anything, but…it feels like there’s a dagger in my ribs. I’ve done my best not to inhale too deeply, but it’s super painful.”
What?
Why didn’t she fucking say anything?
“Here?” The doctor touched her battered ribcage, right over a particular nasty bloom of colour.
“Ow. Yep.” Ily sucked in a groan. “But…please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Fix Peter—”
“It might be a fracture,” the doctor spoke over her. “You need to lie down.”
Fury kindled in me all over again.
The image of that psychopath shooting her at close range.
The pock-pock-pock of bullets.
The explosion of red as if he pried her open to feast.
It’d taken everything I had not to tear off his hands, scoop out his eyes, and rip out his stinking entrails.
Ily shook her head again. “No, no. I’m okay. Honestly, it’s just a bruise. Peter needs you far more—”
“If any of your ribs are broken, you might puncture your lungs if I don’t treat you.” She gave Ily a quick once-over. “Is there anything else broken? Fingers, toes, arms, legs? No sense of building pressure in your chest or abdomen?”
My ears rang with her questions.
Ily closed her eyes, her voice scarily quiet. “No, no. I’m fine.”
“Are you lightheaded because of lack of food, or have you been struck in the head?”
Ily flinched as she looked at Peter and the frothing bowl. “Please don’t mention food.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” The doctor held up her hand.
“Four.”
Glowering at me, Belford hissed, “What exactly did you do to her?”
My hackles rose. “That’s none of your concern.”
“It is as her physician. Did you toss her about? Hit her head? Did you use toys on her? Fuck her? How roughly did you take her?”
Yeah, after the shitty day I’d had, those questions tipped me the fuck over.