Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EVERLY
W hen I wake, it's with a sudden jolt and the utmost clarity.
I jerk upright, remembering everything. Running away from the wedding, slipping into Serenity Falls, Maverick, the padded room, Rowan and Braum, being electrocuted by the boy I loved...
The past tense causes my heart to stutter—a biological objection letting me know I still love him despite his transgression against me. There’s got to be something wrong with me. How can I love anyone who could put someone through an ordeal like last night?
Or better yet, how could I have fallen apart at the hands of two very seriously disturbed individuals?
Thoughts of Rowan’s mouth and hands on my breasts cause my nipples to suddenly tighten.
The memory of Braum’s thick fingers as he caressed my most intimate areas has me pressing my thighs together tightly, as if that will ease the throbbing.
What is wrong with me? Why am I not throwing up in disgust? I told them no and yet they had taken liberties with my body that no one else ever has. So where is the sense of shame and disgust?
I push the questions away as a more important, and immediate, issue takes precedence. Where am I, and how do I get out of here?
The room I find myself in isn’t terribly big but feels that way with tall, wood-coffered ceilings, massive windows, and dark wood panel walls.
Gold framed landscapes that look old and unnoteworthy hang on the wall, uninspiring and boring.
There are two doors here. One cracked open just enough for me to be able to tell it's a bathroom. The other must be the exit.
My stomach clenches as I strain to hear any movement beyond it.
What will exiting this room look like? Will I run into an orderly out in the hallway?
Other patients? I can’t just sprint out of here without a plan.
If I’m caught, I’ll be hauled away in handcuffs or picked up by Father—who will undoubtedly hear about this either way.
That’s the worst-case scenario. Just the thought of him getting his hands on me after what I’ve done to him makes death sound appealing.
No, I’m wrong. The realization hits me hard and with a bitterness I can hardly stomach. Being back with Father would be awful for sure. But failing to save Maverick? That would be far, far worse.
My whole body flinches, as if recoiling from the mere idea of letting him down.
“I can’t fail,” I whisper to myself, hoping that hearing it out loud will settle my increasingly rapid heartbeat.
Right, so I need to move. Licking my dry lips, I toss the covers away and swing my legs off the edge of the bed. The squeak of alarm that slips past my lips as cool air rushes over my body, my naked body, is immediately muffled by my palm as I slap it over my mouth.
Where are my clothes?
Instinctively, I grab for the sheets and yank at them.
When they’re free, I wrap the soft fabric around my body and slide out of bed.
Looking around the room, I don’t spot my clothing.
When I peer into the bathroom, a light flickers on overhead.
I flinch, only to relax when I realize it’s on a sensor.
A quick look around tells me my clothes aren’t in here either.
Grimly, I return to the bedroom.
“Where would they have put them?” I mutter.
They, as in Rowan and Braum. This is one of their rooms, I just know it.
My eyes land on a dresser. If I can't find my clothes, I guess I'm going to have to steal some.
I shuffle over to the piece of furniture, sheets following in my wake.
I open drawers, grabbing a simple black tee shirt that feels thick and high-end despite its simplicity, and then a pair of sweatpants.
Chucking the sheet to the floor, I dress quickly.
The oversized attire feels ridiculous, but at least it's something. I have to cinch the drawstring of the sweatpants tight to keep them from slipping off my waist. That’s followed by rolling each pant leg so I walk without tripping.
When I'm covered, I hunch my shoulders and move toward the closed door.
I just need to see what's on the other side.
So far I've heard nothing, but the room might be close to a security post. In Sortage Residence Hall, the security guard sat right in the middle of a four-way crossing of halls. The only way I managed to sneak by him was because he was sound asleep. It had been risky but necessary since Maverick wouldn’t listen to me during our conversation in the gym.
It would've been a hundred times easier if he had slipped out to meet me.
Of course, I'm learning the hard way things don't always go to plan.
My chest twists with regret.
Last night was a disaster of epic proportions, but I still have a chance to salvage this. I just need to get my backpack, which is hopefully still locked in that metal coffin thing, and then find Maverick.
With a slight tremor in my hand, I grab the worn brass doorknob.
When I twist it, I find it's not locked.
I'm not sure why I thought it would be. Of course, patients wouldn’t be able to lock themselves in.
It has to be a safety protocol of some kind.
I crack it open just a hair, hoping like hell no one notices.
Leaning forward, I attempt to peer through the crack. Before I can focus on anything, the door is yanked open the rest of the way. With a yelp, I topple onto my knees.
“You're awake, good. I was beginning to worry.”
With a huff, I sit upright to find Braum standing over me. Dressed in a dark green, long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark jeans, he looks like he's been up for a while.
The minute our eyes meet, all the heat he’d elicited in my body the night before returns.
It gathers in my cheeks then spreads down into my chest, arms, and legs.
I can remember the hard press of his chest, now covered and innocuous.
I remember the way his hands had held my hips, steadying me as Rowan cleaned me up.
And his erection, I remember it too. Not the look of it, but the feel—thick and hot—pressed against my lower back. For a second, I forget to breathe.
Braum offers me his hand. The movement jerks me out of my stupor.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, trying to sound cold and cutting rather than nervous, as I scramble to get to my feet on my own. “I think you’ve done enough of that already, don’t you?”
When I’m on my feet, I try to glare up at him, but I can tell it’s not impressive. There’s a significant height difference between us. Not only that, there’s a power imbalance as well. Braum stands there looking as casual as ever, but it’s like he’s surrounding me, engulfing me in… well, him .
“Where are my clothes?” I demand. “And where am I? What day is it?”
“Destroyed,” Braum replies easily. Before I can get outraged, he continues, “You’re in the suite I share with Rowan, and it’s late Sunday afternoon.” He takes a step back, turning halfway around and nudging his head toward the rest of the space. “Come, I have food for you. You have to be starving.”
At his offer, my stomach growls. When was the last time I had a real meal?
Friday, I’d snacked on a few things while bunkered down for the evening after running out of my own wedding.
That had consisted of a bag of M&Ms, and a packet of trail mix.
Yesterday I had… I frown. All I had was a granola bar. No wonder I’m hungry.
“I’ll eat later,” I shake my head. “I need to get out of here.”
Braum’s brow raises. “Now? That would be unwise. Given that the day is winding down outside these doors, it would be smart to remain hidden from the staff as they finish up their duties. Unless, of course, you want to be seen by them?”
“No!” I cry out quickly. Realizing the panicked response has triggered Braum’s curiosity—coming in the form of a quick upward twitch of a brow—I clear my throat and try again. “No, I, ah, don’t want to be caught.”
“I thought so,” he replies. With that, he turns around and walks away from me.
I tear my gaze off his back to do a quick glance around the room. Then I do it again. Then once more. Holy cow… There’s a lot to take in.
The wood walls and wainscoting are stained dramatically dark while the wide plank wood floors are lighter, creating a stark contrast. There are three tall stained-glass windows, close together on the right side of the room, that let in a muted light that casts the space in vibrant hues of blues and greens.
Above us is a large arched beam that gives the tall ceilings an even grander appearance.
Opposite the windows is a dark fireplace made of stone, and beyond it, a closed door.
That’s just half the room. When my eyes take in the other half, they don’t quite know what to look at.
It’s like an exhibit of sorts.
Pedestals for small, domed display cases sit at various heights and line the perimeter of the room.
Attached to the walls are shadow boxes that showcase other items. They clutter the adjacent wall.
What isn’t in a box or display case is attached to plaques.
Small shelves house creatures that have been taxidermied—a badger, a white owl, and a fox—and picture frames with images of various things like jewelry or artwork.
It’s all haphazard and yet strangely connected.
“That’s part of Rowan’s Collection,” Braum explains, following my gaze. “He likes to hoard items he’s deemed valuable in some way. Sometimes he’s right, other times it’s… personal preference.”
I nod slowly before tearing my eyes away to look back at him.
Braum moves toward the couch in the middle of the room. Before it sits a coffee table with a platter of food and two bottles of water.
“I ordered a bit of everything,” he says, gesturing at the food.