Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harper
M y body is on fire.
No, not fire—ice.
A violent shiver rips through me, curling my fingers into the crisp sheets as the chill digs beneath my skin. My stomach twists, a deep, nauseating pull that sends a fresh wave of sweat across my brow.
I gasp for air, but it feels thick, heavy, like I’m suffocating under an unseen weight.
Where am I?
I blink against the dim light, my vision slow to adjust. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, the walls too clean, too impersonal. Panic clutches at my chest as the memories claw their way back—hands on me, the scent of cologne and cigars, the bite of a needle against my skin.
I was drugged. More than once.
Oh, God.
The room spins, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the rolling nausea. My limbs feel wrong—weak and trembling, like I worked out too long and too hard, and now my body is in full revolt. Every nerve in my body is raw, frayed like the edge of a torn ribbon.
A noise—low and steady—draws my attention.
A chair creaks. My breath catches in my throat as I force my head to the side. “Yer safe, lass. We got ye free of those animals.”
Bryan.
He sits up in a chair across the room, his large frame stiff as he stretches out his massive shoulders.
Did he sleep in that chair?
He offers me a sad smile, the shadows in his hooded gaze telling me how bad it must have been when he saved me from that nightmare.
But the point is that he did save me.
My stomach lurches again, violent and urgent. I thrash against the covers, kicking them off, the fabric burning against my skin. “I’m gonna be sick?—”
The words barely leave my lips before Bryan is up, moving faster than my sluggish brain can process. Strong arms scoop me up, cradling me against his chest as he strides across the room.
“Hang on. Almost there…”
Then we’re in the bathroom, and he sets me down. I fall to my knees as my stomach clenches and heaves. I barely register the cool tile against my legs before I’m lurching forward and vomiting.
“Go.” I spit, my eyes and nose watering. “You don’t need to see this.”
Bryan’s hand is firm against my back, rubbing slow, methodical circles. “It’s fine. Get it out.”
I grip the edge of the toilet, shaking, my body rebelling against itself. A whimper slips from my lips. “What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s the drugs.”
I rest my head on my outstretched arm and try not to pass out. “What did they give me?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’s working its way out of yer system and that’s the best thing for ye.” His voice is calm and steady—the opposite of how I feel.
“Am I in withdrawal or something?”
“Likely to some degree. I hired a nurse to take some blood. Kieran’s gone with her to a lab to get answers. Once we know what’s in ye, we’ll get ye something that will help. We’ll see ye through it.”
Another tremor rattles my bones, the withdrawal sinking its claws deeper. I close my eyes, my teeth clacking together, my muscles trembling with the effort to stay upright.
I grip the edge of the porcelain bowl, my knuckles white. “I’m so cold.”
“Aye, ye shivered a great deal through the night.” Bryan’s hands settle on my shoulders, firm and steady. “Let’s get ye some heat now that yer awake.”
Stepping around me, he turns on the shower. I’d likely do better in a tub, but there isn’t one. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them next, steam fills the room.
“Come now, ye’ll feel better in a bit.”
I know he’s probably right, but I’m not sure how I’m going to stand or get into the shower.
I expect him to leave and give me privacy. Instead, he takes off his watch, unbuckles his belt, and drops his jeans to the floor. After stepping out of his pants, he pulls off his socks and comes toward me wearing only a pair of black boxers.
I’m dizzy and I’m not sure it’s completely because of the drugs. “What are you doing?”
He bends behind me, grips me under my arms and hoists me to my feet as if I weigh nothing. “Yer too weak for this on yer own. And I’m not letting ye fall and crack yer head open after all the trouble Kieran and I went through to get ye back safe.”
My sluggish brain struggles to process his movements as he stands me outside the glass door. “So, you’re getting in with me?”
Bryan doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. He opens the door and, with one iron arm banded around my back, guides me inside the shower and to the edge of the spray. “Aye, that’s the idea. Now, just close yer eyes and let the heat work its magic.”
“But I’m wearing your T-shirt.”
“That’s fine. This is a fully PG event. I reckon ye’ve had enough eyes on yer body for now.”
Heat burns against my icy flesh, and I groan, pinching my eyes shut. After a moment, I’m better prepared for the bombardment of the sensation, and I shuffle deeper into the stream.
I rest my forehead against his chest as scalding water runs over my back, soaking the shirt, now clinging to my skin. It’s not the relief I hoped it would be, and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes my throat.
“Easy,” Bryan murmurs. One of his hands comes up, his fingers threading into my damp hair, massaging slow, careful circles at the base of my neck. “This is a fleeting moment that will pass. Talk yerself through it.”
“I hate this.”
“Och, I know ye do, trouble, but this is where we are I’m afraid.”
I pinch my eyes shut and reach for the shampoo dispenser. “I smell their cigars…in my hair.”
He shifts and wraps my arms around his hips. “Let me do that. Hold onto me so ye don’t assplant.”
I do my best, but the tremble in my legs is working itself up to a quake. Still, he’s solid and I doubt he’ll let me fall even if I were to collapse.
“Thank you.” The words come out on a wave of emotion and my breath hitches.
Strong fingers rake through my hair as a burst of coconut vanilla fills my sinuses. It’s such a relief not to smell the cigar smoke that more tears come.
I try to bury my face against his chest and push it all down, but I lose my hold. All the panic and humiliation and fear rushes to the surface and I’m swallowed up.
Everything that happened from the shock of Jamie drugging me to the panic of waking up bound to the horrid violation of feeling hands on me to the humiliation of knowing an entire room full of men were ogling me…
My tears mix with the water pouring down on us, and a carnal sob rips from my throat. Bryan’s arms tighten around me and he scoops me against his chest and sits on the tiled bench at the back of the shower with me curled in his lap.
“It’s okay, lass. Feel what happened and face it. Nothing can hurt ye now. Face it all and then let it go. It’s over. Yer safe and we’ll get ye through this.”
His fingers knead at the back of my neck again, and I sink into his hold. There’s something about his deep Irish lilt and the assurance that he’ll hold off the world until I snap back from this that makes me believe him.
With his family and his lifestyle, he knows about bad shit. He’s not the kind of guy to paint things pretty just for the sake of it. Honestly, I’m so incredibly impressed with his courage and kindness when dealing with a complete female fall apart.
I don’t know how long I cry but when I surface and sit up, he gives me a patient smile, and winks. “There ye are, trouble. Nice to have ye back.”
“It’s nice to be back.” I yawn, all my energy drained.
“Aye, let’s get ye rinsed out and horizontal before ye totally run out of steam.”
My eyes flutter shut as he runs the shower head over my hair, rinsing away the shampoo and the memories of the worst night of my life.
I envision it all washing down the drain.
I want it gone. All of it.
“I’m fit. I’m fierce. I’m a f-fighter.”
“Aye, that’s true enough. Keep that on a loop in yer head when things get bad.”
I intend to. That mantra has gotten me through more than a few bad times.
When the water finally shuts off, Bryan has me sit on the tile bench while he reaches outside the shower to grab a towel. “That wet shirt needs to come off. If ye can manage, I’ll wrap this towel around ye as quick as I can. I’ll even close my eyes if yer able to do the heavy lifting.”
“I can do that.”
My muscles ache, and my body is wracked with another massive shiver as I peel the wet fabric over my head and let it drop to the bench with a heavy shlop .
His eyes remain closed. His hold on the towel keeps it as a screen between us. And he keeps everything clinical. I reach up and guide the towel against my chest and he helps wrap the thick fabric under my arms and around me. When that’s in place, he gets another for my hair.
“Are ye ready to go back to bed?” He tilts his head toward the toilet.
I don’t need to pee. I think between not eating and vomiting as violently as I did, I don’t have anything left in me. “Bed sounds amazing, but I wouldn’t mind brushing my teeth. It feels like a moth spun a cocoon in my mouth and the caterpillar just rotted.”
His ebony brows arch. “That sounds unpleasant.”
Very.
He leaves me bundled up and sitting on the toilet for a moment, rushes out, and rushes back with a paper bag with a pharmacy logo on it. “Kieran grabbed a few things from downstairs to tide us over until our belongings catch up with us. We left in a bit of a rush and won’t be going back to Liverpool anytime soon.”
And for once, I’m not even curious to find out how they found me or where we are. For right now, all I want is a toothbrush and then bed.
While I work on exorcizing the death from my mouth, he settles in behind me, his fingers gentle as they comb through my damp hair. He works out the tangles, makes a loose braid and grabs an elastic from the bag to tie it.
My heart squeezes at the tenderness in his touch. I swallow, my voice barely above a whisper. “How are you so good at this?”
Bryan’s hands still for half a second before he exhales, a sound that feels heavier than it should. “Before she died, the woman I loved was sick. I took care of her.”
I turn my head slightly, glancing at him over my shoulder. His expression is unreadable, and for the first time since I met him, I see the man in that picture.