Chapter 18 Mirabelle
Mirabelle
Rage collapses to the floor, his body convulsing as his eyes roll back into his head. He’s so big that I can feel the impact of his collapsing like a sack of potatoes hitting the floor.
“No!” I cry out, stumbling forward, my voice hoarse from my earlier screams.
My hands are shaky, as I fall to my knees at his side, frantically lifting his arm to feel for a pulse. God, his arm is heavy. He’s completely knocked out. Dead weight. Hopefully not actually dead.
They wouldn’t do that, would they? Kill a fighter? Is that a punishment for breaking the rules here?
I mean, Rage didn’t follow their instructions. I tried to help him. But he refused. He was all teeth, clenched fists, and loud roars at any mention of willingly getting chained to the wall again.
I can feel phantom twitches down my arms and to my fingertips as I feel for his pulse. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never done this before.
I just need to make sure he’s alive.
He’d better be alive.
The door creaks open with a pop and a hiss, and I see three silhouettes against the bright lights from the hallway.
The older trainer and the younger trainer rush into the room and stare at me with wide, shocked eyes, their gazes darting between me and Rage’s collapsed body.
“God dammit,” The older one grumbles, his frustration clear in every line of his body. “You know how much extra fuckin’ work it takes to deal with him after we’ve gotta knock him out like this?”
I flinch backwards from the harshness in his tone.
“Shut the fuck up,” the third figure says before he moves into the room much more slowly.
Hazel-green eyes. A whiff of basil.
“Rowan!” I stumble to my feet and rush over to him.
Oh my god. I didn’t get a good look at him last night, when Jett took me from him. He looks like he’s in terrible pain right now. A living, walking bruise.
He hasn’t even changed out of the clothes he was in last night. They’re still covered in blood.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I say, my hands hovering over his body. I’m worried that if I touch him anywhere, I’ll just hurt him.
The tears I try to keep at bay when I’m around people I don’t feel safe with burst free. I can’t stand watching Rage get knocked unconscious and seeing Rowan this hurt.
“Shhhh,” Rowan soothes, wrapping his arms around me and tucking me into his chest.
I can practically feel the way his breath hitches with pain from the movement, so I do my best to hover my arms around him instead of giving him the hug I actually want to give him.
He angles his body between mine and the other two trainers.
Oh, yeah, I’m naked.
“Are you okay, Sugar?” Rowan murmurs.
“I’m fine. Are you okay? You look—you look—“
“Like I got the crap beat out of me,” he huffs, wincing.
I remember the way Jett practically stomped down on Rowan’s ribs last night. They’re probably broken. How are broken ribs treated?
Rowan pulls away from the hug, peering down at me. He runs his hands up and down my body, as if checking to see if I was lying about not having any injuries.
His hands tremble as they do so. I don’t know whether it’s from his injuries or not knowing whether I was okay for however long I was away.
Maybe both.
Probably both.
His touch sends a shiver down my spine, and my strawberry scent sweetens in the air, making the two alpha trainers cough.
The noise makes my cheeks feel warm as Rowan stands, content with his assessment.
“What—what are you doing to him?” I ask the trainers, peeking around Rowan.
They both just stare at me, almost like they’re confused.
“See? Told you she was fuckin’ weird,” the younger trainer huffs.
“You best watch how you talk about her,” Rowan says, his voice low. He turns to the older trainer. “What’s the protocol for him, Uncle Jerry?”
Uncle. So I guess this older trainer is related to Jett and Rowan.
“Most of the time we’ll shock ‘em and eventually he’ll put on the cuffs himself. Then we tighten’ ‘em before we come in to do whatever we need to do. But now that he’s knocked out, there’s a different protocol,” Jerry says.
The two of them drag Rage’s unconscious body across the room. Jerry pushes a button on another kind of remote, lengthening the amount of chain from the walls before they cuff his wrists and ankles.
Using whatever winch system is installed in the walls, the chains tug him until Rage is hanging from the wall like he’s meat at a butcher’s shop.
His hair covers his face as he remains slumped forward, unconscious.
“It’s a lot more work ‘cause we’ve gotta make sure he actually wakes up,” Jerry sighs, running a hand through his salt and pepper gray hair. “Normally, when someone’s experiencing too much pain, pain their body can’t handle, they pass out.”
“I take it that’s not how things work with him?” Rowan nods, his jaw flexing as he stares at Rage.
“With the dogs, they don’t know the limits of their bodies. Fantastic for fighting. You fight harder if you don’t know your own limits. But bad for this,” Jerry says, waving around the room.
“So there’s a chance he may not wake up?” I whisper, my hands clinging to the hem of Rowan’s t-shirt as I fight to keep them steady.
The two alpha trainers shrug, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
I should’ve tried harder to explain to Rage what was going on. To convince him to let me help him.
There was a wild look in his eyes, though. But even if he could understand what I was saying in the moment, he definitely wasn’t listening to me.
Rowan sways on his feet, his eyes fluttering shut, and my attention immediately locks on him.
“Oh my God! You should lie down! Have you had anyone look at your injuries?”
“Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head once before he regrets the motion, his eyes closing. “Wanted to make sure you were alive first. Thought you were dead.”
“Well, I’m alive. And I’m telling you that you need to worry about yourself now!”
“Okay, let’s head back to the trailer. We can have the doctor meet us there,” Rowan sighs, pulling out his phone and shooting a quick text.
I ignore the curious looks the two trainers are giving me as I guide Rowan to the door.
Over my shoulder, I catch the two trainers whispering back and forth to each other.
“Please don’t hurt him too much,” I say to them.
I have no clue whether they’ll listen to me, but I need to help Rowan, which means I can’t stay back and help Rage.
They don’t bother giving me an answer before Rowan is tugging me towards the exit of the building.
“Don’t have a hoodie to give you this time, so you’ll have to wait till we get back to the trailer,” he says, sliding into the front seat of a golf cart I’ve never seen before.
The bench seat allows me to slide up next to him and tuck myself under his arm.
He sighs, his muscles relaxing as he tries to hide the fact that he’s sniffing my hair right now.
“I’ll use you as my windshield,” I say, smiling up at him.
He returns my smile as he drives towards his trailer.
“You can use me as any sort of shield anytime.”
It’s not as freezing as it was last night, but I’m still completely naked, so I’m grateful Rowan is letting me tuck myself up against his side as the wind picks up.
“I was so afraid,” he murmurs, one of his hands falling from the wheel to squeeze my thigh.
It’s not a weird touch. He’s a lot closer to my knee than anywhere else, but the touch still sends a jolt of awareness running down my spine.
I’ve been having more of these moments lately. Maybe because I’m spending so much time without clothes, surrounded by men I’m attracted to.
This is normal, right? I’m not being weird?
Even though my scent telegraphs my reaction to his touch, leaving a sweet trail of my pheromones behind us, I still don’t have the courage to bring it up.
I feel safe with Rowan. I feel safe around the three alpha fighters. The last thing I want is to ruin whatever tentative friendships, partnerships, or understandings we have with each other.
None of them have said anything.
Well, Ash sort of did, but it was less with words and more with his body language. But maybe that was just his body reacting the same way mine does.
“I can practically feel you thinking a million miles a minute,” Rowan says, pulling the golf cart in front of his trailer.
“Yeah,” I say, helping him get out.
It takes all my strength to help him up the last few steps, because with each movement, Rowan puts more and more weight on me.
I want to get him to the bed, but he waves me off and collapses down onto the couch instead.
“Got some clothes for you in my room,” he murmurs. “Put them on before the doctor comes.”
“Okay,” I say.
I’m scared to take my eyes off him as I slowly make my way to his room.
I swear, I catch him saying something under his breath about hating the way other people look at me, but I can’t be too sure.
I pick another t-shirt and pair of boxers from his closet, but pause before heading back out. I decide to toss on a loose pair of basketball shorts he has over the boxers. They fall well below my knee.
Perfect.
If Rowan doesn’t like the way other people look at me, then I’ll give them less to look at! This is the perfect solution.
Well, it’s the perfect solution until I take a step forward and they fall to my ankles.
I have to pull the drawstring so tight that the bow I make is comically large. If I pull the shorts up to cover my chest, which I’m pretty sure I can, I could use the bow to hold everything up by putting it around my neck like some sort of terrible romper.
Rowan cracks an eye open and bursts out laughing at the sight of me struggling to tuck the massive bow into the hem of the shorts.
“I look ridiculous,” I mumble, stepping back out into the living room.
“God,” he groans. “You can’t make me laugh like that, Sugar. Laughing hurts like a bitch.”
“Oh my God! I—I’m so sorry. I’ll—tell me how to fix it?”
He waves a hand as if he’s trying to wave away my panic.
“Nah, I’m just giving you shit. So, you wanted to wear my shorts? The ones that’re super baggy, even on me?”
“Something like that,” I shrug, pulling up a dining table chair so I can sit close to him.
“Something like what, Sugar?” He asks, his voice going soft. “I’m not a mind reader, remember?”
“Well, I, uh, I overheard you muttering under your breath about not liking the way people look at me. So I thought I’d give them less to look at, you know.”
He stares at me with an unreadable expression, making my strawberry shortcake scent sour with my panic.
“Did I do something wrong?” I whisper.
“So you’re doin’ it for my sake? Not yours?”
“Yes!” I nod eagerly. “I want to make you happy. Especially when—when Jett hurt you because of me.”
“He didn’t hurt me ‘cause of you. He hurt me ‘cause he likes hurting and felt out of control,” Rowan shrugs. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to because you think I want it, okay, Sugar? Not in this trailer. In this trailer, you do what you want.”
“Oh, well, um, I like wearing just your boxers.”
“Then just wear my boxers,” Rowan nods definitively. “On second thought, keep those shorts on. I’ll figure out a way to get you some clothes that fit better, but the doctor is a man.”