Chapter 19 Rowan
Rowan
This territorial urge is bizarre, but the thought of anyone else seeing her grates against my skin like sandpaper.
I’m surprised she’s still so sweet and chipper after everything she’s been through.
“What exactly did my brother do to you,” I ask, my voice low.
I need to know. Even though I can’t do anything about it now, it’s eating me up inside not knowing.
“Oh,” she says, her shoulder slumping forward. “He brought me into the barn where they were keeping Ash after his fight and—“
She looks so small as she curls in on herself.
“Come here.” I don’t know if I’d be able to manage getting to my feet right now, but I shift myself so there’s room for her to sit by my legs.
She sits, and the automatic way she follows my instructions turns the sandpaper grating against my skin into shards of glass.
I reach out and lace her fingers with mine.
“You can tell me, I won’t be mad.” Her skin is so soft as I brush my thumb across the back of her hand.
I’m such a hypocrite, basically forcing her to tell me something she obviously doesn’t want to share when I’m sitting on a big fucking secret.
The secret of what happens to the blood of omegas like her. And the fact that I’m a fucking pathetic loser who’s addicted to that shit.
I’ve been fighting the itch to take it. It’s been gnawing away at me, worming its way into every other thought I have.
If I’m being completely honest, I’m probably going to dose myself again soon. I’ll probably use the excuse of needing it to try to heal faster, but I know why I’ll actually be using it.
“He tied me to the ceiling—I had to stand on my tippy toes—and then, he cut off my clothes,” she says, her voice trailing down into a faint whisper. There’s a faint tremble in her shoulders as she stares at the floor, refusing to look at me. “Then he touched me.”
“Where.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended it to and she flinches. At my words, the memory, or my demand for her to tell me, I don’t know.
“My—my chest,” she says, pressing against her right breast. “And then he—and then he touched me between my legs too.”
A growl rips from my chest, making her eyes fly up to mine.
“It—it wasn’t for very long!” She says, squeezing my hand in a panic. “He actually stopped pretty quickly. I vomited all over him. He didn’t like that.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, resting the palm of my free hand on my forehead, ignoring the throb of my eye that’s swollen shut.
“I—I’m sorry, did I say anything wrong?”
Jett assaulted her. And it was bad enough she threw up all over him. How scared was she? How terrifying must that have been for her?
I can’t muster up an answer to her stupid question. There’s nothing she did wrong. This entire situation is just fucked.
Instead, I tug her down so she’s laying on top of me.
“What—what’re you doing!” She squeaks out, holding herself up so she’s hovering above me, concerned that she’s going to hurt me.
“Just let me hold you,” I mumble. “Please, Sugar.”
“But you’re hurt!”
“I don’t give a shit,” I hiss. I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to calm the fuck down if I don’t want to freak her out. “You told me you were okay, that you weren’t hurt, but I think anyone who went through what you just went through would be hurt.”
“Oh,” she says, still hovering above me, her brows drawn down in confusion.
“I’m not making fucking sense, am I?” I say, letting out a small huff of laughter. “I just want to hold you to make sure you’re actually okay. That you’re here with me, you know? I was terrified when I woke up this morning and you weren’t here.”
“Oh,” she says again, her expression going soft.
It’s impressive how she’s able to infuse so much meaning into a single syllable.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I add, letting my hands fall to my sides.
The last thing I want to do is force her to do something she doesn’t want to do. She’s had enough of that here to last a lifetime. With the way the family farm works, she’ll have a lot more of it in her future, too.
She shakes her head.
“No, I want to,” she says. “I’m just worried I’ll hurt you.”
“It’s okay, I’ll let you know if I’m in a lotta pain.”
Lie.
I’d walk over coals if it meant her embrace was on the other side.
She nods before slowly lowering herself so she’s tilted on her side, putting the least amount of weight on me possible. She’s also almost falling off the couch, so I take the opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist so she doesn’t fall.
Only because I don’t want her to fall.
Not because I want to touch her.
“I like this,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into my side.
“Cuddling?”
“Mhmm,” she says, her eyes fluttering shut.
“I like it too.” My heart races in my chest. God, I hope she can’t hear it. “We could do this more, if you want.”
“I’d like that. This is what Ash did to make sure I didn’t freeze to death.”
I tamp down the wave of jealousy, shoving it back down into the deep recesses of my mind.
He got to cuddle with Mirabelle. While she was naked.
Fuck, now I’m thinking about her naked.
“Now I know what you mean when you tell me you can practically feel me thinking,” she says, lifting her head to glance at me, a small smile on her lips. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I say, quickly. Too quickly.
A melodic giggle leaves her lips. God, I could listen to that noise on repeat for hours.
“Okay,” she says. “I won’t push.”
She’s an angel. Too pure for this world.
A knock sounds at the door and the two of us freeze.
“That’s probably the doctor,” I say.
“I’ll get the door so you don’t have to get up!” She says, pushing herself up to her feet.
Damn, those shorts really do look ridiculous on her, especially with how tight she had to pull the drawstring.
I’m not necessarily a big guy, especially compared to the alphas around here, but Mirabelle is just tiny. Whatever they were feeding her at that facility she was fucking held captive in obviously wasn’t enough.
“Thanks, Sugar,” I say, my lips quirking up into a smile that only serves to make me wince when it tugs at my split lip.
“Of course!”
The hinges whine as she opens the door to reveal an older alpha man with worn jeans, a polo shirt, and a briefcase.
“Oh, hello there!” He says, his eyes widening in surprise as he stares down at Mirabelle. His expression twists and she glances down at herself, as if she’s concerned his expression has something to do with her.
It probably does, but not because there’s something wrong with her.
That always seems to be Mirabelle’s first line of thought.
“In here, Doc,” I call out to him.
Mirabelle steps aside to let the doctor in, her normal, bright smile shining.
“Hi! I’m Mirabelle,” she says.
“Nice to meet you, Mirabelle. I’m Dr. Stetson. Are you injured at all?”
Dr. Stetson is a good guy. Makes sense he’d ask if she’s alright, especially since he’s worked for this family for a very long time.
“No,” she says, shaking her head.
His gaze jerks down to her forearms and my eyes follow.
Fuck, how did I not notice them before?
The faint hint of purple bruising, hand-shaped bruising, is forming on her pale skin.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Stetson asks, dropping his voice low.
“I’m sure,” she nods. “Rowan’s hurt, though. Please take a look at him.”
“Alright,” Dr. Stetson nods slowly before stepping inside.
I give him a two-finger salute as he turns his attention to me.
“Damn,” Dr. Stetson says, letting out a low whistle. “Someone got you good.”
“Yeah, my brother,” I groan, sitting up.
“This is... intense, even for your brother.”
Mirabelle perches herself on the arm of the couch as Dr. Stetson takes a seat across from me on my dining chair. She glances between the two of us curiously.
“I’ve known the family for a really long time,” Dr. Stetson says, answering the unasked question written across her face.
“Since I was a baby, right?” I ask.
“I was there for your delivery, actually,” Dr. Stetson says as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Your father wanted your mother to have home births. So technically, I’ve basically been the family doctor ever since Jett was an embryo.”
I fall silent at the mention of my mother. It dawns on me that she was the last omega to really stay on the farm.
Until Mirabelle.
No wonder the doc’s expression was so shocked when he saw her open the door.
“Tell me,” Dr. Stetson says, gesturing for me to take off my shirt. “Does your brother giving you an uncharacteristically intense beating have anything to do with the omega watching us like a hawk, dressed in what looks to be your clothing?”
“Yes,” I drawl, dragging my t-shirt over my head, revealing my torso.
Mirabelle lets out a stifled gasp, her eyes glued to my torso.
At first, I think it’s because she’s caught sight of the boot and treadmark-shaped bruises along my side, but that’s not what’s drawn her attention.
Her eyes are glued to my tattoos.
She can really only get a good look at the half sleeve that curls down across my chest and over my heart.
Roses. With thorny vines swirling about.
I don’t remember a lot about my mom, but I do remember her favorite flower. She had a garden that quickly died out after she disappeared, with no one bothering to take care of it.
It’s funny, the things I can remember about her and the things I can’t.
Mirabelle’s eyes remained glued to my body. In any other situation, I’d be flattered. But right now, with my body broken and serving as a reminder of how fucking helpless I am, I feel exposed.
“I see,” Dr. Stetson says, his gaze darting between Mirabelle and me assessingly.
“You got somethin’ you wanna ask, then spit it out, Doc,” I say, gritting my teeth and narrowing my eyes on him.
He’s not doing anything wrong. But I can’t help but direct my frustration from my helplessness at the situation somewhere, and he’s a convenient target.
“I know part of my job here is to not ask questions, but I know what your family does here,” Dr. Stetson says, his voice low. “And I’ve got two girls at home that’re just like this girl. I can’t in good conscience not ask what’s going on here. She’s wearing a collar.”
My jaw flexes before I give a jerky nod.
“Yeah, I can’t blame you for asking,” I sigh. “Jett and my dad had the fantastic idea of keeping the fighting dogs in line by bringing in an omega as bait. Try to tame ‘em a little more.”
“That’s—that’s terrible, even for your family—“
“I know,” I snap, sitting forward and resting my elbows on my knees. “Trust me, I fucking know, okay? I’m doing my best to keep her safe. It’s why I got the living daylights kicked out of me last night.”
“Rowan is doing his best to protect me!” Mirabelle says, jumping in to defend me. It makes my heart squeeze in my chest. I think it practically every time I look at her, but she’s too sweet for this world. “Plus, the fighters haven’t hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. We have... an understanding!”
“I see,” Dr. Stetson says slowly. “Well, if you ever need a place to stay, should you want it, Rowan knows where to find me.”
I still, my eyes going wide. “You being serious, Doc?”
I know the weight of what he’s offering. He’s saying if we ever get the courage to run away from this place, that he’d help us.
That’s an insane offer, knowing that my dad would probably do some crazy shit to get us back.
Well, to get Mirabelle back. He probably won’t give two shits about me.
“The only reason I can afford suppressants for my daughters is because of your family’s payments,” Dr. Stetson answers, disinfecting some of my wounds.
I grit my teeth against the painful sting. It’s stupid, but I want to appear tough in front of Mirabelle.
“Thank you!” She says, smiling brightly. “I’ll be taking care of Rowan, by the way, so please show me what to do?”
“Are you?” Dr. Stetson says, offering me a fond smile. “Well then, let me show you.”
Like I said, too fucking sweet for this world.
Dr. Stetson is quick and efficient with his work, showing Mirabelle how to disinfect my split lip and the cut I have in my hairline, which luckily doesn’t need stitches. She takes to the role of being my caretaker like a fish in water.
It’s a sight to see, her flitting about the trailer in those comically large basketball shorts, microwaving us all some pasta. She made me the Alfredo kind, her smile as bright as the sun as she fed me my first bite.
Like hell was I going to tell her I could feed myself.
“The thing I’m most concerned about is your concussion,” Dr. Stetson says. “It doesn’t look like its severe, and your pupils are still dilating properly, but from the looks of things, your head was knocked around a lot.”
“Yeah, definitely feels like it.”
“Here’re some pain meds,” he says, pulling out an unlabeled pill bottle from his briefcase. “Take one every eight hours for the pain.”
“Got it, thanks, doc.”
Dr. Stetson turns to Mirabelle, who’s still perched on the armchair, the plastic container of Alfredo still in her lap.
“You, young lady, will have a very important job.”
“Yes! Anything!” She says, practically buzzing.
“Tonight, check on him every two to three hours to make sure he’s doing okay. Check if he’s breathing normally and sleeping peacefully. He’s pretty coherent now, but if anything seems strange, wake him up and ask him a simple question.”
“Like what his name is or something?”
“Exactly,” Dr. Stetson says, nodding proudly.
“Okay! I can do that!” She says, turning to me excitedly.
My lips quirk up into a small smile before I pop the cap of the bottle of pills and take one.
“Alright, I think that’s all for today. Call me if you need anything more, okay?” Dr. Stetson says, nodding to me.
“Thanks,” I nod back.
“Thank you!” Mirabelle says, setting the pasta down and walking the doctor to the door.
The pain medication hits quick, and by the time Mirabelle’s done feeding me the rest of the pasta, I’m already nodding off.
“Do you want to sleep here or in the bed?” Mirabelle asks softly, squeezing my hand.
“I’m good here,” I mumble. “You should get some rest, too, Sugar.”
“Okay! Goodnight, Rowan. Sweet dreams.”
“Night.”