Chapter 8
We’re Not Going to Take It
Ricky arrived not long after Jagger stormed off in a huff.
While he saw to Jagger, I stayed in my room to be alone.
The view from my window is of the lake. From here, it looks beautiful with the sun shining down.
Unlike the windows at the boys’ apartment, this one opens.
But my chance of climbing out and escaping is just as slim.
There are metal bars locking me in and, I guess, anyone else out.
Jagger did say it has top-notch security.
I know they’re trying to keep me safe, I get it.
And I appreciate their help, but why can’t they treat me like one of them?
Why can’t they see that their rules just make me feel even more trapped?
When the truth is, most of the time I like being with them and don’t really want to run away.
I want to be one of them. Tough and fierce like Sloane, but more than that, respected enough to think for myself.
As I stare out the window, my mind drifts to the club, and I wonder what’s going on down there right now.
I wish I was working tonight, dancing for a roomful and making my own money.
The short time I was able to was so empowering, it gave me a high I need more of.
But my family had to go and ruin that as well.
I wish I was never born into my family, wish so badly I could just be a normal girl able to follow her dreams. My audition song plays in my head, and I move, turning from the windowsill and up onto my toes.
Just as quickly as I spin, I crash to the floor, pain surging through my head.
I bury my head in my hands and suck in deep ragged breaths, willing the thumping to stop. Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.
Fucking Valentine still haunting me.
I move to sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, staring at my trembling hands, hating that I let this happen to myself.
I know hitting my head while the boys were trying to shield me from flying bullets was a freak accident, but the damage was already there.
Who knows how many other fractures Valentine gave me over the years that are still lingering under my skin.
I know sometimes the bruising and pain was much worse than at other times.
Sometimes I didn’t leave the house for weeks.
He wanted me hidden away, the shame of what he was doing to me too much even for him.
My hands ball into fists. I should have run away sooner, should have stuck up to him and fought for myself no matter how bad it got.
I hate myself for letting this all happen.
What if I never fully recover and I can’t dance again?
A silent sob works through me, but I have no tears left to cry; they have turned into a bitter pain that’s now lodged itself in my chest.
I want to make him pay for the way he treated me, but he’s already dead.
My family, though, they’re not. My papa fucking sent me off to him when I was so young and innocent, I had no idea what was coming.
They saw what he was doing to me and said nothing.
Did nothing. They let it all happen. I was supposed to be his little girl.
And my brother, all that time I thought he was trying to protect me and get me out of that hell — I see it for what it was now.
He didn’t want me married to Valentine because he had someone more beneficial he could ship me off to.
Fucking Leone Russo. My body goes rigid, and pain pumps through me like never before.
I want them to pay. How fucking dare they use me to grow their media empire. That’s what this is, I’m sure of it.
“Daisy,” comes Ricky’s voice, forcing my attention up to him. He’s at the door of my room, his brow furrowed. “Are you alright?” He moves into the room and places his bag down at the end of my bed.
“No, I’m not,” I mutter.
He moves over to help me up, holding out a strong hand. He pulls me up onto my shaky feet and leads me back over to the bed. “Did you fall?”
“Not really. I was… I just got dizzy and had to sit down,” I lie, because I know anything I say will go back to the boys, and I remember one of their rules is no training until they tell me I can. Assholes. A fresh wave of anger courses through me.
“You might have just moved too quickly. You’ll be a little off balance for a few weeks. Let me take a look.”
I sit on the bed in front of him as he opens his bag. He gets out a little light and shines it in my eyes just like he did every day in the clinic. “How’s the nausea?”
“Fine,” I mutter, so used to his checks now.
He unravels the bandage around my hair and looks over the stitches. “And the pain?”
I shrug.
He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s not as bad as it was. The headaches come and go, but the pain meds you gave me help.”
“Good. I’m going to remove your stitches today. You can even wash your hair if you want to, just be careful.”
“Thanks.” I sigh. I know I should be excited, but what’s the point in washing my hair and making it nice when I know I have a big chunk taken out of it.
His brow creases. Then, he moves to his bag and pulls out a little blade and a pair of tweezers. “Won’t hurt too much,” he says before getting started on pulling the stitches free.
I stare into space, trying not to let the icky tug and pull feeling make me sick. My stomach rolls, and I try not to dry heave. “Have you got any music on your phone? I need a distraction.”
He stops what he’s doing and pulls out his phone. “Let me see, something classical to ease the nerves?”
I scrunch up my face. “If I can’t dance, I don’t want classical. What about pop? You got something more upbeat?”
He grins and types something into his phone. “Pop hits 2000 more like it?”
I shrug and give him a half-smile. “It’ll do.”
He hits play, and Beyonce’s “If I Were a Boy” plays through his phone. My eyes narrow as I smirk back at him. That’s a little too fitting for the shit I’ve been dealing with this morning.
He shrugs. “My girl’s been in my phone.” He laughs, getting back to work on my stitches.
“Was she trying to tell you something?” I ask, a little curious about him. I’ve gotten to know him a little this week while he’s been looking after me.
“She gets a kick out of messing with my stuff just to prove she’s in control.” The way he smiles as he talks about her is adorable. And distracting enough that I let him finish the job he’s here for.
When he’s done, he wipes over the area with something that smells like disinfectant. Then, he packs away his tools into his bag.
My fingers run over my head, the shaved part making me wince, not in pain but disgust, because I know the horror show I must look like. At least when the bandage was there, I had something to cover it all up and hide behind.
“The boys have a nice outdoor pool out the back. You can’t swim yet, but it’s a beautiful day out there. Might be nice to laze in the sun a little,” he suggests.
“Thanks, yeah, maybe,” I mutter. If that’s within the rules of my three guards, and since I can’t leave the house without them, I’m sure it’s not.
His eyes run over my face. “How are you feeling other than the pain?”
I look up at him, wondering what he’s asking. He’s looked me over and said it was all going well.
He moves to sit beside me on my bed. “Mentally, emotionally? You’ve been through a lot; it would be normal for you to be experiencing some new feelings. Or maybe just not feel quite yourself yet.”
I sigh heavily. He has no idea. “Anything I tell you, I’m sure will just go back to them.” I motion to the open door. One of them is probably standing in the hallway listening in right now.
He stands and moves to close the door. “Doctor-patient privilege, you can tell me anything and I won’t pass it on to the boys.”
I want to believe him, I really do. He looks so genuine, and I have no one else. I sigh heavily, trying to release the tension, but it’s no use. I’m coiled up so damn tightly. “I’m confused, I guess. But most of all, I’m so fucking angry.”
He nods. “That’s understandable after what you’ve been through, the trauma and the loss. Your life will look different from how you imagined.”
I lock my eyes with his. “No, Ricky, it’s like there is this rage coursing through me I can’t control. I want to make them pay. I have never felt anger like this before.”
“The Stryker brothers?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “I think they’re doing everything they can to help you, aren’t they? If I’m wrong, tell me and I will get you out of here right now.”
I glance back at him. Nice to know I have that option if I need it.
“Not the boys. My family,” I seethe, my voice like venom.
“I want them to feel the pain I have. I want them to suffer. To lose everything they care about and have their worlds turned upside down. I want them to know what it feels like to be nothing to the people you loved most in this world.” I place a hand on my head as it throbs with pain, the anger getting the better of me.
Ricky smiles softly. “I can understand you’re feeling angry. Right now, though, you need to focus on yourself. Take this time to recover, to get stronger, and when you’re back to your normal self, we can revisit this conversation and see if you still feel as angry.”
“What if she never comes back?” I whisper, my chest tight.
“Who?” he looks confused.
I meet his gaze, sadness washing over me. “The girl I used to be. I’m worried too much has changed. That it’s altered me. I have seen things now, and there is this… I don’t know what it is. Poison inside of me, I guess, that’s making me feel erratic.”