Chapter Twenty
In which Sloan is a mess.
Sloan…
Ethan’s pulling me down the hallway, his grip not loosening up. I get quick glimpses of his stupidly extravagant place- of course , it’s a penthouse. Six doorways line the hall, and he opens the third one down, not quite shoving me in.
“The doctor will be here in thirty minutes,” he says with the same chill and indifference I’d use on an especially persistent drunk who’d been hitting on me.
Before I can even open my mouth to hurl a few choice curses at him, he shuts the door and I hear the clear snick! of the lock.
Turning in a circle, I try to find something breakable to hurl at the wall, but other than a couple of nice pieces of artwork that are just minding their own business, there’s nothing to destroy. The bed is huge and covered in a beautiful bedspread in blues and grays. There’s an actual working fireplace- ah, shit. No fireplace pokers. That would have made a spectacular weapon. There’s a big couch in charcoal gray in front of the hearth and a comfortable-looking chair by the window, upholstered in blues and greens with a little table next to it. I can picture sitting there on a rainy day, sipping peppermint tea, reading one of the books from the bookshelf on the opposite wall, and…
Oh, my god, I am pathetic.
“Yeah, settle right in, you idiot,” I mumble. Checking the window, I see it’s more of that cursed, impenetrable glass. Even if I managed to throw the table against it, it would likely bounce off the window and hit me in the face.
I’m sweating. Is it that hot in here? Scotland’s supposed to be so chilly… One door leads to a big, empty closet, and the other one to the ensuite. The floors, shower, and bath are made of some kind of gold-veined marble. Splashing my face with cold water, I stare in the mirror over the sink. My face is pale, with angry red blotches on my cheeks, my eyes glittering and feverish.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door.
“Miss Masters? I’m Dr. MacTavish, Ethan tells me you were injured in that jet crash.” There’s a silence and a small sigh. “Can you come out, please? It will make it easier to examine you.”
Eyeing the door, I see a lock. I could just stay in here and refuse… No. My ribs are fucking killing me. I have to be healthy so I can get out of here.
The doctor is an older woman, with beautiful silver hair and shrewd green eyes. She’s casually dressed but still wears her white doctor’s coat.
“Ah, there you are.” She smiles at me reassuringly, but I’m giving her nothing. Of course, she’s a MacTavish. They must send family members to medical school all the time so they can stitch up bullet holes and stab wounds privately. “Can you join me on the couch?” She got a black bag and she’s rooting around in it.
Sitting as far away from her as possible, I watch her find her stethoscope.
She eyes the distance between us, keeping a straight face. “I have not yet mastered the ability to provide a diagnosis with only my psychic skill, so I will need to move closer.”
The examination isn’t bad. She has quick, cool hands and when she lays them on the black and purple bruise covering my right side, a moan slips out before I can stop it. “Apologies,” she murmurs, “this is quite nasty. I have a portable X-ray machine with me. I suspect you’ve got more than one or two broken ribs.” She doesn’t have the thick Scottish accent that the rest of the family does, she sounds more refined, more British.
When she’s finished, the doctor snaps off her latex gloves with a frown. “You have four fractured ribs on the right side, and a cracked rib on the left, which you likely didn’t notice, given the mess on the right. Fortunately, there’s no residual damage from that dislocated shoulder, you won’t even need a sling. I don’t like how your lungs sound, I’m leaving some antibiotics, take two every day until they’re gone, one in the morning and one at night.” She hands me a white tube. “Here’s some arnica cream for the bruising. I fear that’s going to take a long time to fade.”
Looking down at the tube on my lap, I realize it’s the same kind Flora gave me. Humiliatingly, tears well up in my eyes. They wouldn’t hurt her, right? The bastards threw in that casual mention of her daughter as a threat. That was evil enough.
The doctor leans in a bit. “Do you have any questions or concerns for me?”
I choke out a bit of a laugh before changing my mind as my ribs throb ominously. “Wow. Where to start? You know I was kidnapped, right? And when I tried to get away here in town, they tracked me down and threatened the woman who’d done nothing but help me.”
“Are you concerned for her?” she asks with a frown.
“You tell me, Doc. Are these MacTavishes the kind to torture or murder an innocent woman who just tried to shield me?”
“Absolutely not. They understand what she did for you. It was noble, though not necessary,” she says firmly, “you will be safer under Ethan’s care than anywhere else in the world.”
“You mean the Scottish Demon’s care?” I say bitterly.
Her elegant brow rose. “You think Ethan’s going to kill you?”
“Are we done here, Doc?” I remember my manners just in time. “Thank you for checking on me and I- I appreciate your help.”
“Any time.” She patted my arm and stood up. “I’ll check back in later in the week and see how you’re doing. Call me immediately if the bruises get worse or you start feeling stabbing pains.”
I’m smothering a sick kind of humor because while it’s lovely that she’s concerned for me, I don’t think I’ll be alive by the end of the week. I’m not sure why Ethan bothered to call here.
“Thank you.”
She gives me another look of concern before picking up her black bag and leaving the room. I see the Scottish Demon hovering out in the hall, and he gives me a cold look before shutting and locking the door.
The sun is setting, sending long fingers of orange and red light into my room when he opens the door again. I look up from the book I’d found in the well-stocked bookshelves. There was everything from action adventure to philosophy on the shelves, and even some romances, one of which I’m reading now. It’s giving me that same, soothing feel as my wonderfully trashy romances - not that I have access to them now - but the relief is the same, retreating into someone else’s world, relating to the heroine facing love against all odds. I definitely feel the ‘against all odds’ part, even though I have no interest in love.
Love is messy. It requires trust. My stupid, trusting nature that believed people were essentially good has been crushed underfoot. Maybe that is one unintentional gift my scumbag stepfather gave me.
Ethan is carrying a tray and the heavenly scent of fish and chips wafts over and I realize I haven’t eaten yet today. He puts the tray on the little table and turns to leave.
“Wait! Please.” He doesn’t turn around, but he stops. “Does Gavin- my stepdad- does he know you have me?”
He starts walking toward the door again.
“Please tell me that!”
The son of a bitch shuts and locks the door without another word.
Staring down at the tray, I wonder if the food is doctored with something, or maybe the glass of wine or the bottle of water? I studied poisons obsessively for over a year- how they’re used, how to detect them. How long it takes for one poison or another to kill someone.
Sedatives or truth serum, though. I have no idea. I don’t think he would poison me. The Scottish Demon would enjoy killing me face to face. The memory of how quickly and easily he stuck that needle in my neck makes me dip the first piece of fish in the sauce. He can drug me any time he likes and he knows it. I may as well enjoy this food.
The first bite is so good that I plow into the meal like a farm animal. The batter is perfectly crisp, the fish flaky and light. The chips are double-fried and I’ve gobbled down the entire plate in record time.
Glasgow is coming alive outside my window and I watch lights lining the buildings around me turn one, making the old places magical. The building I’m in faces the River Clyde, most of the buildings around here have been painstakingly remodeled, or replaced with new architecture. People are strolling along the walkway by the river, some holding hands or walking dogs. A big group of girls pass by, laughing and talking, arm in arm. I never had a chance to connect with my friends when I disappeared. Gabby is the last real friend I’d had.
Leaving my window seat, I try the door. Locked. It’s a pretty door, hand-carved with old iron fixtures. The wood is solid and when I slam my hand against it, there’s only the faintest thud.
“There has to be something!” I whisper, though I’m not sure why, “some kind of weapon.” I may not have Ethan’s terrifying skill with weapons and hand-to-hand combat, but I’m great at hitting someone over the head and making a run for it.
By the time I give up my search, my side is throbbing viciously and I’m hot and sweaty again. Taking a pain pill and the antibiotics Dr. MacTavish left, I crawl wearily into bed.
Tomorrow. I’ll come up with a plan tomorrow.