Chapter 10 #2
I scowl even as I salivate in awe as she slips into bitch mode. She somehow knows this is exactly what I need. The concern lurking in her eyes proves her flippant attitude is purely for my benefit.
With every demeaning word, she works her hand further down my chest, unbuttoning my shirt while maintaining eye contact.
She unlocks fantasies I didn’t even know I had as she takes control.
“The big bad wolf can take a beating, but a trip to the hospital makes him tuck tail like a coward? Get over it and treat the medical professionals with respect.”
The urge to rebel rises, but she presses her finger against my lips and squeezes our joined hands.
“You will tell me everything. A king cannot win if he keeps secrets from his queen.”
By her tone and the unyielding intensity in her dark brown eyes, her message is clear: She will do everything in her power to sabotage my plans if I withhold information from her.
She demands to be an equal partner in my plot for revenge.
If I cannot respect her enough to give her the information she needs to succeed, I will become her enemy number one and she will annihilate me.
Wicked delight blooms in my depths. I smirk and flick the tip of my tongue over her finger. Her swift inhale tightens my balls.
“Quit that,” she admonishes before pulling her hand away.
Good god, there isn’t a submissive bone in my body unless she’s around. I’ll do anything for a taste of her.
She slips my shirt off my shoulders and guides the fabric off my arms. I can’t take my eyes off her face even when several people enter the room. When she finishes folding my shirt and setting it beside me on the bed, she meets my stare and quirks an amused brow.
“Answer the question, Mr. Pen,” she says.
I swear I didn’t hear anyone speak, but I refuse to look away from Hilary unless I’m touching her, so I hold out my hand in demand. She places hers on top. I weave our fingers together and scan the room.
The nurse gives Hilary a nasty side-eye and asks her to leave. I tighten my grip.
“She stays,” I snarl.
Hilary lifts her brows in warning at my curtness.
The nurse huffs, shifts closer, and asks if I suffer from domestic violence, clearly implying it’s from my warrior queen.
I dismiss her with instructions to bring me a competent professional.
Hilary doesn’t correct me.
After multiple scans, tests, and lectures, the doctor gives me orders to rest for a full week and then to restrict myself to light exercise for a few weeks while the swelling subsides.
I nod like a good little boy even though I have no intention of following them. Despite fully seeing through my ruse, Hilary doesn’t call my bluff.
While I wait for treatment, my gladiator goddess stands watch over me. Her eyes roam over my exposed torso as I sit on the edge of the bed.
“Who did this and why did you let them?” she asks without preamble.
“I didn’t let them, but I did deserve it,” I admit.
“What could you have possibly done to deserve this?” she huffs with a gesture to my chest.
“I hurt someone I shouldn’t have.”
I lift our joined hands and kiss her knuckle. She shakes her head, still focused on my chest.
“Did you hurt them like this?”
“No. It may have been kinder if I had,” I murmur against the back of her hand.
“Still, this isn’t right.” My fierce warrior queen wouldn’t say that if she knew I was talking about hurting her, but I can’t force myself to tell her.
“You never answered. Who did this?” she demands.
“My Uncle Levi,” I shrug and wince.
“Well, let’s hope I don’t meet him before you heal,” she scowls.
I bite my tongue. She already knows my uncle, but if I reveal the truth, she might leave me here all alone.
Nightmarish memories hover on the edge of my thoughts. I’ll never survive if she abandons me here.
I drop our held hands into my lap and keep my focus on her as other nurses introduce themselves.
Slathered in ointments and wrapped in bandages, I give my gladiator goddess a pitiable look. She scoffs and tosses my shirt at me before locking herself in the bathroom and vowing not to emerge until I dress.
I growl, pull on my shirt, and button it as fast as possible.
My skin crawls as the hospital setting creeps into my senses. I don’t know how many days I spent lost and forgotten in the rundown hospital after my mom’s death, but even though this building is much newer and cleaner, the smells and sounds are too similar.
I knock on the bathroom door.
Footsteps sound in the hall. My heart lurches into my throat.
They found me. They’re coming to finish me off. No one will ever avenge my mother.
The door opens to reveal an angel’s face.
I push her inside, slam and lock the door, and shield her against the wall with my body.
My body.
My big body.
I’m an adult. A man. Not a child. Not a boy.
“Connor, what’s wro—”
I capture her lips with mine to silence her, still trapped between past and present, and curl my hands into her silky hair to hold her still for my desperate kiss. She pulls at my arms, but I’m too far gone. I need more.
She signed the contract. She’s mine.
She can’t be here. They’ll kill her too.
I devour her. She struggles. I grind my front against hers, pinning her against the safety of the wall, and shake in fear, fury, and hunger.
She bites my tongue. Hard.
The taste of pennies fills my mouth. I rip my face away and spit blood onto the floor.
She shoves my stomach and launches toward the door. I grab her wrist even as I double over and wretch from pain.
“I’m sorry. You left me. They were coming.”
I don’t recognize the masculine voice. Hilary stops trying to break my grip on her wrist and squats beside me.
“Who was coming?”
I shudder and groan as the vibrations tear through my battered organs.
Hilary’s silky soft hands bracket my face and pull my eyes to hers.
Reality slams into me. The last few moments replay like acid in my mind.
I close my eyes in shame and accept the agony rolling through my body. From my ragged breathing to the horrid taste in my mouth, I deserve every ounce of pain and discomfort.
“Connor, look at me,” Hilary coaxes.
The sweet tone of her voice rolls down my spine like warm honey. Self-hatred turns my bones brittle.
“Don’t comfort me. I—”
She pinches my bottom lip and tugs. I open my eyes in alarm and meet hers.
“There, I hurt you, too. Let’s go. We’ll talk later.”
I open my mouth to refuse, but her swollen lips and the paleness underlying her natural olive complexion stills my bitten tongue.
She helps me to my feet and tries to support me, but I weave our fingers together and pin her arm between mine and my side.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, but I can’t push her away. I need her.
Hilary Winthrop will soon carry my last name, but she’s carried my broken and jaded heart ever since she saved me twenty-four years ago.
I need her. She’s mine. My gladiator goddess. My warrior queen.
Mine.