I glance down, and sure enough, I’m not wearing what I wore when I went to bed last night. “You…changed my clothes?”
“Yes, but I saw nothing, touched nothing, I swear.” He holds his hands up in defense like he expects me to go off the rails and yell at him.
I should be angry and lash out at him. I should accuse him of being as narrow-minded as Xiao and his men…but something in the way he looks and sounds prevents me from getting the words out.
“It was that or let you freeze and die,” he continues.
I snort softly. “You’re being dramatic. I wouldn’t have died.”
“Maybe not, but you would have gotten more sick.”
“I’m not sick either.”
Raphael picks up a thermometer from the nightstand before swiping it over my forehead. When it beeps, he turns it around to show me a low-grade fever of 99.8. As a doctor, I know that doesn’t classify as being really sick. But it is enough to warrant some medication at least.
As if he heard my thoughts, a pair of pills appear in my vision, along with a glass of water, and I follow the hand up to his face to see a smirk playing on his lips. “I asked my sister what you should take when you woke up. She recommended Tylenol.”
I accept the pills and water, taking the medicine before asking, “Your sister?”
“She graduates in the spring with her nurse practitioner license.”
“That’s impressive.” I hope the sincerity is clear in my voice. I had the privilege of working with incredible nurse practitioners in Chicago. In my opinion, with their experience in bedside nursing, they have a unique perspective that gives them an advantage over doctors.
“Do you mind if I ask you how long you were a doctor before you were kidnapped?”
It’s painful to remember the memories even now, but trust is a two-way street. “Right out of med school, I started working in an emergency room in Chicago for a couple of years. I was on my third trip down to Columbia when a doctor I worked with drugged me. He raped me, and abused me, and when he was finally done with me, he sold me to a group of men who did the same.”
Raphael reaches out his hand, palm up, and places it on the bed close to mine. He’s offering me a comforting hand…literally. I slowly slide my hand into his, and he engulfs mine with a gentle squeeze.
“I meant it when I said you’re safe here, Lily. Xiao can’t get to you.”
I want to believe him, but he doesn’t know Xiao like I do. The moment I took Mei, I signed my death warrant. And doomed anyone else who helped us to the same fate.
“But he can get to you…and to the others,” I argue. “Enzo and Evie have already suffered at the hands of his anger.”
What if next time it’s Raphael? Or Rose? Or innocent little Liam? I can’t handle the guilt if someone gets hurt or worse…dies because of me.
“Remember when I asked you to help us take down Xiao?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve spent the past year searching for him, and just when we think have him, he slips through our fingers. But in less than a single day, you just being here has brought the bastard out of hiding.”
Unable to look him in the eyes, I study our clasped hands and say, “Rose told me about her family and yours…that your family leads the High Table and everything that goes with that.”
“Yes.” He must catch on to my fear. “Does that scare you?”
Honesty goes hand in hand with trust. Raphael hasn’t lied to me, nor has he given me a reason to doubt him. He deserves the truth from me. “I’d be lying if I said no.”
Raphael remains quiet for so long that I finally glance up. He’s looking at me with a quizzical, almost humorous expression. “I’d be worried if you said no.”
“What else can I do to help?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“All I want is for you to concentrate on getting better.”