Page 19 of Fractured Future
My hazy vision clears long enough for me to study the scar that bisects the right side of his face and defined bone structure. It’s pulled taut as he concentrates on my arm, causing the corner of his eye to crease.
“She stitched your face?”
The faintest shudder rolls over him. “Yes.”
“The scar looks old.”
“It is.”
“You get stitched up by friends often?”
His lips twitch. “On occasion.”
Each clipped response tells me to shut the fuck up. I don’t know this dangerous man, and I certainly don’t want to piss off the person getting me away from that seedy warehouse.
The feel of the needle slipping into my skin delivers a familiar jolt. I’ve been patched up enough times by Gael’s well-paid doctor. Sedatives weren’t on offer then either.
My mind clouds, floating in an exhausted fog. Flashes accompany my semi-conscious daze. A filthy, constrictive cage. Gracie’s begging. The doctors who took our measurements. Years of half-assed examinations that followed after a fight.
Locking the memories away and giving myself no option but to remain strong has kept me alive. I survived not through skill but sheer stubbornness. Never once allowing myself to break or feel.
When the sound of low voices rouses me, I jerk back to the present. I must’ve drifted for a while. Blaine has halted the bleeding, and he’s now almost done stitching me up.
“You’re back.” He lifts his lips to form a small smile. “Thought we’d lost you there.”
“I’m back.” I blink moisture from my eyes.
“Good.”
Taking a few seconds to steady my breathing, I swallow hard to lubricate my throat. My voice still comes out raspy.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Purely selfish reasons.” He shrugs casually.
“What does that mean?”
Blaine ties off a suture then snips it. “Curious much?”
Weak laughter balloons in my chest. “I was held captive for six years before you showed up. I think that warrants a few questions.”
“It does. I’m not obliged to answer them, though.”
“Ow! Careful!”
Pulling the needle back out from where he pushed too hard, Blaine tuts. “Stop distracting me.”
“Asshole!”
“And that’s the second time you’ve called me that. I may start taking it personally.”
“You should.” I shudder at the suture being tied.
“Quiet. Let me finish.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, my logical side tries to find a reasonable explanation for his insanity. No one pays attention to me. Not even the other women unwillingly tied to the cartel. They hate me for my position and the protection it brings.
I have no friends. No allies. Not even Carlos can stand the sight of me after the hundreds of hours he’s spent beating his lifetime’s fighting experience into me. No one would ever help me.
