“Yes. Now how about you make this as painless as possible for both of us and let me see that pretty little hand.”
Tightening my lips, I don’t resist when he grasps my wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold, coaxing me to lie my arm on his jean-clad thigh. Tears settle in along the ridge of my lids as the buzz of the tattoo gun vibrates against my flesh, followed by the bite of the needle.
“Did you do your own tattoos?” I ask, though I don’t really care. I’m searching for anything to distract me from what he’s doing.
“No,” he answers shortly.
“How many do you have?”
He glances at me. “A lot.”
“This is my first one,” I whisper. “Do any of yours mean anything?”
Another glance, this one saturated with a little more irritation.
“Some do,” he concedes.
I stay quiet for a beat. “But none of them are brands, are they?”
This time when he looks at me, the emotion in his gaze is indecipherable. He doesn’t respond, and I take that for an answer in itself.
The tattoo only takes a few minutes, though I’m sure his lines are uneven from my trembling.
When he finishes, the first tear falls, and I quickly swat it away. If he notices, he doesn't make it known.
Packing up his tools, he straightens and stares down at me. I can’t read the emotion in his eyes, but I don’t think I care to, anyway.
“How are you going to sedate me?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on the army green blanket. My neck and wrist burn, and all I want to do is fade away.
Is that weak? Would Zade be disappointed if he knew I was eager to fall into a pit of unconsciousness instead of clawing my way out of here?
You need to be at full strength, I soothe myself. I’m sure there is plenty I should be doing regardless of my physical state. Learning patterns, listening for anything that could help me, but I'm too fucking tired, and my body is steadily shutting down anyway.
He shrugs, a strange glimmer sparkling in his dark eyes. “Pills. But that’s not what you should be concerned about.”
Rio steps toward me again, his boots echoing on the floor until his knees brush the white sheet. He bends at the waist, his lips scarcely brushing across my cheek while hot breath fans against the shell of my ear.
“Better hope the men here don’t come in for an easy meal,” he whispers, eliciting a cold chill.
My throat dries and clogs with a pool of emotions. Mainly disgust and anger, but also terror. The thought of men taking advantage of my body while I’m out cold is sickening. My stomach twists in response, and it takes all of my self-control to hold back the hot tears in my eyes.
“Francesca would let that happen?” I force out, my voice hoarse and strained. He retreats an inch, watching my expression closely. I stare straight ahead, refusing to meet his soulless gaze.
“She wouldn’t know.” He pauses, a vicious grin tipping up the corners of his lips. “And neither would you.”
I hold tightly onto my composure, body shaking as my control threatens to slip. Another tear slips loose as his thumb brushes my bottom lip, prying it open and placing a white pill on my tongue.
“Swallow,” he orders quietly. I do, only if it means I won’t remember any of this.
“Good girl,” he praises. Fuck you.
Then, he brushes a finger down my spine lightly, leaving chills in his wake.
“Don’t worry, princess, maybe I’ll be taking good care of these stitches when they come sniffing,” he murmurs, offering a shred of hope I refuse to cling to.
I snarl, and glare at him through blurred vision.
“And you’d be any better?” I hiss, challenging his morals. They’re as obscure as frosted glass.
Slowly, he straightens his spine and shoots me a cryptic grin. “I guess you’ll never really know, will you?”
Turning, he walks out of the room. The second the door clicks shut, several more tears escape. And once those are set loose, a flood follows. I curl into a ball and slap a hand over my mouth right as a sob breaks free.
For an indiscernible amount of time, I crumble, weeping until my eyes swell and I have nothing left to give. And then slowly, I suck in deep breaths until I’ve pieced myself back together again. It’s messy, and some parts of me have been rearranged, but I’m no longer in ruins, and that’s the best I can do for now.
Wiping my eyes, I blow out a shaky breath and take inventory of my new room. The pill is beginning to set in, and coupled with my pity party, it’s hard to stay awake, but I haven’t gotten a second to take it in without someone breathing down my neck.