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Damon cocks his head to the side.“Torture? Yes, normally, although there are psychological techniques that are just as effective.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “You know what? Never mind.”
The door pad beeps as Matthias enters, a frail older gentleman following closely behind him. His eyes dart skittishly around the room before landing on Damon and immediately looking down at the ground.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Everette,” the man says, lifting the strap of a large leather bag higher on his shoulder.
Damon scowls at him, and I swear the man can feel it because he shifts his weight from side to side. “Dr. Clark. This is Misty Everette, my wife. She’s gone through an ordeal tonight and is feeling light-headed.”
The doctor looks up, and there’s a complete change in him. Now that he understands why he’s here in the middle of the night, his confidence has fully returned. I can’t help but wonder what other things have they’ve called him out for.
He approaches me, and Damon reluctantly moves a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the doctor work.
“I’m Dr. Clark. So, you’re feeling dizzy?” He holds out one of those small pen-like flashlights all medical professionals seem to have and flashes it in my eyes.
“I’m fine, just a bit squeamish from?—”
“You don’t have to tell me what happened.” The doctor cuts me off, glances quickly at my husband, then turns a relatable pale shade of green.
I hold up my can, wanting to put this poor man out of his misery. He looks like if he has to spend a second longer under Damon’s stare, he’s going to pass out. “Like I said, I’m fine. Just a bit of nausea.”
“Misty, you fainted. Let the doctor work,” Damon commands, and I raise a defiant brow at him. He matches my expression, and I give up.
I look back at the doctor. “What do you have for me?”
“I’ll give you an IV for fluids. That should help,” he says with a tentative smile.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” The doctor flinches, and I wince, mouthing, “Sorry,” then turn my anger on the man who deserves it. “This is overkill. Let the poor doctor go.”
Damon completely ignores my outburst. “Alright. What else?”
The doctor’s entire body stiffens at Damon’s tone. The man is genuinely terrified, and not for the first time, I wonder what my husband did to earn this type of response. After tonight, I definitely have a better idea. “Food…something to eat will help.”
Damon turns his attention on me, his brows pulled together in worry as he searches my face. “What do you feel like eating?”
I shake my head. “Damon, it’s like 3:00 a.m. Nothing’s open.”
“Let me worry about that.” He seems entirely too confident in his ability to get what he wants.
“I want a clubhouse and fries from Smitty’s Sandwich shop.” I smirk. I know for a fact that they aren’t open.
“You’re going to feel a small pinch,” the doctor says a second before stabbing me with a needle.
I flinch at the pain, and Damon prowls forward, his expression dark on the doctor, who is practically trembling in front of me.
“Sorry, I should have expected that.” I give the doctor my best comforting smile, and he looks at me like a lifeline.
He hangs a bag of clear liquid on a hook he’d assembled above my head. He adjusts the line that leads to my arm. “Twenty minutes ought to do it.”
“You’re dismissed. I can handle the rest.”
The doctor sighs, and his shoulders relax as he gets up, gathering his things rapidly, then heads to the exit. “Call me whenever you need.”
The second the door shuts behind him, I narrow my eyes on Damon. “Did you have to intimidate him? He already came out in the middle of the night!”
“He’s on retainer. I assure you, he’s paid more than well enough to come out.”
Okay, well, that’s probably true, but still. “He seemed terrified of you.”
