Page 25 of Craving Sin

“The IV antibiotics will help quicker. Your friend was able to get some pills, too. We’ll start those tomorrow, but for now, take this.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“A pain pill.”

I glance over to see Conan standing on the opposite side of the bed, watching the doc and me.

“I don’t need that,” I argue.

“You’re hurting, Rian. Plus, I need to irrigate and take care of your wound again. It’s not going to feel good. Take the pill.”

“No.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, making my gaze snap to him again. I have a feeling Conan is doing the same thing, because who the fuck is this guy? I kidnapped him. I tackled him when he tried to escape. I’ve told him more than once how I plan to kill him, yet the idea of me hurting sincerely upsets him.

It makes me feel…strange—my heart races, while I have this almost floaty feeling. Probably the pain.

I take the pill from his hand, putting it in my mouth, before Conan hands me a bottle of water.

Pain medication always makes me pass out. I hate them, do anything in my power not to take them, but hell, there’s no denying I need the rest.

The doc does too. “When he’s done, let him sleep,” I tell Conan, who nods in response. I know him well enough not to expect him to try to stay tonight. “And feed him,” I add.

The doc watches me, but doesn’t say anything, then eventually shakes himself out of it and grabs a forehead thermometer. “You have a slight fever,” he tells me.

“Well, like he said, you better fix me up. Otherwise, he’ll kill you slower than I will.”

His return stare shuts down, eyes tight, the threat doing exactly what I wanted it to, and reminding us who’s in control here…who I am, and how much he hates me.

CHAPTER NINE

Abbott

I try to ignore the other man in the room as I finish with Rian. He fell asleep not long after I gave him the pill, which honestly, made things easier not just for him, but for me.

There’s something about him that has me twisted up. I don’t know if that makes sense, or what I mean by it. One minute, I’m trying to manipulate him so I can escape, and the next, I’m actually concerned about him because of his fever and weakness.

Other than the small fever, there’s no sign of infection yet. Hopefully, we don’t have to go down that road, though in the grand scheme of things, it might make things much easier on me…especially when the other man leaves.

If he leaves.

“He just needs some rest for now,” I say.

“Did you hit him?” he asks. Rian had called him C, which I assume is short for his name. He’s tall, with dark hair, a clean-shaven face, and a sharp, hard jawline. Rian is mean. Rian is dangerous. I know that, but something about this man makes me feel like prey in a way that I haven’t with Rian. He wants me dead. There’s no doubt about that, and I guess Rian does too, but I think if this man had his way, I would be dead right now.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “With my elbow when I was trying to escape. But then, if he hadn’t kidnapped me, I wouldn’t have had to try to escape, so I don’t really think you can blame me for that.”

He walks closer to me, voice calm and deadly when he says, “I don’t think you’re in the position to tell me what I can or can’t do. You’re a prisoner, and as soon as our need for you ends, you’ll die.”

A chill sweeps down my spine, but I try not to show it, jutting my jaw out and straightening my shoulders. “Does that make you feel like a big man? Threatening me? Hurting people? It doesn’t make you big. It makes you weak and a coward.” I toss a look at a sleeping Rian. “Both of you.”

When I try to walk around him, the man’s arm shoots out, his hand wrapping around my throat and squeezing. “Be careful, or you’ll have an accident sooner rather than later.” He lets go of my throat, and I inhale sharply. “Now come on. We have groceries to put away.”

We have…groceries to put away? Who the fuck is this guy? Who are they both?

I follow him out of the room. He handcuffs me in place again, then begins bringing bags of food and other supplies into the house.

He stacks the ice packs that he’d used to keep the food cold, to the side, looking like a domesticated husband or father rather than a cold-blooded killer.