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“I can’t feel a thing.”
His lips curl up a little, in what could be a smile if it wasn’t for this menacing glare.
“I used to stitch my brother up on an almost weekly basis. I got skilled at it. Now I’m always working on one of the guy’s wounds. It beats paying a doctor’s bill every other week, and most of the time, the wounds couldn’t wait until we got them to the doctor anyway.”
I continue to watch him sew up my leg. Not sure what to say or how to feel. My emotions are all over the place. Should I be thankful? Angry? Upset?
I feel everything and more.
He finally stops sewing and leans back to take a look at his work.
“If it isn’t significantly better in a week, I’ll take you to the doctor myself.”
I’m shocked at his words. “Thank you,” I say without thinking.
His mouth drops open.
Moments pass while we both sit staring at each other without speaking, hardly breathing. I have no doubt now he will keep his word and take me to the doctor if my leg doesn’t heal. But he’s done such a good job I’m not sure I can even hope for that to happen. Even if I were to go to a doctor, I have little hope for escape.
He clears his throat. “I’m going to attach this stent to your leg to help keep the bone in the correct position and to remind you not to move your leg.”
I nod and watch as he removes his gloves before he attaches the stent to the side of my leg with gauze. His hands are rough and calloused as they graze my skin causing tiny goosebumps to pop up.
When he’s finished, he places a pillow under my leg so that it’s raised. Then he walks behind him to the closet and comes back with a thick blanket to drape over me.
I gulp when he stops just inches from my body.
“You should get some rest. I’ll bring you some food and more pain pills soon.”
I nod, not willing to say thank you twice. Not to him.
He turns and walks away. And the ache deep in my stomach grows stronger. I don’t need any other physical comforts right now. He’s made me entirely comfortable on his bed. The physical pain is all but a distant memory. But I still have needs, questions that haven’t been answered, and I won’t be able to get any rest without him answering.
“Why did you save me?” I blurt out.
He pauses and turns his head, but not his entire body.
“Because you weren’t Armas’ to take.”
“Why didn’t you rape me?”
He hesitates. “Who says I won’t?”
I swallow. Because he would have already raped me if that was his plan. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. No man that would spend that much time fixing my leg would hurt me.
I narrow my eyes and firm my stare. “You won’t.”
He laughs, and it sends chills down my arms, the only part of me not covered by the covers. “Don’t mistake me for someone who cares about you. I don’t. I’m cursed with the ability to heal, that’s all. And you’re mine. I wasn’t about to let another man touch you. Don’t think I won’t rape you, I will. Unlike Armas, I prefer my woman to have the ability to fight back.”
“What happened to Armas? Will he try to come after me again?”
“No.”
His lips are tight, his jaw set as he speaks, but he doesn’t offer me up a further explanation.
“I’m going to need more assurances than that.”
He frowns as he runs his hand through his hair and finally faces me squarely on. His eyes peer into mine, and I stop breathing again. My body reacting to him unwillingly.
