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Chapter Thirty-Eight
Josephine
There’s a horrible thumping noise surrounding me. I try to lift my hands to cover my ears, but my arms are heavy as if weighed down. Weak—that’s how I feel. It takes a couple of seconds to realize that the pounding noise is my pulse beating in my head.
Shit, it hurts.
When I start to come to, the only things I can move are my fingers and toes. It eventually spreads into my hands and feet before webbing out to the other areas of my body. My whole body is… sluggish.
Why can’t I move?
My mind seems disoriented, thick with confusion. The last thing I recall was Esteban sticking a syringe in my neck before everything went black.
Oh, my God! Esteban!
My eyes pop open and I fly upright, finding myself in a giant bed draped in the finest white linens. The brightness of the morning sun spilling into the already bright space has me squeezing my eyes tight.
Fuck, but does my head hurt.
A wave of nausea washes over me, making me whimper. My stomach heaves and someone rushes to my side, a plastic tray shoved close to my face. Nothing passes but watery-bile. When I’m done, I’m gently laid back against the pillow, a steady hand brushing my hair away from my face.
“Shush, little flower,” Esteban murmurs.
If my head wasn’t on the verge of exploding, I’d be putting as much distance between him and me as possible. But alas, I’m not functioning at one-hundred percent—hell, I’m not even at ten percent. All I can do is moan and turn my face away from his touch.
Esteban calls for a doctor. I dare to crack my eyes open, finding a middle-aged man working feverishly over me. I’m hooked up to all sorts of noisy machines. An IV drip is embedded into the back of my hand. The doctor places a nasal cannula into my nostrils, delivering supplemental oxygen to my body. The doctor seems overly focused on his work, going overboard on his treatment. One might suspect he’s nervous. Is he here against his will too?
“Why is she reacting this violently to the sedative?” Esteban demands, his voice baritone deep and threatening.
“Not everyone reacts to sedatives the same; I warned you. Some people are hypersensitive. I suspect that’s the case with your daughter-in-law,” the doctor responds, his voice unsteady as his fingers fumble over his stethoscope.
Yep, it’s official—he’s not here of his own free will. The guy looks like he’s ready to drop a load in his pants.
My throat is raw from vomiting, but my question can’t wait. “Baaabies?”
The doctor must see the duress in my face, that or he can hear my heart rate accelerating on the peeping machine. He pats my hand reassuringly. “They’re fine. I performed an ultrasound while you were under and all is good. Though, I’m worried about the stress you’ve gone through in the last twenty-four hours. We need to reduce your anxiety.”
“How do we do that?” Esteban asks.
Asshole.I’m only stressed because he’s making me fear for my babies’ lives. “Seeend hooome,” I slur.
Esteban turns his tourmaline-colored eyes on me. “She must be better if her attitude is returning.”
“She needs rest, Señor Moreno.” The doctor ushers Esteban out of the room before coming back to my bedside, his face long and drawn with exhaustion. “Missus Tabares, you can’t provoke him. That man can and will do monstrous things if he’s pushed too far. For your and your children’s safety, please keep yourself in check. I could explain your response away this time, but next time I may not be able to help aside from patching you up. Do you understand?”
Is this guy serious?
Maceo always said Esteban was the most dangerous man he’d ever known, and my husband has faced his fair share of treacherous individuals. I think about all the horrific acts Esteban has committed and shudder. The things he has done are vile, and those are the ones I’m aware of. How many other atrocious things has he done?
This doctor stuck his neck out on the line for me, knowing he would be putting himself at risk if Esteban felt deceived. I’ve always had a problem with lashing out when cornered. It will do me good to remember who exactly I’m dealing with when I get the urge to be bratty.
“Thank youuu,” I slur with gratitude before my heavy eyelids close again.
* * *
“Buenos días, Josefina,” Esteban says, striding into the smaller of the two opulent dining rooms where I sit at the table, surrounded by everything I could ever want for breakfast. He bends to kiss the top of my head like it’s the most natural thing. His easy comfort with me makes me shiver inwardly. I dare not show any outward sign of revulsion, fearing what the outcome would be if I do. It’s unnatural to act as if everything is all sunshine and rainbows between us. Yet, Esteban is doing a stellar job of ignoring the obvious tension in the air.
Sighing contentedly, Esteban lowers himself into the chair next to mine as a butler rushes forward to give him his coffee. He sips, crossing one leg over the other, putting his leather loafers on display.
