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ELEVEN
ALEXANDER
Assorted voices filterin and out of my consciousness.
“I need to stitch him up but there’s so much fucking glass in his head!”
“Should we take him to Khatri?”
“There’s no fucking time, he’s already bleeding out.”
“Tie him down. I need him completely still if I’m to do this quick.”
I know I should recognize them, but I can’t put any faces to the voices. I’m trapped in some sort of darkness.What the fuck is going on?I try to crack my eyes open, but I’m met with an assault of pain instead. It shoots through my skull and into my eyes, throbbing down to the base of my neck.
What the hell happened?
My thoughts are murky. I can’t tell if I’m sitting or standing, or if I’m even still alive. It feels like I’m drowning, stuck under water with no way to swim back up. Fragmented thoughts float through my mind, too far away for me to hold on to any of them to make sense of it, but enough to make me feel like something is wrong.
I can’t think of the past or the future, only the confusion of the present.
Trying to open my eyes again, I’m met with the same pain. But I force myself through it anyway because I need some sort of confirmation I’m still alive and not caught in some kind of fucked up purgatory.
Miraculously, I’m able to crack my eyes a bit.
I’m punished for it a second later by the bright lights that sear my eyeballs. A hoarse moan fills the room, and it takes me a while to realise it’s mine. Suddenly, I feel a strong pair of hands on my shoulders. Who the fuck is touching me?
Instinctively, I try to move away from their touch, but I can’t even move my body an inch. When my eyes finally adjust to the lights, I take a lazy look around. Recognition sparks, but I just can’t seem to match what I’m seeing in front of me with what I know.
My brain feels like porridge.
“Calm down, Alexander,” a familiar, feminine voice coos. “I’m almost done, just stay still.”
The hands holding me down aren’t feminine though. They’re thick, hairy and muscular. I follow the tanned skin all the way up to a youthful face with dark brown eyes and shaggy dark hair slicked back from his face. The sight of him jogs my memory.
“Stuart?” I croak. My voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It’s like I just got done chewing glass after chain-smoking two packs of cigarettes.
Stuart is a member of my security team. The crease in his brows disappears, and the sides of his mouth lift from the frown they were in. He moves one of his hands to hold it up in front of my face.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks, and he’s dead serious.
“Four, fuckhead,” I hiss.
He starts laughing, turning to someone else to tell them I’ve got all my senses. Why the fuck would they think—
Recollection hits me then, like a bullet from a gun. Or more like my fucking father forcing me to marry some billionaire heiress bimbo then breaking his glass on the side of my head. How long have I been out? I look around again. I’m in the housekeeper’s quarters.
I’ve been in this room more times than I can count, growing up. On the days when my mum was under the weather, or I didn’t want to bother her with the aftermath of my roughhousing, Ingrid’s First Aid Kit kept me alive.
I become aware of the sticking feeling by the side of my head, then. Ingrid must be tending to my wound. Yes, it was her voice I heard earlier. All the pieces are finally coming together in my mind.
“Where’s Alize?” I throw my question into the air.
Stuart, who is in my line of sight, looks away from me and to Ingrid. There’s a sigh, and an awkward silence that stretches on too long for my comfort. The answer to my question shouldn’t be that hard to come by.
I left her with Ingrid and Wesley, for fucks sake.
“She’s on her way back, now.” It’s Ingrid who finally speaks.
