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Duran’s jaw twitched once and he pushed the pistol under his belt and knelt beside me.
“Did they touch you, princess?” he breathed.
His hands slid over me, tugging up my skirt, checking my thighs. I tried to shake my head, but I couldn’t move, much less speak. My eyes rolled back and darkness closed in.
He lifted me in his arms and my head lolled back. My necklace slid up, the moonstone falling against my cheek. Overhead, the shadows at the corner of my vision were getting thicker and stronger. Filling everything except the sensation of being lifted. Up and up. Enveloped in warmth and the scent of sandalwood.
I saw the next hour in flashes. We were in a helicopter, there was a pilot. In the back, it was just Duran and I. He’d laid me down with my head on his lap and his fingers stroked through my hair. Then I was in the bathroom at the compound, kneeling on the floor with his arms around me. His hand was on my jaw and his fingers were in the back of my throat.
My body convulsed and I threw up all over his hand and the floor, missing the toilet entirely. A whimper gurgled up and my whole body twitched.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he said.
His fingers pushed back into my mouth and I attempted to squirm, but I was still no match for him. He took me gently by the hair and guided me back over the toilet. My throat fought him as he forced two fingers past my tongue. My stomach seized and I vomited again. Hitting the toilet this time.
Tears streamed from my eyes and a sob burst out.
“Get it all out, princess,” he said, his voice hushed.
I vomited again, dry heaving and sobbing.
“That’s my girl,” he soothed. “Let’s go one more time.”
I hated him so fucking much. He gagged me again and I dry heaved painfully over the toilet until there was nothing in me. Even in my drugged state, I knew it was necessary, what he was doing. Neither of us knew what I’d been given and I wanted it out more than he did. But it was still fucking torture.
I sagged, covered in vomit and sweat.
He stripped me naked and put me in the tub. I lay there, my vision spinning and my body limp, staring at him while he made a phone call. Then he cleaned me with gentle hands and wrapped me in a fluffy towel.
I blacked out. Maybe from the blood pressure drop of being in hot water, or maybe I was just reaching a different phase of the drug. But as soon as he finished drying me, my body gave out and my brain closed down.
Shutting everything out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
DURAN
My heart pounded. The woman in my arms hung limp, her lashes dark on her pale cheeks. My jaw was set, my eyes darting over the partygoers around me as I carried her up to the deck. Everyone had heard the shots, but they knew better than to intervene. I had all the power of the Italian outfit behind me. The men I’d killed had no organization.
Someone called for a helicopter. We docked briefly on shore and I carried her across a strip of sand and laid her on the back seat. I was dimly aware of writing a check to the boat owner for the mess. Then I fitted my headset and climbed aboard.
She was warm and limp. I pulled her halfway onto my lap and slid my finger to her neck. Feeling for her pulse.
It was steady. As we rose into the air, her eyes fluttered open. The clear ocean depths of them was muddy and confused. I stroked her hair back and she coughed, shifting to lay her cheek on my thigh. Her eyes shut.
I kept my hand on her waist, holding tight. She wasn’t leaving my sight after this, not for one goddamn second. The sight of her on her back, surrounded by all those men, was burned in my brain. She’d been helpless, her hands trying to bat at the air, trying to keep them away. One of them had pushed her skirt up to the middle of her thigh.
My stomach turned.
It was good they were dead. I hoped they rotted in hell.
We got back to the island faster than I’d expected. I called our family doctor and sent the helicopter out to retrieve him. Then I carried her up to the bathroom and forced her to vomit everything into the toilet. My hands were steady, but inside, I was more afraid than I’d been in my entire life.
She had to be okay, she had to.
I put my finger in the back of her throat until all she had left was bile and she was begging me drunkenly to stop. Then I stripped her naked and washed her in the tub before pulling my softest t-shirt over her head and putting her to bed.
Dr. Howell, the man who’d delivered both Lucien and I, appeared around midnight. I stayed in the back of the room, arms crossed, and watched while he hooked her up to an IV. He spent a while examining her in silence and then he rose and reached for his bag.
