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Nor do I wish for another one of his visits.
“You can leave,” Finn orders, standing at the end of my bed.
The doctor immediately begins to pack up his things, and within a minute, he’s striding through my bedroom door and clicking the door shut.
Leaving me alone with this man.
With his taunting and plans for the future.
“What do you want?” I leer. “I know you don’t care about my well-being.”
“On the contrary. I’m making sure you didn’t bleed out so that I’ll have someone to marry.”
My whole face skews. “You don’t want to marry me. You just want my family’s fortune.”
“I think that’s reaching a little bit, don’t you think?”
“You tell me.”
“It is.”
I try to push myself further up the mountain of pillows I’m on, but my legs throb in pain. “You’re not being reasonable. I’m not part of the mafia life.”
“You’re Kincaid’s eldest daughter.”
“Yes, but I’m not into the dealings. I’m not part of planning or—”
“You can save your lies for later.” He flicks his gaze down to my bound leg. “You’re cleaned up, and you won’t be moving around well for the next couple of days. I’d say my plan is working just fine.”
My nostrils flare as tears burn the back of my eyes.
He has no problem hurting me with just words and promises.
I wonder what he’d do if I fought back.
“Someone will bring you dinner,” he advises solemnly. “Make sure you eat. Because if I have to come back in here, you’re not going to enjoy it.”
12
HAVEN
I’ve been lockedinside the same bedroom for days. The accommodations are more extravagant than where I’m sure Finn keeps his prisoners. I’ve been going stir-crazy for lack of human interaction, the unknown of what’s going on outside these four walls, and the anticipation of if I’m ever going to get out of here alive.
Burly guards bring me all of my meals, and they all refuse to speak to me. I haven’t seen Finn since he stabbed me in the leg, which I’m happy about because I’m reminded of what he’s done every second of every day.
What he did.
A doctor comes in every day to check on my wound, accompanied by two guards each time, and he only asks questions, does not respond to mine, and tells me how to take my pain medication while also cleaning the wound.
Like he hadn’t told me the same thing the day before.
I’m slow to move, but I’m getting better. I’ve been in here for four or five days, and I check my door every time someone leaves to see if they forget to lock it.
They don’t.
This morning for breakfast, I’m brought pancakes and bacon. A little vase with a daisy sits on my tray, and I wonder whose sick joke that is.
It doesn’t feel like Finn’s ammo, so I think it might be Mrs. O’Clery. I rip the petals off every time and leave them with most of my food that’s left over.
