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Biting my tongue, I did as Alaric told me and went into the women’s bathroom down the hall to get cleaned up. I tried not to look at myself in the mirror. I knew I looked haggard, and I didn’t have the luxury to care right now.
When I finished cleaning my arm the best I could, I returned to see that Alaric had moved a spare chair next to his desk. He nodded toward it. “Sit.”
The moment I did, he dropped two pills in my hand and a bottle of water. I could tell it was just over-the-counter pain medicine.
“Thanks,” I said and swallowed them down.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out two bottles. One I recognized right away. “Pick your poison, because this is going to hurt,” he grumbled as he held out a bottle of Jack and a fancy bottle of bourbon.
I didn’t want to drink his nice bourbon and I knew I liked Jack, so I reached for the whiskey. I could feel him watching as I removed the cap on the bottle and took a quick swig. His brows lifted slightly before he busied himself with putting on a pair of plastic gloves like those used in a hospital or by tattoo artists. As I took another swallow of Jack, I eyed the suture supplies and bandaging he had laid out on his desk.
Colt, Micah, and Daxton returned as I brought the bottle of Jack to my lips again. I took a big drink because Alaric was about to start. I wasn’t afraid of the pain. Just the anticipation of it.
Handcuff-free, Colt grabbed a chair that was sitting in front of Daxton’s desk and brought it to sit in front of me. He watched as I took another drink, then a third because Alaric wheeled his chair close.
“Ready?” Alaric asked.
I nodded and Colt took my hand. As soon as I felt the needle pierce my skin and I realized I could endure it, I took one last drink of the Jack before setting it on Alaric’s desk.
Micah whistled as he watched me from where he stood behind Colt. “Not even a wince.”
“Not my first time getting stitches,” I said.
“Not your first time drinking Jack either, it seems,” Alaric said as he tied the first stitch.
The corner of Colt’s mouth lifted. “Don’t ever play a drinking game with her.”
I wanted to smile, but what had once been a happy memory of beating Ethan at a drinking game was now tainted. Just thinking of him reminded me of Isabelle and now wasn’t the time to unbury what I felt when it came to her. Seeing my lack of reaction, Colt ran his thumb over the top of my hand.
“Did that X guy torture you?” Alaric asked.
I tensed up and Colt’s hand tightened around mine.
“You have scars that show you were tied up,” Alaric added, and he sewed another stitch.
Maybe it was the adrenaline mixed with the Jack that caused the truth to barrel its way out of my mouth. “He tied me by my wrists and ankles to my bed with rope and in order to get free, I twisted and pulled on that rope for hours. I tore away my skin and I didn’t even feel it.”
“Did you get free?” Daxton asked.
“I heard him coming down the hall just as I got one wrist free,” I answered. “I had a pen on my nightstand. I grabbed it before he came into my room.” Images of him dancing with my sister’s dead body flashed in my head and I shook my head to make them go away. “I stabbed him through the cheek with it and got myself free.”
All of them went quiet and I was relieved the questioning seemed to be done. I glanced at Alaric and the job he was doing on my arm. He was currently laser-focused on tying his third stitch.
“Did you learn how to suture when you were a Navy SEAL?” I asked him, needing to fill the silence. Plus, he was the one who’d started with the personal questions.
His hands stilled and his eyes turned even more guarded when they flicked to mine. “What makes you think I was a SEAL?”
Micah seemed to go still behind Colt. I glanced at Daxton, who was sitting behind his desk; he also appeared to have tensed. I pointed to the same spot on my outer forearm where I’d seen his bone frog tattoo. “My uncle has a bone frog on his bicep. I know what that tattoo means because he was a SEAL for many years. How long did you serve?”
Alaric focused back on stitching me up. “Four years.”
Micah and Daxton seemed to relax slightly, then both looked a little surprised when Alaric asked, “What about your uncle?”
“Eleven years,” I answered.
“What does your uncle do now?” Alaric asked.
“He’s a U.S. Marshal.”
