Page 75 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Her breath whistled between clenched teeth. “Make… me.”

Shaking his head, Grit slid his hands down her arms, obviously intending to seize her wrists. She evaded the move, slower than she liked, and the sharp jerk sent pain screaming along her nerves. Attempting to escape the trap completely, she rolled onto her side, only to freeze at the vicious pinch between her legs.

Fucking catheter.

A hand grasped her throat lightly, the pressure so faint it didn’t inflame the contusions already marking her. Grit used it to ease her back down before snagging her wrist and extending her arm. “Get the canula in, J. Hit her with the morphine again.”

“Motherfucker.” Tabitha swung with her free arm, refusing to lie back and submit a second time. Her fist bounced off Grit’s shoulder harmlessly, so she changed tactics and savaged her brother’s hands with her nails.

“Have you got her?” Jasper demanded.

“Wait for it,” Grit advised.

Wait for what? She scowled and lunged for him, determined to beat him back far enough for her to wriggle free. Hell, she’d crawl across the floor at this point, pride be damned, if her legs weren’t up to running.

A hard, breathless yelp stole her breath as pain slammed into her side like a baseball bat. Rigid with shock, she tried to find a chink in the agony, to get around and behind it before it eroded her capacity to think, but it pelted her from all directions as her body reeled.

The nasty scratch stinging the inside of her elbow was barely noticeable. A swift rush of cold washed through her veins, then her brother was giving her a sad smile and attaching a syringe to one of the canula ports. “Sleep tight, Tabitha.”

“Assh…” Her tongue felt thick and numb. “Ash…”

“Asshole,” Grit supplied softly, making sure her last remaining moments of consciousness were filled with his face as he laid her back against the pillows.

Damn, but it was a pretty face.

*

Grit

He was still angry she’d left without a word, note or no note.

Waking without her, realizing she was gone, only to find her in that piece of shit motel in bloody, broken pieces… it was enough to strain his usually saint-like patience. It hurt to watch her sleep under the influence of morphine, knowing she was in pain whenever she woke, wondering if her brother was ever going to let her surface for more than a few disorientated minutes at a time.

Tabitha had been under for over an hour now, and Jasper had left twenty minutes ago to go home and have dinner with his family. He often called or came back to check on her once the kids were in bed.

For the moment, Grit was on his own, which didn’t bother him. It was calm and quiet after the office cleaners went home; the night shift consisted of a skeleton crew who stayed well away from the medical quarters.

He performed his hourly check on Tabitha’s IV, then sat down and went through his emails, shooting off a few replies. When his attention kept diverting to the thick brown file Jasper had left on the table beside Grit’s chair—the file he’d been ignoring for the past three days—he decided it was time to bite the bullet.

A long-term relationship with Tabitha hadn’t been on the cards; if anyone told him he’d crave something meaningful with her after only a couple of months of her insanity dogging him around Denver, he’d probably have ruptured some vital internal organs as he laughed.

But he couldn’t deny it was what he wanted.

The Dom part of him held a soft spot for emotionally insecure, wounded little subs. Not because they were weak and vulnerable, prime for the picking, but because there was satisfaction in watching them grow and fulfill their potential when offered a helping, caring hand.

Tabitha brought more to the table. She possessed a wealth of attitude, bratty and sometimes opinionated, using it to keep him on his toes. A reluctant sense of humor, sharp and witty, when she remembered she had one. She was fucking stunning, inside and out, yet couldn’t see anything but a monster when she looked in a mirror.

He wanted to incorporate her into his life, and while he loathed the idea of discovering her secrets without her knowledge, he understood he’d never keep her if he didn’t get a handle on what made her into the woman she was today.

Picking up the file as though it was a bomb, Grit flipped idly through the thick sheaf of printed pages. They were notes, he realized, but not just random thoughts and impressions. No, these were meticulous, full of scientific and psychological data.

They were a catalogue of everything that had been done to Tabitha from the moment she was born until the day she left the Fairfax manor in Virginia. And by everything… he had to give Rita credit where credit was due, she’d been an impressively thorough documenter from start to finish.

Turning back to the first page, he locked down his emotions until he was cold, clinical, and able to distance himself from the woman he knew and the child he was reading about.

According to the notes, Tabitha’s birth was free of complications. She’d been a healthy yet small five pound bundle of absolute gorgeousness—as evidenced by the photos included in the file. Almost completely bald aside from a few whisps of her trademark white-blonde hair, huge blue eyes that were darker than their current shade, and a soft, plump face.

Rita catalogued every aspect of Tabitha’s health and daily routine, although in the records, his woman wasn’t referred to by her name, but as P656. The scientist hadn’t left Tabitha alone even in the early days—cocktails of vitamins and some kind of experimental steroid which was discontinued from Tabby’s notes at the three-month stage.

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