Page 7 of Cook

No, she wanted me to say it.

Did she want to hear all the horrible things that had happened over the last sixteen years of my life? Could she bear a narration about all the men who had raped me and the men I’d fucked to survive? Or should I share what Signora did? The scars marred my skin.

My scars should tell the story well enough. Why did I need to speak?

“Maddie?” tried Doctor Richardson again, lifting a soft smile.

I hated it, same with the pity in Doc’s eyes.

Fuck her.

Fuck him.

Fuck them all!

Pushing to my feet, I lurched forward a step. Doctor Richardson rocked back, reclining onto her arms, as I hovered over her. Saliva oozed from the corners of my mouth, wetness trickling down my chin.

Doc stepped toward me and withdrew a needle from his pocket before placing his thumb on the plunger. He tipped it toward me like a knife, but how could I be scared of that? Or him? He had kind eyes, not cruel like the bastards who used my body.

“This will help you relax, Maddie,” said Doc.

I snarled, baring my teeth and searching the room for whatever I could use to fight the two doctors off. I didn’t want more drugs. Thatshit would just knock me out, and I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to be free. Why couldn’t they understand that?

“Doctor Richardson, you okay?” asked Doc as the woman doctor climbed to her feet, balancing on her death-spike heels.

Signora would never let us wear heels because they could too easily be used as weapons. If I could get my hands on her shoe, perhaps I could get out of here. The woman doctor hadn’t locked the door when she entered.

“I’m okay,” said Doctor Richardson, smoothing down her skirt. “She didn’t touch me.” Then she turned her attention back to me. “Maddie, why don’t we take some deep breaths? Let’s talk about this. Can we? I know you don’t want to—”

“What the fuck is going on here?” A man...the man... stood in the doorway. His beard reached down his neck, covering up the beginning of the text on his T-shirt.

Everyone seemed confused how he got here, but I paused, knowing his face. Finding peace in him. My heartbeat slowed, and the fight wept out of me. The guy in the doorway saved me from Signora and drove me away from that horrible place.

Hewas my hero.

Hewas my . . .

“Help me!” I pushed between the two doctors, knocking them aside, and grabbed the man’s arm as I shimmied up to his side. His muscles... damn, I felt them through his shirt as he flexed under my hand. I grabbed tighter to him while the rest of my body slowly relaxed.

My breathing came easier. “Help me!” I whispered. “You have to help me! Please. They’re going to—”

Doc moved closer with the needle, and my savior drew me back, placing his body between the two doctors and me. Still stuck in the room, some invisible force held me there, but I could no longer see the doctors who wanted me to talk.

Regardless, weren’t my screams enough proof that I could speak?

“Don’t, Doc.” My savior lunged forward.

I peeked around Cook to see him press his fist into Doc’s chest,stopping the male doctor in his tracks.

“You don’t understand, Cook,” said Doc. “This will help her calm down. She needs it.”

“I don’t,” I countered, curling into Cook’s back and wrapping both fists into the back of his shirt. I dug my fingernails deep into the fabric and touched his muscles. The material shifted to show tattoos laced into his skin. I wanted to study the map of his ink and discover where each one went.

“She does,” said Doc, as though he didn’t hear me.

He stared straight ahead at Cook, and I felt forgotten. Just like I’d always felt with Signora. A prisoner. An owned thing. Some product she sold to the highest bidder. I was a prisoner all over again.

“She attacked Kimmers,” continued Doc. “And was after Doctor Richardson.”

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