Page 26 of Devil's Riches

“Jesus,” Nate muttered, shaking his head.

“He also said something about needing to get rid of me because I knew too much,” I added.

He clenched his jaw and looked at me. “Don’t worry. He can’t touch you now.”

He sped up his pace after that, hands balling into fists by his sides.

“Nate. Stop for a second,” I said, coming to a halt on the lawn.

He turned to look at me. “Why?”

I took a step closer. “I just wanted to say that I know better than anyone how fucked up it feels to be told that a close relative is a murderer,” I said softly. “It’s a huge shock to the system. So… we can talk about it if you want. Maybe it’ll help.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m fine, Alexis.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode over to an entrance on the south terrace of the mansion.

I trailed after him and stepped inside the house. He led me upstairs to his room and pointed toward the bathroom. “I need to clean you up,” he said. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

I glanced downward. He was right. Some of the cuts Greg had inflicted on me during the torture session had opened back up, and my sweater and pants were stained with red sticky patches.

As I haltingly removed my clothes in the bathroom, wincing every time the fabric brushed over a cut, Nate stooped to look through one of the cupboards. He rose back up with another first aid kit.

He cast an appraising eye over my dirty, bloodied body, lips pressing together in a tight line. “This is going to hurt,” he said, holding up a brown bottle of antiseptic fluid and a mound of cotton. “But I have to do it.”

“I know,” I murmured, watching as he carefully dabbed the liquid over my cuts. He did it so tenderly that it was hard to believe he’d been cutting me up in the same way as his uncle just a few weeks ago.

When the cuts were all clean, he wiped away the excess fluid and pressed waterproof bandages over them. “I’ll check them tomorrow,” he said as he patted the last one down on my skin. He took a step back and raised his brows. “Did I miss anything?”

I shrugged listlessly. “I have a few bruises, and my whole body aches, but I guess there’s not much you can do about that.”

Nate’s eyes turned steely as he stared at me. “Did he hurt you anywhere else?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of silence. “Tell me the truth."

The question hit me like a blow to the stomach, and my gaze dropped to the tiled floor. “Yes,” I murmured.

Nate’s fingers went under my chin, forcing it upward. “Tell me what he did to you,” he said gruffly.

Hot waves of shame washed over me, even though I knew Greg was the one who should feel ashamed over what happened. Not me.

I swallowed thickly and spoke up again. “He had a piece of ginger. It was really big and peeled. He used it on me. In me. Sometimes he left it in for a while so it would burn me. Then the rest of the time he pulled it in and out, like it was some sort of… you know…”

I trailed off as Nate’s gaze traveled downward, landing between my legs. Suddenly self-conscious, I dropped my hands to the mound there and covered it.

“It wasn’t in here,” I said softly. “It was—”

Nate nodded and held up a hand so that I didn’t have to say it all out loud. “I get it. Does it hurt?”

“Yes. But it’s not bleeding. I checked earlier when he let me use the bathroom.”

He nodded again, lips pressed tightly together. “Wait here,” he muttered.

He left the bathroom for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he had a small white pill in his left hand. “Take this,” he said, holding it out to me.

I eyed the pill with suspicion. “What is it?”

“It’s one of the painkillers your grandpa prescribed to me after you stabbed me.”

“My grandfather treated you?” I said, brows wrinkling. “As in Edward Paxton Jr? Owner of the hospital?”

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