Page 60 of Jackson

I was beginning to wonder if he would.

He has a large white shirt and a pair of women’s underwear. I could argue and demand to know where he got them, but, right now, I’d rather be anywhere than lying here in my own pee. Not that I’m doing much of it, considering how dehydrated I am.

He also has another bottle of water and a sandwich.

Obviously, he has been given instruction to keep me alive.

The fact that he’s here again and not Hound tells me Hound is out trying to claim what he wants.

Could I use this man to get out?

I can sure as hell try.

“Can you help me into a different spot?” I croak. “Please.”

He has a needle in his collection, and I know he’s been instructed to inject me.

Without saying a word, he leans down and hauls me up, taking a few steps and putting me down in a new, somewhat cleaner, patch of concrete. My entire body aches when he moves me, and I know I’ve been blocking out the pain. Plus, whateverHound injects me with must have some kind of pain killer, because it seems to be keeping it at bay.

Tossing the clothes on the ground, the man orders me to dress myself.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I murmur, my voice crackly, “I can’t move.”

He mutters something under his breath, his blue eyes flashing with frustration like he’d rather be anywhere else. Then, with a curse, he runs his hands through his sandy brown hair and leans down, jerking the white shirt over my head.

“I’m not into stripping women naked,” he informs me, matter of factly.

“Well, I’m not into lying here dying, but here we are. Just reach up and pull my underwear off. Please.”

The last thing I need to do is make this guy angry.

He stares at me, hesitant, but growls and slowly reaches up beneath the long shirt, taking hold of my underwear and quickly pulling them off. He tosses them to the side and puts the new pair on my legs, slowly dragging them up. I close my eyes, hating how this feels and knowing Jackson would lose his shit if he were here right now, but it’s better than nothing.

“Eat, or you’ll die,” he orders once he’s done.

He puts me into a sitting position against the wall so I don’t choke on my food.

“If you stop drugging me, I might be able to eat,” I mutter to myself as I pick up the plain sandwich. “Do you even know who I am?”

He stares at me as I chew slowly.

“No. I’m not here to ask questions.”

Interesting.

“Then why are you here?”

“I owe debt. Hound is helping me.”

“Well, you picked the wrong guy for that job. He’s as evil as they come.”

The guy snorts. “Yeah. I know. He’s my father.”

I blink, my eyes widening. “Hound is your father?”

“Is it that hard to believe? I’m in here fucking holding you prisoner, aren’t I?”

“It’s not that ... I just didn’t know he had a son. I’m Hogan’s daughter.”

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