Page 18 of Bathed in Blood

Christian lowers his voice, and somehow, it’s scarier. “You had no right to enter my wing, much less my bedroom, and jerk my—"

His dad scoffs, but even that manages to sound refined. “Yours? We’ve had possession of the alleged Blood Princess for less than a full day, and already you’ve staked your claim. That’s simple minded, even for Jesse, let alone you.”

The smell of Christian assaults me, adding to the warmth. It’s his aftershave mixed with sweat. It’s heady, and my drug addled brain wants more. I think of the way I came in the bathtub, pretending Vince was him. When his dark eyes land on me, I can feel it, my cheeks flushing as if he somehow read my mind.

“Yes, it was after all our ineffective planning it a pure accident that landed her in our arms. It wasmewho killed the brothers. It wasmewho grabbed her. It's only logical she’smineto acclimate.”

Another scoff from his father. “Acclimate? That’s how you’re trying to spin having her in your bedroom instead of the dozens of fully furnished staff rooms? Nothing is logical when one thinks with their cock. We ne—”

The other quiet man in the room clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably next to the bed. “Sir, I believe she is awake.”

Well shit.

“Princess, it's impolite to eavesdrop,” Christian admonishes, his velvet voice smoothing over my nerves before frying them again.

My eyes open reluctantly, just enough to take stock of the situation. Yes, I’m restrained to a bed, in a room with three men. The man standing by my head looks more interested in the tablet in his hands than what’s going on around him. That’s partly reassuring. Christian’s father is seated in an aged recliner, a cane resting across the arms, his knee wrapped tightly in a brace. He’s fucking terrifying, but it doesn’t appear he wants to rape or beat me at the moment.

I drag in a lengthy breath, finally turning my gaze towards Christian. He’s shirtless, painfully so, a pair of basketball style shorts doing close to absolutely nothing to hide his bulge. His hands are wrapped like boxers do, fisted at his sides as he glares down at me. My eyes linger on the scratches marring his rich skin, the bloody bandages on his shoulder and side. I can’t meethis eyes, so I study the dusting of blood splatter mixed with his five o’clock shadow.

“How’s her head? Can she understand us?” his dad asks, ignoring me.

Christian’s head snaps towards him. “What happened to her head?”

Another man appears in the hall from behind them, every bit as handsome as Christian, but he has a boyish quality to him. He’s grown, but at least slightly less bitter. His wavy, dirty blonde hair makes my heart wrench. He reminds me of Lewis, what Lewis could’ve grown into if he had never found drugs, if pock marks didn’t mar his handsome face. The man leans casually in the doorway, his suit jacket looking out of place on him. “Before or after you pistol whipped her?”

Christian’s words are more a growl than anything. “After.”

The tablet guy seems to be getting tired of all the back and forth and steps in front of Christian, earning him a death stare. “Hello, my name is Dr. Lamaison. Are you in any pain?”

My eyes fall back to the man leaning in against the door. My chest aches, but not in any physical sense. I shake my head. Not even that I can feel.

The doctor nods. “Good. You have at least two—” he shoots an apprehensive look at Christian— “moderate concussions. With time and rest, you should feel better in a few days. As far as your other injuries, they are healing as expected. I have a lax—”

“No, thank you,” I croak, my eyes slamming down to the bed.

I barely suppress a flinch as the doctor reaches out, gripping my hand tightly in his. “What you endured—"

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” It’s a warning, one the doctor obeys. The venom in Christian’s voice makes my skin break out in goosebumps. I can’t tell if they’re the good or bad kind.

The man behind them chuckles. “It’s his fucking job to touch her.”

“Not anymore.”

With a heavy sigh, their father stands. If his knee hurts, he doesn’t show it. That annoys me more than it should. “If that is all, you can send any imprudent results to me—”

Christian steps closer, damn near shouldering the doctor out of the way. “I will handle any medical—”

“Christian!” his father snaps. “Enough of this.”

Christian ignores him, despite everything about the man commanding attention, his scuffed hands making quick work of the restrains on my ankles. I feel like a fly on the wall, but it’s a conversation about me. Nothing new, but the unfamiliar faces make it more anxiety inducing than I’m used to.

Soon, Christian’s large hands find my wrists, undoing the restraints there. Each pass of his fingers sends a thrill straight to my core. He’d done the same when I was performing, caressed me with the tips of his fingers. It unsettled me then, and now… it’s far from unsettling. Like his father, Christian commands. His sharp features and strong, clenched jaw, the pissed off look in his eyes, screamI just escaped from the back storeroom of an Abercrombie and Finch.

My chest tightens, my teeth digging into my bottom lip.

“The Blood Princess was my task, and my sole purpose for the last year and a half was to find her. It only makes sense I would see it through.” Christian voice is calm, reasonable, but his hand finds my ankle, tightening around it like a vice as he turns back to his father. It’s a warning.

A dare to disagree with him.

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