Page 17 of Forbidden Deviant Games

She pats my arm gently. “He had some scary looking man stop by with a bag for him,” she tells me. “He hasn’t slept all night. Probably why he’s so cranky and scared the crapola out of Dr. Juergen.”

He really hadn’t left? Not once? I sit there, trying to absorb the information this woman has unknowingly given me. Maybe she thinks she’s trying to convince me that he cares, but what she’s really done is something completely unlikely—because for the first time since I met Mitchell Vikson, there’s something other than obligatory respect and lust in my system. Do I actually … like him?

“Alrighty, then,” the nurse says, jerking me out of my reverie as she begins to pack up her supplies, “you’re all ready to go.”

“Can I ask you a random question?” The woman tilts her head and I take that as a positive sign. “Was there … I mean…” How the fuck do I ask? I bite my lip, harder than necessary as anxiety assails me. “I’m not sore, um…” I gesture towards my legs—or rather, the place between them. Understanding dawns on her face.

“Oh, honey,” she says, “we were assured that there was no need to check last night. We can if you would like to be sure.”

“Who told you that you didn’t need to?”

Her eyes slide to the door. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I get her meaning. Viks must have told them not to. Relief pours through me.

“What about my clothes?” I ask, changing the subject.

She frowns. “You didn’t come in with much, but check the drawer in the bedside table. If there’s nothing there, have your man friend grab you something.”

I nod and thank the woman and as soon as she’s out of the room, I stand up and round the bed towards the bedside table. I pull open the top drawer and find not my clothes from the night before, but new ones with the tags still on them. From what she said about Viks having someone bring him clothes the night before, I suspect he had them bring these too.

I waste no more time as I pull out the clothes—a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of leggings, all in black. Whoever grabbed the clothes didn’t think to grab any underwear or bra, though, but that’s okay. As long as I’m covered, I don’t care. I don’t really want to stay in the hospital any longer than necessary and certainly not to wait for some unknown man to grab me a pair of underwear and a new bra.

My muscles creak and scream with soreness and protest as I start to dress. Bruises dot my upper arms and when I look in the bathroom mirror, I realize they’re not the only ones. My neck is one massive blotch of dark purple. It’s hard to look at because it only makes me remember the feeling of being pinned down and helpless. I close my eyes and turn away, hurrying to finish up.

Once I’m done, I head out into the room and move towards the door, pulling it open and glancing out into the hall. Viks kept his word. He’s still there, and when I open the door, he looks up from the nurse’s station a few feet away.

“Ready to go?”

Sucking in a breath, I nod and then pause, looking down. “Actually, do you have any shoes?” I ask.

He frowns when he looks down at my feet. “Shit, no. I don’t know where the ones you had on last night went either.”

“She’ll need to be taken out in a wheelchair anyway,” the nurse behind the station informs us as I step towards them with my bare feet.

"Do I really have to?” I ask with a grimace. “I can walk just fine.”

She gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, it’s hospital policy.”

“Wait here,” Viks orders as he heads around the nurse’s station. He disappears into a side hallway coming back only a moment later with said wheelchair in tow.

“Viks…”

“You fucking heard her, Hales,” he snaps. “Get your ass in the chair before I tie you to it.”

I grumble and curse, but turn and plop down regardless. “This is really unnecessary,” I say.

“So was you not listening to me,” he replies. “Yet you seem to be a fucking master at that.”

I look back at him over my shoulder as he begins to push me towards the elevator doors. “I said I was sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, sorry isn’t going to cut it.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I decide to say nothing at all. The ride down the elevator is the longest and most uncomfortable one I’ve ever been on. Once we’re out in the parking lot, he steers me to a familiar dark SUV—the same one he’d taken me to lunch in before. The wheelchair comes to a stop on the passenger side and before I can even stand up, he has the door open and his arms around me.

A gasp escapes my throat as he lifts me easily and deposits me into the vehicle. “Seatbelt,” he commands before slamming the door shut.

I gape after him as he hurries back into the building, handing the wheelchair off to a nurse on the bottom floor before charging back out towards me. Realizing that I still haven’t put my seatbelt on, I jerk into action and click the belt into place just as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He glances my way before putting his key into the ignition and cranking the engine.

“Thank you for taking me home,” I say, breaking the silence.

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