Page 63 of Deadly Rival

“I’ll call Medical. Make sure they're ready.” Jacob, practical as ever, already has his phone out.

Quinn crouches in front of Ophelia. “You’ll be okay. The med center is brilliant.” She pulls a bottle of water from her enormous purse and hands it to Ophelia. “Here.”

She takes a sip. When she hands the bottle back, I get to my feet and crouch. I slide one arm under Ophelia’s legs and the other behind her back. She doesn’t complain as I lift her up, though she lets out a pained squeak. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to jolt you around.”

She’s quiet as I carry her the short distance to Medical. A man in a white coat waits outside with a stretcher, and I lower Ophelia onto it. He’s small, with a bald head, and has to be in his seventies. The glares he gives us tells me he’s a Brother. “I don’t need a cheer squad. Which of you is coming in with her?”

I meet his gaze. “I am.”

Quinn gives Ophelia a hug and promises to check on her tomorrow, and they leave. The doc and a younger assistant wheel Ophelia in, and for the next hour, I’m a spare part, hovering as they do their thing. Several tests later, she’s smiling again as they pronounce her free of broken bones.

“So, this machine isn’t an X-ray?” Ophelia’s gaze is sharp as she studies the printout of her ankle.

“No. Much more advanced. It shows everything from sprains to hairline fractures. You can see here—” He points to a faint red shaded spot. “—a little soft tissue damage.”

“That’s amazing. What sort of imaging do you have for areas like the brain? Do you have equipment that detects cancerous cells earlier than on the outside?”

I’m sure her barrage of questions will irritate the doctor, but he just smiles. “If you’re really interested, come back tomorrow. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

Ophelia glances at me, and I can see her struggle as she realizes she needs to ask my opinion on the matter. It gives me a sick little thrill. “Can I?”

I raise a brow. “Not if you ask me like that.”

She bites her lip, then forces out, “Please, can I, sir?”

I smile. “Of course you may. Anything to keep my pet happy.”

The doctor leaves, and I bend to pick up Ophelia from her bed.

“I think I can walk. Just not in those shoes.”

I ignore her, picking her up anyway. She’s stiff at first but soon relaxes, her head a pleasant weight on my chest. She has to be exhausted. “You’re never wearing those fucking shoes again.”

She’s quiet as I carry her back to my room, a sharp contrast to her animated chatter with the doctor. She hobbles when I set her down, but she doesn’t seem in too much pain. A few minutes later, she’s right where she belongs, naked and shackled in her pet bed, the shackle on her good ankle, of course.

The possessive rush I get as I lock her in is almost too good. She’s mine, and now there’s nothing holding me back. She begged me to fuck her, and that memory will keep me warm until the day I die.

I don’t give her the blanket right away. I sit on the edge of my bed and can’t stop staring at her. I own her. This woman right here is my property. It’s wrong on every level, but I just don’t care. Is a little power all it takes to turn me into a monster? Does it work the same for everyone? It would explain a lot about the world.

She notices me staring and frowns. “What?”

“What, sir,” I correct, but there’s not much intention behind it. I might get bored of the whole sir thing eventually. It doesn’t matter what she calls me. She’s mine.

She rolls over, tucking herself up in a ball so she’s not giving me a full-frontal view. Shame. It was a beautiful view. “I didn’t realize you were interested in medicine.”

If the question throws her, she doesn’t show it. “I always was. I wanted to be a doctor or a nurse when I was a kid, but I was nowhere near smart enough.”

I don’t like that. Not the words, not the flat resignation in her voice. “What makes you think you weren’t smart enough? Did you struggle with biology?”

She sighs. “I have dyscalculia. It’s not severe, but I struggle with math. I know some people still manage to do medicine with it, but they need special tutoring. My dad said it wasn’t worth it. He pushed me toward marketing and management instead, and that’s what I studied in college. I thought I might enjoy it but…”

It wasn’t worth it.

Randall Calder’s net worth is thirty-two million declared and God knows how much in offshore tax havens. And he didn’t think a tutor was worth it? Bullshit. He had his own agenda. Medicine would have taken Ophelia out of his orbit. Out of his control. Running alegitimate businessfor the family? It kept her right under his nose.

Has she worked it out? Or does she keep telling herself, against all evidence, that her dad is a decent person? Gabriel said she seemed shocked about Eve’s abduction. Maybe she really doesn’t know how shitty her family is. Or doesn’t want to know.

I tuck Ophelia’s blanket around her. She looks small under it, and I get an almost unbearable urge to squish into the bed next to her and give her a cuddle. I can’t, though. Maybe I can relax a bit after the ceremony. For now, everything depends on her respecting me.

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