Page 48 of Fierce Protector

I’m going to slaughter the man who took her from me and enjoy every second as I squeeze the life out of him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KATERINA

Istartle awake, my eyes flaring wide only to burn my retinas when I look straight up into the bright white lights above me. Squinting does two-fifths of fuck-all to relieve the glare, but as my eyes adjust, I recognise the shape of the surgical lights and the familiar cantilevered arm they hang off. I can just about make out my surroundings as the imprints of the lightbulbs fade from my vision.

The unease shifts to dread as I take in the rest of the room. I’m in an operating room, but it’s not one I recognise. It’s dated and sparse, not containing half of the supplies and equipment I would expect in a functional OR. Even the monitor beside me looks like it’s seen better days.

I crane my neck but I can’t see the screen from here, though I can hear the unsteady beep of my heart rate. I catch sight of a surgical pole out of the corner of my eye,and I panic when I notice the tube that trails down and across towards me.

I try to roll off the gurney but only succeed in turning my head to the side. My pulse races as my anxiety builds. This doesn’t feel right. I try to move again, but this time, I only succeed in lifting my head a few inches off the bed, and I let out a startled scream when I catch a glimpse of green surgical draping across my torso.

I struggle to hold my head up, crying out when the back of my skull lands with a dull thud on the cold surface of the trolley beneath me. I attempt to calm my thoughts, telling myself everything will be fine, Stefano will find me, but when I try to focus long enough to make sense of my situation, my thoughts are clouded with the aftereffects of whatever I was injected with earlier. I flick my gaze across to the wall and spot the clock.

I look at the time, noting that I haven’t been out for too long, maybe an hour at most, but that’s not what I want to concentrate on. I need something to centre me, so I watch the second hand slowly revolving around the clock face and time my breathing to the seconds passing by.In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four, in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.Box breathing until I wrangle my rapid pulse back under control and my thoughts become clearer.

I cycle through what I can and cannot do. I can move my head. I can feel the draft of the room as it glides across my cheek. But I’m struggling to feel anything else and when I lift my head again and try to sit up, I notice the restraints. Well, I see them, but I don’t feel them.In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.

I’m completely disconnected from my body. The thick leather straps are wrapped around my wrists, across my hip bones, and as I stretch my neck as far as I can, there’s a hint of the same leather binding my legs to the gurney as well. I urge my body to move but it’s like the wires are crossed, I can see the slightest movement against the tight binds, but I can’t feel it.

It can only mean one thing. I’ve been given a spinal block, and whatever sedatives I was probably dosed with in the elevator are wearing off. Technically, I can move; I’m just numb and have no sensation from the neck down. My heart rate begins to run away with itself, the beeps from the monitor only intensifying the danger. I can’t seem to cut through the torrent of emotions to be able to make sense of why I’m here.In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.

A single tear escapes the corner of my eye, searing a trail into my hairline. I’ve never felt so alone or so vulnerable.Please let Stefano come for me. Please let him find me.

In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.

Pull it together, woman.Now is not the time to fall apart. I can fall apart later.Fuckthere had better be a later. I only just got to experience my happily ever after and if it’s cut short, I’m going to come back and haunt whoever the fuck thinks they can turn my dream into a nightmare. I didn’t spend all those years pining for Stefano to be robbed at the eleventh hour. How fucking dare someone do this to me.

In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.

I’m alone in the room, but judging by the tray of surgical instruments laid out beside the bed, that won’tbe the case for long. There’s something familiar about the way they’re positioned, but my mind is still muddled, and I can’t figure out what. The door in the corner opens with a loud bang that reverberates off the stark walls, and my head snaps to see who’s coming into the room.

I shift my gaze and struggle to focus, my vision still blurry from the drugs in my system. There’s a figure standing in the muted shadows at the edge of the room. I can’t tell much from the shapeless blue scrubs and the generic surgical cap and mask, but the moment he steps into the light my heart drops into my stomach as soon as those cold eyes lock on mine.

I know those eyes.

Doctor Dylan Jenkins. All this time, it was him…

I don’t look away, trapped by his cruel, malevolent stare. His cheeks perk up behind the surgical mask, hinting at a smile.

“It’s about time you came back to the land of the living, Katerina,” he says scornfully. As if my resilience against the drugs he’s pumped into me, is in any way under my control.

My mouth is dry as I spit out my response. “Fuck you, asshole.” I’m aiming for angry and incensed with a hint of disdain, but if I can hear the tremor in my voice, I’m sure that he can too.

I can’t tell whether it’s the coarseness of my words or the obvious hatred I have for him that bothers him more, but I don’t miss the way he baulks at my outburst, a veil of anger falling over his eyes. The shift in his demeanour is instant, like a switch being flipped deciding my fate.The beeps on the monitor kick up even more, betraying my fear, and I hate myself for showing weakness to him.

“Such a filthy mouth for such a talented woman,” he says offhandedly as he moves across the room and picks up a scalpel in his gloved hand, inspecting the blade. “I should punish you for that. Sullying your perfect mouth with such poisonous words. Tell me, should I wash out your mouth or simply cut out your tongue?”

I’m still processing what he said when his hand grips my jaw so tight I know he’s leaving marks, but that’s not what scares me. It’s the scalpel he’s holding millimetres from my lips. He forces my mouth open, wringing a strangled shriek from me when he moves the blade forward.

I’ve never felt fear like this, even if I could move I don’t think I’d be able to. His gaze holds mine and I see nothing but a malevolent pleasure reflected there. He’s enjoying every second of control he exerts over me.

Seemingly satisfied at having scared me into submission, he withdraws the blade and releases my jaw. “That’s better. You just need a firm hand.”

His words make me want to retch, but I shove every feeling of disgust as far down as I can, knowing that my only option is to keep him talking if I want to buy myself some time.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, trying hard to stifle my pleading tone, loathing that he has power over me.

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