Page 140 of Stutter

“You made a mess of yourself. Come, let’s get you clean. And before you try to run, there are heavily armed guardsstanding at every exit and entrance. They’re told to shoot on sight if you try to run. Now, I’ve unstrapped you. Sit up.”

I get immediate vertigo sitting up and lean over, the last remaining bile landing on Stephen’s shoes. I look at my wrist.

Real.

I really puked on his Armani’s.

Good.

He helps me stand on weak wobbly legs, my mask falling to the ground, just an inch away from my puddle of vomit, with not even one trace of disgust on his face and leads me to a wall. I lean into him, hating myself for being so dependent on him, his warmth. He looks so fucking pleased with himself. Utterly satisfied to have me dependent on him.

He removes my scrub gown, and I’m completely bare for him. The thought alone makes me recoil but Stephen holds me tighter, putting his hands against my flesh and squeezes roughly, the tips of his nails scratching. I try to push him off but I’m too weak.

I don’t allow myself to cry.

The water comes boiling on my skin and I welcome the burn, as I watch him lean, the water wetting his button-up. He didn’t bother to undress. He doesn’t care that he’s soaked, he merely cares about getting me clean. To be the shiny, pretty little dolly he remembers me as. A wash rag of soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. My bile washes off his Armani’s, sliding down like yellow slime around my feet and down the drain. He dries me. Carefully. Then it’s a new hospital gown.

I can hear the vials in his breast pocket clink together with every move he makes, and my skin slickens with nervous sweat.

I shiver, the room colder with my hair wet.

He uncaps and then hands me a tiny bottle of water. I chug it down.

“Your men are circling my property.” He says once I’m sitting. Someone changed the thin mattress while he was showering me. Someone else was in here. I look around the room, unable to find Shadow. “That was a surprise to me, Raven.” He pulls up the rolling chair and sits before me like he's my doctor.

Is he?

I look at my wrist.

No.

“You know Arlo… Arlo was my last remaining son. A half-breed. His mother’s Puerto Rican genes overpowered the Prescott ones and so, he had the perfect cover. You know he watched your little boyfriend’s lectures and read over case files he closed to get an accurate sense of acting as a detective? All those pictures, Raven… you really should close your blinds. Sure had your professor nervous there, for a while. But alas, your boyfriend was the smarter of the two and because of that, I can admit defeat and so here we are. Your lovers are circling my property, and you’re in my prison, with my men standing guard and ready to shoot. So, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do-“

He doesn't get another chance to finish his sentence. There’s a commotion upstairs, violent and loud and my heart stammers in my chest, hopeful but unwilling to believe it because if they’re here, that means they aren’t safe.

The sound of fireworks goes off as well as the music in my mind, a low, beautiful, mesmerizing hum. My breath hitches, my heart rioting, and I lunge.

Knocking Stephen off the rolling chair and onto the floor and straddle him.

The music begins, a low, beautiful hum, taking over me. I hear nothing but the music as I punch Stephen with all the strength I have in me, he swings back, trying to catch my arms but I don’t let him. I keep going until I hear a crash and thundering footsteps booming down the stairs and all can think about is the blood coating my fists and fingers. Stephen gurgles beneath me but I’m not finished.

“Little bird-“

“Hold… him.” I rasp, my voice heavy with vitriol as his eyes widen. So clear. So beautiful. So blue. I should be ecstatic that they’re here but nobody…nobodytries to break me and gets away with it. My vision is blurry and red when Jonas crouches before me, taking hold of Stephen’s arms, his scent delicious and soothing. I let out a sob of happiness, wanting to do nothing more than crawl unto his arms and never let go but I reach into Stephen’s breast pocket, the pretentious asshole, and fish out the vials and syringe.

With shaky hands and numb fingers, I hold them up to the light to see the clear one and uncap the syringe.

“Butterfly, don’t do this.”

“Not your… butterfly,” I reply hoarsely, ready to plunge it into his chest but Damon stops me, reading the vial and his stare becomes narrowed and dangerous.

“Allow me, Amourette. Maverick, help me with his sleeve.”

A ripping sound. I don’t dare look up from Stephen’s busted face and he doesn’t dare look away from me. An ocean crashing against steep brown rock.

“A fucking queen.” He gurgles and right before his jaw goes slack, “This won’t kill me.”

I hand Damon the other vial and quirk a brow at the handsome motherfucker at my mercy. Mercy I don’t have to give.

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