Page 79 of Thorns of Blood
I aimed the flashlight in the direction of the trees where I suspected the shadow was lurking. No movement. No rustle of the leaves. Nothing.
It had to be all in my head.
If it was Santiago or his men, they would have attacked already.
No sooner than I thought that, a pain exploded in my side. Something crunched against my ribcage.
At first, I stared at the blood stain growing while frozen, not sure what happened. When I looked up, I recognized the shadow.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Santiago and The Mistress stood there, watching me, while one of my husband’s men pulled a knife from my ribs. Blood spurted from the wound and dripped onto the dirt.
To keep myself from stumbling, my fingers dug into The Mistress’s red dress, my nails ripping into her skin.
She hit my hand and the flashlight slipped from my trembling fingers. I fell backward, my head hitting the dirt. A metallic taste filled my mouth before blood gurgled out from it.
I struggled for breath when I felt the weight on top of me.
With the last of my strength, I fought and fought, but pain from the knife wound was too intense. My eyes rolled back, slowly closing. Her manic laughter crackled through the air.
The last words I heard were Santiago’s. “Run again and I’ll kill you.”
I jolted awake, and for a moment, I was frozen in place. It took several heartbeats to become aware of a set of strong arms wrapped around me. I peeled my face away from a strong chest and met the forest-like gaze that I’d grown so fond of.
I was trembling all over, my teeth clattering and my nails digging into his chest as if I was searching for an anchor.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Giovanni’s voice soothed. “I’m going to make all those nightmares vanish, wildflower. You just wait and see.”
The sense of relief hit me and I closed my eyes, sinking into the soothing feeling of comfort and safety for the first time in a decade.
Tap, tap, tap.
Some might’ve found the measured rhythm of the tapping pen soothing, but it set me on edge. Maybe seeing a psychiatristwasn’t the best course of action for me, especially considering my family’s history of psychos.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
My hands lay unmoving in my lap, appearing relaxed all the while invisible blood stained them. What a conversation it would be if I told her the truth about myself. The idea was tempting, albeit stupid.
Instead, I crossed my legs, my cream-colored Chanel skirt immaculate, and narrowed my eyes on the clock hanging on the wall, watching the long hand tick slowly.
We’d arrived in Boston mere hours ago. Giovanni’s yacht docked at the harbor, and the first stop we made was to meet with this therapist. If that wasn’t an indication of how this marriage—and our relationship—was going, I didn’t know what was.
The silence must have stretched too long because Dr. Freud spoke up again. “It can be anything. As simple or as complicated as you want it to be.”
This was abadidea. I didn’t like strangers, talking to them even less so. It wasn’t as if I could tell her who and what I was, what I’d done.
The good doctor’s office had a nice ambiance, the space decorated in warm colors and a couch that tempted any lost soul to sink into it, confessing all their sins. Too bad it probably rarely worked—all our sins recognizing the need to remain secret for all eternity.
“My favorite singer is Eminem,” I said. She did sayanything, after all. “Of course, it depends on my mood.”
Running a thoughtful hand across her jaw, she asked, “And what are your moods usually?”
I shrugged. “Happy, sad, angry, glad… You know, standard ones.”
Dr. Freud’s Ph.D. from Harvard hung behind her, the evidence of her accomplishments—but also of a fairly normal life—undeniable.
“There’s nothing standard about feelings, Liana.”
