No muscle bound goon or overbearing father was going to make me give up on my son. If it was the last thing I did, I was going to get him away from my skulk. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt my father would destroy Tommy given half the chance.
I couldn't allow that.
My entire body ached, and breathing seemed to be optional at this point. I drew in a slow, stuttering breath then another and another. Each one hurt, and there was a sucking pain in my ribcage every time. I was thinking broken rib. I'd had one before and kind of knew what they felt like.
They hurt.
A lot.
When the door opened behind me, I didn't even have the energy to lift my head.
"Get him upstairs and get him cleaned up. His mate and her father are on their way to see him. They'll be here by morning. He needs to be presentable."
"Do you want me to make him shift, sir?" Roger asked. "I wasn't done with him."
Perverse bastard.
My father sounded so bored as he replied, "No, just get him cleaned up. It would do him some good to remember his punishment a little longer."
When Roger released the cuffs, I dropped to the floor in an ungraceful heap. I couldn't even cry out. It would have taken more power than I had at the moment.
I wasn't ashamed to admit I whimpered when Roger kicked me in the gut, my pain flaring up higher than it was before. It was pretty much the only sound I could make at this point.
"Get up!" Roger shouted.
Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.
Roger kicked me again. "I said get up, you little shit!"
Still wasn't going to happen.
I whimpered again when Roger grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me up. I stumbled as he dragged me out of the hell room and down the corridor toward the stairs. I could barely keep up, stumbling several times.
When my legs gave out, Roger didn't stop. I doubted he was even aware I had fallen to my knees. He just kept going, dragging me along. I clawed at his hand, his wrist, anything to get him to let go of me. Nothing worked.
By the time we reached the second-floor landing, not only was there a trail of blood after me, but I was positive I was going to be bald. Roger dragged me down the hallway to my room then inside to the bathroom. He pretty much tossed me into the shower, clothes and all.
"Get cleaned up."
I hissed when Roger turned on the water.
The ice-cold water.
Roger really was a bastard.
My fingers trembled with cold and pain and despair as I pulled my clothes off and dropped them onto the floor right outside the shower. I didn't want to be naked in front of Roger, but at this point, I just wanted to be clean so he'd go away and I could let go of the tears I was fighting to keep in.
He didn't have a right to my pain.
My teeth started to chatter almost immediately. I was shaking so hard, I could barely grab the shampoo to wash my hair. Each brush of my fingers over my abused scalp hurt so bad it felt as if Roger was still pulling on my hair.
I washed my hair then scrubbed the rest of my body as best as I could. Each move, each breath, was excruciating. All I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and sleep for the next week. Maybe a month.
I knew that wouldn't be allowed.
The moment I stepped out of the shower, Roger tossed a towel at me then stepped back. I wrapped the towel around my body and followed after him. I stopped at the end of my bed and just stood there. I knew I needed to dry off before I caught a chill, but I wasn't sure I had the energy. Collapsing on the mattress was looking pretty damn good.
"Get dressed. The alpha will come for you when your new mate arrives."
