“I’m Sorcha MacTavish and this man bought me like an animal,” she says boldly. “Can you help me get out of here?”
Ah. Clever girl. Still looking for ways to escape me.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” he says heavily. “But I have known Mr. Taylor for the last twenty years and I suspect you’re in much better hands with him than with the men who took you. Can I take a look at your foot?”
She seems to shrink, giving him her foot without protest and bowing her head, silent, aside from answering the doctor’s questions.
No doubt saving her energy for her next round of hysterics.
Leaving him to the examination, I glare at Callum. “Guard the door, watch over her without actually laying eyes on her while she’s half-naked. Am I clear?”
Callum’s a big guy, like me. He’s a product of Her Majesty’s Navy and covered in scars and tattoos. The man’s been my Second for nearly a decade, which is why he thinks he can get away with a fleeting grin before hastily adopting a sober expression.
“Of course, boss.”
“Callum, I can always send you on an inspection of all our sheep and cattle farms,” I warn.
He hates livestock with a passion after growing up on a farm.
“Understood, Boss.”
I make some calls in my office and check in with my personal assistant, who is used to being woken up at any time of the day or night. It’s close to four am, and I should get some sleep, but the thought of the girl with her bleeding toe and skimpy lingerie is distracting me more than I like.
So many possibilities… I could start with pictures of her chained and weeping on the bed. A rare grin crosses my lips when I imagine her brother’s agonized expressions. They couldn’t protect their sweet little sister.
Again.
***
Dr. Fujimoto knocks on my door an hour later.
“Any other injuries?” I ask, my gaze not leaving my laptop.
“A lot of deep bruising,” he says, rubbing his eyes. It’s dawn by now and I likely pulled him from his bed when I called. “There’s a small gash on her head, it just needed cleaning and some Steristrips. I had to stitch up two of the cuts on her feet, though, the one on her heel is quite deep. Walking on them is not advisable for a few days.”
“What about the aftereffects of the drug they used?” I ask, “And any sign of a tracker?”
“None,” he shakes his head. “Whatever they gave her is designed to confuse the victim, weaken them. She should be more herself after a long rest. She’s mildly dehydrated, but not enough to need an IV.”
Leaning back in my chair, I watch him press his lips together angrily. I’ve never seen our good doctor displeased before.
“Did you insert my tracker?”
“As ordered,” he says shortly. The lack of sleep is making him careless. “She pleaded with me again after you left. I recognized her last name. The trauma from being kidnapped - twice - will be very damaging for her.”
“She seemed rather undamaged when she was threatening to kill everyone in the club.” The memory makes me grin briefly before his sour expression sobers my mood.
“Can I ask what you’re planning to do with her?” The good doctor must know he’s taking his life in his hands by questioning me.
“I’ll do whatever I want to her. Goodnight.” I turn my attention back to the stock reports I was reviewing, barely noticing him leave the room.
Chapter Eight
In which Alastair finds that his feelings for his captive are more complex than he would prefer.
Sorcha…
When I wake up, the handcuffs are gone, but my ankle is shackled to a cleverly concealed iron loop in the bed frame.
