“Thought so. Hold her down, I have to fix this break in her arm.”
Rose would have sworn the hands that covered her shoulders and eased her back to lie against what she would have sworn was a mattress were shaking. But then again, maybe it was she who was shaking so badly that it felt like Mr. Bedroom Man was shaking along with her.
The most pathetic whimper came from her as Mr. Bedroom Man held her down, and Doctor Man gently circled her wrist and elbow. She knew what was coming, but there was no way to prepare herself for the onslaught of pain that assaulted her when her broken arm was snapped back into place.
At least the pain did something helpful and shoved her into unconsciousness.
That was where she hovered.
In the dark, surfacing briefly for snippets of time. Sometimes the room was quiet, sometimes hushed voices spoke, always Mr. Bedroom Man sat beside her, his low voice murmuring soothing words whenever the pain got too bad and she became restless.
“What are we going to do with her?”
“She knows about us.”
“Can't let her go now.”
“She’ll tell.”
“Her brother will try to use her to find us.”
“Never should have done this.”
“Eagle is going to kill us.”
“We should kill her and be done with it.”
After those words, she would have sworn she heard the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, and a grunt of pain.
Pain. Her own threatened to steal all her strength from her, and Rose whimpered and licked her dry lips. “Yes,” she croaked, liking the idea of no longer being forced to suffer very much. “Kill me.”
“No,” Mr. Bedroom Man snarled, and she saw, or maybe felt, him move so he was standing over her. A large hand—his she assumed—brushed across her forehead in a gentle caress that made her whimper again. Not in pain this time, but because she craved touches like that more than she craved her next painful breath. “You have to live, little ladybug.”
“Don’t want to anymore, too tired,” she murmured before the darkness came for her again, sweeping her away into the sea of nothingness.
There were more whispered words around her, but no more talk about killing her, and she almost regretted her words. Maybe if she’d kept quiet, they would have done it.
Time passed slowly. Or maybe it was quickly. Bright sunlight hurt her eyes, then there was darkness, then sunlight once again.
Next time she woke, Rose felt a little more with it. The pain was still there, but she was able to find some strength to shove it into a box. Blinking open her eyes, she found herself in a bedroom. It was gorgeously decorated, the walls were covered in a deep burgundy wallpaper with a small gold flower pattern, she was lying on a huge four-poster bed, the dark wooden posts carved with flowers, an actual chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, drapes that matched the wallpaper covered what she assumed was a window. The rest of the room’s furniture, two nightstands, a dresser, a wardrobe that could have come right out of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, was all in a dark wood stain, and a chaise lounge that was upholstered with the same pattern as the wallpaper and curtains was pulled close to the bed.
“You're awake.” Mr. Bedroom Man stood as he spoke, towering over her, and the hint of a memory trickled into her mind.
Buried under the rubble, Rose had been positive she was going to die. Not only had her body been burning with pain, but there wasn't much oxygen left around her. Just surviving the initial fall and the concrete debris piling up around her was a miracle, but she’d been certain that she would never make it out alive.
How could she? There was no way six men could remove that much concrete quickly enough, even if they wanted to save her, which they didn't. At least she’d thought they hadn't, now she wasn't so sure.
But she remembered watching as Mr. Bedroom Man literally lifted a chunk of concrete that had to be half the size of her like it was nothing more than a pebble.
Eyes widening, she stared up at the man looming above her. He was no longer wearing a balaclava, so she could finally see all of his face and not just his eyes and mouth. It was an annoyinglyhandsome face given the reasons why had to look at it, strong jaw, high cheekbones, perfectly shaped lips. Some distant part of her mind recognized that it couldn’t be a good thing that she now knew what he looked like, that it meant he didn't intend to let her walk away alive. But right now there was a more pressing issue she had to address. “Who are you, and how did you lift concrete like it was nothing?”
Chapter
Nine
December 28th
8:46 P.M.
