Waking up from the operation had been terrifying. Surrounded by piercing beeps and turned into a pincushion with needles.
Massaging my temples, I forced my brain to work.
What happened last night?
I blinked.
The Weaver quarters pieced together like a storybook—bolts of fabric hanging from the walls, messy table with scissors and chalk, and the grey centrepiece for my collection draped otherworldly on the mannequin.
My eyes flew to the towel discarded on the emerald W embroidered carpet.
Did I get dressed in a hurry?
I followed the trail of fuchsia pink dress draped over the wingback by the fireplace. I frowned at the unwanted lingerie on the foot of the bed.
Then I saw the zipped garment bag.
Andeverythingpropelled into me with razor blades.
Poker. Cognac. Blindfolds. Daniel. Cut.Kestrel.
My hands flew to cover my mouth.
Oh, my God. What have I done?
I cringed, reliving the way I’ve softened toward Kes, the way I’d found unwanted pleasure in his arms, then I buckled under my hate for Jethro at leaving me there. He just left!
And Kes stayed and helped and—
He drugged you!
My heart catapulted into a thousand beats.
Oh, God. What did they do?
Panic and horror shook my hands as I shoved the duvet away and looked at my body. I didn’t know what I expected to find—bruises and cuts and obvious marks of rape—but the stark whiteness of a nightdress hid answers.
I have to know.
I had to see, had to come to terms with what foul, disgusting things might’ve been done while I was unconscious.
I need a mirror.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the thick mattress, I leapt.
My feet touched something cool and hard, rather than warm and soft. My balance tripped, my ankle twisted, and I tumbled forward to land on all fours.
A masculine curse filled the space. Something shoved me, turning my fall into a somersault. I cried out, coming to a halt on my back.
Jethro.
The instant my eyes landed on him, the betrayal over the past few days choked my lungs. Those damn drugs. His twisted family. A lifetime of conditioning and a soul thoroughly broken from circumstances I could never understand.
My heart bled for him. But at the same time, I no longer cared.
He’d thrown me to the wolves and left.
He didn’t deserve my compassion or affection or tenderness.
