It’s the same rebuttal from my brain that I’m used to but thistime it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. If it’s his disease, why did I have to swallow the bitter medicine?
The tears threaten again but I sniff them back, a surge of anger burning off the last of them.
I go to bed, grateful to be done with the day.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LOCK
When I wake,my mouth is wide open. My tongue is dry as paper, dry enough to make a clicking sound when I tap it. I push off the covers, then stumble into the bathroom and scull a glass of water, then another, my heart pounding in my chest and splinters from the light overhead stabbing my eyes.
It’s only when I stumble back to bed that I realise it’s missing a second occupant. A soft echo from earlier in the evening slips into my head, a girl sobbing. Nothing new there, but the tears being happy ones were a change. The utter gratitude something I’ve never experienced before.
Kari’s been good for improving my tongue action, but she’s never wept when I made her come.
I wouldn’t mind experiencing it again—right now—but have no idea where George is hiding out.
There’s a three second tussle where I fight myself over the urge to just tumble back into bed and try to sleep my impendinghangover into submission, or go trawling through the house, discovering where the girl’s hidden herself.
She can’t have gone far. The remnants of her dress are on the floor, looking forlorn now I’ve sliced and diced it. And that after I told her she could keep the stuff. Not the actions of a grateful host.
My shirt is missing. I stand in the middle of the room, staring at the door, rubbing my hand across my abdomen.
But it’s not really a choice. I have to go after her. Even if I wasn’t keen on trapping her in some room and banging her brains out against the wall, I need to make sure she isn’t bumping into the wrong someone within these halls. My father would make short work of her, and I don’t want to piece together the spoils after he’s had a turn.
From experience, there won’t be a lot left.
The thought makes me wince, and another immediately chases it—harden up. My mind helpfully channels my father’s voice for full effect. It’s like a mental slap.
I retrieve my trousers from the hamper and step into them, then peer out the door at the dark, silent house as I try to work out where she would have gone. The kitchen seems like the best bet.
Keeping my ear cocked for any sound, I head downstairs, cutting through the dining room to reach the kitchen. No one there.
Where else?
She liked all the art shit on the walls. It could be she’s taking an extended tour while everyone’s asleep.
I enter the study, relaxing when I see the fire. “Hey,” I call out, so she’ll know it’s someone friendly.
Except the person who responds is Patrick, who turns hischair, showing the wide grin that means he’s been stirring the pot again.
“Are you looking for someone?”
My head throbs so hard all I want to do is throw back a measure of scotch and wait for it to retreat. “You seen George about?”
“Sure. Took her along to Creighton’s so he could have a few hours of playtime. If you hurry, there might still be enough left for you to have another turn.”
I’m halfway out of the room, fists clenched and inner monster raging, when I hear the note of humour underneath the words. Sure enough, when I turn back, Patrick’s smirk has become even more insufferable.
“Have you seen her, really?”
“Yeah. She came in here all upset, wanting to leave. Since she was naked apart from a thin shirt and a pair of heels, I did the gentlemanly thing and drove her home.” He waits a second, eyes pinned to mine with delight. “She was very,veryappreciative.”
I’m halfway back to my room before I can draw in a full breath. I hate this fucking house and the people in it. The worst of whom might be my father, but my cousin comes a close second. So close, it’s like he’s trying to overtake the leader.
Back in my bedroom, I sip at another glass of water, tossing a few painkillers down my throat though it’ll need something a lot stronger than that to ward off trouble.
I slump onto the bed, staring miserably into the darkness as I imagine how much better it would have been if I’d woken and George was still here. How I could have slung my arm around her waist and dragged her closer. Nibbling at her neck, thrusting into her, waiting for the choked sounds of gratitude as I provedto her that last night wasn’t a fluke. That I could make her body sing whatever tune she needs whenever I want.
