Since I’m wearing Raphael’s newsboy hat, Jude kisses the side of my head, patronizing. “Next time, don’t antagonize the unhinged sociopath. And our best cook.”
Rory snorts and throws the remark over his shoulder, “I’m yeronlycook.”
“Oh, god, this is so weird feeling. When can I take these off?” I touch the top two handles of the scissors-forceps. They meet between my cleavage with the padded ends clamping my nipples. A fancy rope coils under my bust and around my throat to hold them together. The clamps bite, but their intensity distracts me from the pain in my leg. And my pussy.
“When the good doctor tells you.” He taps my nose. The fucker. “And trust me, your beautiful body is never humiliating.”
“Can I at least tie the silk robe around them?”
“Hmm…” Jude strokes his jaw and surveys Vincent, who’s sitting in his designated position.
“Switzerland,” says Vincent. Normally Jude’s line.
Jude looks at Rory, who eyes my tits and licks his lips. “Is that really a question, Doc?”
Seth smiles at me. “I vote yes. She’s been through enough the past week.”
“Kiss ass,” Rory mutters.
Jude peers down at me, and I stiffen, holding my breath. Holding. Holding. He tilts his head. Lungs burning now. Come on, pleeease. I pray to all the medical spirits.
Finally, Jude offers me his sultry stare, a soft nod, and a deep, velvety voice, “You may.”
I exhale and hurry to tie the robe, finding some dignity. Rory walks toward us with trays of food balanced in his hands. Vincent is rubbing Pew Pew’s head. Seth asks me if he can spoon-feed me. Jude is pulling out his chair.
And I’m about to stab something. Because I want one of them to stab me until?—
Raphael opens the door and enters the cabin!
51
Raphael
SHE IS MY GREATEST PRIDE.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Victim or Survivor” - Citizen Soldier and Icon For Hire
“Irreplaceable”
My brothers rise from the table, chins lowered in a submissive ‘welcome home’.
Briella does not—and not simply due to the splint.
She’s chasing her breath…while hunting my eyes.
The intensity of her emotions is something I will never feel. But I read them always. Not with empathy. I assess. I judge.
She reads mine. She perceives. Feminine intuition. And the most profound curiosity and emotion.
I tilt my head.
For once, she does not tilt hers. No, she stares me down, throws down, a silent vow to go bare bones with me.
I don’t move toward her yet. Not when her mirage followed me every day I was gone.
She swallows hard, her eyes both glassy and burning. Like a jewel freshly struck by lightning.
