At least putting her other shoulder back in had been a whole lot easier after Whitney passed out.
Blade had also been able to strip her out of her ruined clothes, quickly wiped her down with as much professional detachment as possible, although she would need a real shower when she was stronger, and got her dressed into another pair of pajamas he’d found in her closet, while she was out. All of that was easier to do while she wasn't awake and in pain, but it still left him feeling like he’d violated her, even if all he’d done was the same thing a nurse would do if he’d dropped her off at a hospital.
Maybe he should drop her off at a hospital.
Being around her, knowing what he’d put her through and that she was likely another of Dr. Gardner’s victims, made him feel like the monster the scientist had tried to turn him into. Knowing that he’d made the right move with the information he’d had at the time didn't help.
Ten.
Hell, he couldn’t get over that.
Whitney had only been ten years old when she was sold to Dr. Gardner. She’d been groomed and trained to be the perfect little scientist slave, and yet, she wasn’t. Not really. Despite over a decade of conditioning and brainwashing, she’d broken away from her captor and made the choice to warn him and his team, knowing it was going to put her life on the line.
Which was why he couldn’t take her to a hospital, even as the rage inside him howled at himself, wanting to punish him for hurting an innocent. Dr. Gardner wouldn't allow Whitney’s betrayal to go unpunished, he’d send people after her if he found out where she was.
So his options were to believe Whitney, which meant she was in danger and leaving her would put her back in the doctor’s clutches, or not believe her, which meant she was an enemy and he needed to get her back to his team for interrogation.
Because one thing he did know was that he was compromised when it came to this pretty blonde.
A moan tumbled from her lips when he began to massage her right arm to get blood flowing again, and her lashes fluttered against paper-pale cheeks. Seemed like Whitney was waking up. Honestly, all of this would be easier if she stayed unconscious. He could just bundle her up, stick her in her vehicle, and drive her to the airport.
“Hurts,” she whimpered as she woke further.
“Got to get blood circulating again,” he said, somewhat gruffly, trying to gentle his tone a little to keep her calm, even as his anger grew.
At her?
At him?
Blade wasn't even sure, but he knew that it was mostly directed at the man truly responsible for all of this, Dr. Ridge Gardner.
“Finish what you were telling me,” he ordered, needing the distraction as much as she did.
“Telling you?” Her eyes had opened now, those pretty blue orbs locked onto him. He could still see fear in them, she didn't trust him, and she was wise not to.
“When you put an exclamation mark together with a question mark, it’s called a …” he prompted, reminding her of what she’d been saying when the pain got to be too much for her and she passed out. Actually, he knew the answer to that one, but he wanted to hear her say it. Maybe even needed to hear her say it, needed to know he hadn't completely broken what more than likely was an innocent woman who had been used and abused.
“An interrobang,” she finished softly. Then she coughed a little, choking on her words, the red marks on her neck, caused by his own hand, darkening almost before his very eyes.
Knowing he’d almost killed her, that he’d lost control like that …
Was there any other way to describe himself than as a monster?
He stood abruptly. Her limbs would need more work before full blood flow returned, but right now she needed water for her throat. Leaving her on the couch, there was no way she was in any condition to escape, he went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and poured it into a glass.
It wasn't until he walked back toward the couch, saw her eyes grow wide, and her body begin to tremble that he realized what she was thinking about.
Hanging from the tree, him pouring water down her nose, choking and spluttering as she probably felt for a moment like she was drowning.
“Just for you to drink,” he assured her, holding up his free hand, palm up, in an attempt to calm her already racing heart.
That heart rate jumped again when he kept moving until he was standing over her, her terrified gaze now locked on the glass in his hands. There was no way for him to avoid this, short of depriving her of water when she was already dehydrated.
“You can't hold the glass on your own,” Blade told her, doing his best to infuse as much gentleness into his tone as possible, even as it didn't seem to do any good. “Your shoulders, and the lack of blood flow, you need help. I swear, Whitney, I'm not going to hurt you, just hold the glass to your lips and let you drink.”
Forcing himself to stand completely still, he waited until she got herself under control. He’d already stolen enough of her autonomy, and now, knowing how she’d spent most of her life, he needed to give her this choice.
After a tense sixty seconds, Whitney gave a tight nod.
