I peer through the glass door, expecting to see a mess, everything skewwhiff from a tantrum or something. But it’s still in the same condition I left it in a couple of days ago. The workstations have every instrument perfectly aligned along the surface, just how I like it. Perhaps she was too scared to even move. I peer down at the other side of the glass, where she’s still huddled up in a little ball. She looks so small. Has she moved once?
I tap a knuckle on the glass. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
She doesn’t move. I click the button on the little remote and buzz the collar. She still doesn’t move. Shit.
“Is she alive?” Alf asks from behind.
“She looks pretty fucking dead to me,” Fiz mutters.
I punch in the code for the door and the bolts whir open. I throw the door open and drop to my knees, heart rate increasing by the second. Alf and Fiz come round the back of me, watching her.
“Elodie?” I say.
Her blonde hair’s spilled across her face, her hands curled up into her chest, knees pulled up to meet them.
I tentatively reach out a hand to check for a pulse. I sweep some hair off her neck and see dried blood where the collar should be. My heart does a weird flip in my chest. I don’t have time to look for the collar or question what just happened in my body, as her hands come away from her chest, one flying towards me and I only get a flash of light reflecting off some kind of metal before a sharp pain explodes in my arm.
I fall back with a growl while Elodie leaps up. She’s a blur of black and white as she hurls herself out the door. Stupid girl could have locked us in here to give herself some time, but she’s too caught up on her little escape plan she leaves the door wide open and Fiz and Alfie are after her a split second later.
Knowing she won’t get far, I look down at my forearm. The little devil stabbed me with a fucking scalpel. Lucky really, that’s such a small instrument, could have been a lot worse. I look around and spot the shock collar across the room. She’d sawed through it.
I grip my arm, holding my hand over the gash to try to stem the bleeding while I head back up the steps.
I find them halfway up the stairs, Alfie pinning her back to his front, arms locked around her waist, while she kicks and screams. She’s swinging the scalpel manically while Fiz dodges each slash of the blade, trying to find an opening to disarm her.
I march up the steps, reaching Fiz’s side, and as soon as she swipes left to right, I grab her wrist when she swings it to the left again. My blood-coated hand splatters against her skin.
“Enough,” I say firmly.
Fiz grabs the scalpel, wrenching it free from her grasp.
I force the adrenaline to calm down. I can’t blame her, the girl’s got a lot of fight in her, even if it’s at my expense. I’m quite impressed, really. I may want an easy ride, but taming this creature might prove to be amusing after all. I haven’t comeacross a woman this resilient in a long time. Perhaps ever. Fiz might be right, a challenge might be fun.
“Take her to the living room.” I lead the way up the rest of the steep steps. I grab a towel from the kitchen as we pass and wrap it messily around my arm for the time being.
All three of our dogs come to check me out once we reach the lounge. I reassure them and they disperse, hovering around the chairs, keeping close. Alfie carries a weeping Elodie towards us.
“Sit her down.” I point to the sofa.
She continues to resist, but as soon as she sees Sarge approach her, she freezes in Alfie’s arms.
“Your best bet is to just sit still next to me, El,” Alf says.
She does, her eyes wild with fear, chest heaving in heavy pants.
Once everyone’s settled and I’ve got my rage under control and my vision clears a bit, I see her neck clearly for the first time. Smeared in blood, crusted and a brownish red. She could have slit her throat getting that collar off.
Dismissing the grisly thought and the odd nausea that comes with it, I start speaking. “I’m willing to look past this little debacle, Elodie, and show you I can be a nice man.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Sarge, who’s staring at her by the foot of the sofa. “I’m willing to offer you a deal.”
She finally whips her eyes to me. “No, you’re not.”
If I wasn’t so focused on keeping my cool, I might have found her accurate intuition amusing. “I am. The thing is, I don’t have the time nor the patience to look after someone as fucking rabid and irritating as you. Like I said yesterday, training dogs is easier than you. But I would also like this little arrangement to work. It can benefit both of us, but you refuse to see that, apparently. So, I’m willing to give you an opportunity to get out of it.”
She looks dubious, unbelieving, but she nods once to urge me on.
I rearrange the towel to a dry patch, the blood soaking quickly through, so I lift it above my head. I can’t make this bet with her if I fucking pass out.
Fiz gets to his feet at the action. “I’ll go find Maggie.”
