“Miss Sharpe—may I call you Emersyn?”
“No,” I told him. “You could call yourself a cab if that would get you out of here faster.”
“Miss Sharpe, lashing out at me verbally is understandable.”
I cut a look at him. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“I’m a psychiatrist.”
Of course he was. “And the first thing you wanted was to see me naked? What does Freud have to say about that doctor?”
The faintest of sounds came from the bulldog and I shot him a glance, but there was absolutely no change in his expression. He just stared back at me blandly.
I hated him.
I hated the doctor.
I hated this house.
“I’m going back to my room. The last thing I need is a psychiatrist.”
"This will be much easier for you if you cooperate.”
"You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” I said. “It didn’t make anything easier for me.” Ever. “But I’m done cooperating with the people who want to assault me or hurt me. I don’t care what my uncle asked you to do. I refuse treatment.”
His expression tightened. “I don’t think you have much choice in this.”
“Since when…”
“If you’ll sit down and talk to me, maybe we can work on this here. I can prescribe you some medications to help you sleep and soothe your agitation.”
My agitation.
Agitation?
“I’m not agitated by anything other than this conversation. Since I’m not allowed to leave, maybe you could go so that I can go back to my room.”
“Why do you think you’re not allowed to leave?” The fact he could ask that question with a straight face made me laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. Bars on my windows. Threats if I didn’t come home. A guard dog to follow me around and threaten me if I don’t behave.” I glanced at Mr. No Name. “What was it? If I didn’t behave you’d let your friend rape me until I bled then you’d bleed him?”
Silence greeted the statement and the doctor exhaled. “That’s very dark.”
“Oh, you think?” Was this guy for real? “You know what? I’m done. You want to sit here?” I walked over to a chair and sat down. “I’ll sit.”
Then I folded my arms, crossed one leg over the other and tuned him out. Him. The guard dog. This house. The place. Every part of it smelled like my uncle. A hint of tobacco. His favorite bourbon. The cologne he preferred. All of it was cloying and sticking to me. But bit by bit, I shut it out. All of it.
The doctor kept talking and I ignored him.
It took what felt like hours for him to get the point, but he finally admitted defeat. “Very well, I can’t force you to talk.”
No, he couldn’t.
“You can go—”
I didn’t need to hear anything else, I was up and heading for the door. The guard dog unlocked it without waiting for me to even ask.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the doctor called.
Not if I saw him first.
Not making a break for the front hallway or door was the hardest thing I’d ever done. The fact the guard dog wasn’t gripping my arm or manhandling me said he was waiting for me to make a break for it. I went straight up the stairs.
Mr. Shit Hole was waiting at the top, and I managed to brush past him without any contact, but he caught me before I made it all the way past.
“You weren’t told to go to your room yet.” He jerked me to him and I slammed my knee right into his crotch. I half-twisted away to avoid the retaliatory blow, but it never landed. His grip on me ended abruptly and I staggered a few steps. Glancing back, I found Mr. No Name had Mr. Shit Hole pinned against the wall, hand around his throat and his arm wrenched in such a way that it had to hurt like hell.
Good.
“Go,” Mr. No Name said to me. “Now.”
“I’m guessing you mean my room.”
“Smart girl.”
Definitely not a compliment. I walked toward the door, but I kept glancing toward them. Whatever he had to say, he wasn’t saying it loud enough for me to hear. But there was loathing Shit Hole Cole’s eyes.
Right back at you.
Once in my room though, I shut the door and leaned against it. Everything began to shake and it wasn’t just from terror or anger. Laughter threaded up through me, a hysterical little giggle of sound. I was locked up in the madhouse and the inmates had the damn keys. The bars on the window were the last straw.
I was never getting out of this house if my uncle had his way. I tried to get my breathing under control but the laughter made that almost impossible. The locks clicked into place and I pushed away from the door as the tumblers rolled and slotted home.
Exhaustion hit me all at once, but I didn’t want to get into the bed. I walked over to the window seat and slid onto it. At least here, I could look outside and…
My uncle sat at a table in the garden, only he was in a wheelchair. His left leg was up and there was a brace around his knee. The doctor stood a few feet away talking to him. They seemed intensely focused on each other, then as one they glanced up toward my window. I should have ducked out of sight, but I refused.
Instead, I stared at my uncle, aware that he wanted me to see this. Whatever he was telling the doctor—the psychiatrist—he wanted me to know.
Self-harm.
Uncle Bradley motioned to his knee as he looked back at the doctor, his expression one of deep concern. There was no greater actor than my uncle. He knew exactly how to put on a show. I sank down on the window seat and stared at my room rather than the garden. The light changed in the room as the day wore on.
When the locks on the door turned, I didn’t even glance at it. Probably more food I didn’t want to eat. Better that than my uncle—only it was worse. It was Shit Hole Cole and he carried the tray into the room, glaring fire at me.
"You’re going to fight me,” he said as he set the tray down and picked up a pair of pills from the tray. Then the glass of water. “Aren’t you?”
I just stared at him. There were marks on his throat from where Mr. No Name strangled him earlier. The door was still open. Probably a lure to get me to run for it again. No, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I could fake swallow the pills and then spit them out later.
A split-second after I held out my hand, I recognized my mistake. He splashed the water everywhere as he broke the glass and the first jagged cut sliced into my arm. The pain was nothing against the shock. He yelled and I tried to get away from him as he deepened the cut and my blood raced down my arm.
“You son of a…” I tried to claw at him with my free hand to get away and he slashed the glass across my already burned palm and he shouted again.
There was a rush into the room. The blood was racing faster and I was getting lightheaded.
How fucking deep had he cut me?
Even as my vision tunneled, I tried to fight. Then my uncle said, “Stay with us, Princess. I can’t lose you again.”
Fuck that.
I’d rather go.
CHAPTER 11
LIAM
The king had been up my ass for days. It was like as soon as Emersyn vanished onto that plane, he’d known I had time on my hands. Or maybe he didn’t care if I had time or not. Probably the latter. At least I wasn’t alone in my pain. Adam had been summoned right alongside me, and seemed to be in the same mood I was. Ezra wasn’t present, but I didn’t worry about him. Of the two of them, Adam was probably the most lethal.