The doctor’s pitying look vied with my uncle’s faux concern for which one was more hysterical. As it was, they were both hypocrites. There had to be bruises around my throat, but did the doctor ask about them? No.
No, he wouldn’t. Why would he? My uncle paid him to see what my uncle wanted him to see. The only people who had ever seen the truth, the negligible handful of people who knew the real story, had all died or disappeared. No one was ever on my side. No one dared.
Not even the one person I knew would take my side in a heartbeat. I’d never told her because I never wanted her in his crosshairs. He disliked her enough as it was.
“We have room at the facility,” the doctor said as my laughter evaporated. The idea of my uncle hurting Lainey filled me with rage and sadness. The competing emotions choked me more effectively than his hands. “From what you’re telling me, the combination of her hysteria and hostility are probably directly related to her incarceration with her kidnappers.”
Kidnappers.
My kidnappers were amazing people. So much better than my so-called family.
“After that ordeal, I can imagine she will need some time to normalize. With the right treatment and proper rest, I don’t see why we can’t help her regain a sense of normalcy.”
“I would be most grateful,” Uncle Bradley said. “You know cost is no object.”
“Of course, if you’ll give me a moment, I’m going to call for some orderlies to arrange transport.”
“We want to keep this discreet, Doctor.” Bradley’s voice held a note of warning. “Both for her sake and the family’s.”
“Of course,” the doctor assured him. “We’ve never had a breach at Pinetree.”
Pinetree… that name?
“We will admit her under a pseudonym. That will also help to shield her and the family.”
“Good.”
Then the doctor was gone and it was just Bradley and me. The laughter had died as had any trace of humor, real or imagined. He limped over to the bed and with a show of exaggerated care, took a seat.
“Stockholm Syndrome,” he advised me in a low voice, “is a real condition. I know you may not understand what is going on or why this is affecting you so badly, but I know. So does the doctor. He agrees with me that you need some longer-term treatment in a facility where you can’t hurt yourself. It would kill your mother to lose you, and your father would never recover.”
I just stared at him. But before I could tell him to go to hell, he reached out a hand to stroke the hair away from my face.
“Princess, you are too valuable to all of us to risk. If that means I have to take steps to eliminate those boys once and for all, I will do it.” The promise, though offered in this tone of mock rationality and kindness, sucked up all the oxygen in the room. “They should never have taken you. Their first mistake was putting their hands on you.”
In a move I didn’t anticipate, he dragged the covers down so he could stare at me. I hated the feeling of any part of him on me, whether it was hands or his gaze.
“They put their mark on you.” He pressed a hand against my abdomen. “We can have this removed, eventually. Don’t worry.”
“No,” I said, in a hoarse croaking sound. The fact I managed to push out the pained syllable made me proud.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he told me with a kind of assuredness that made me insane. “That’s what the syndrome does, it makes you dependent on these criminals. But they aren’t your family. They do not love you the way we do—the way I do.”
But they were my family, I wanted to yell that fact at him. I wanted to cut at him with the knowledge that I had Milo, but I stuffed that reaction down. He was already threatening them. If I revealed Milo’s connection, my uncle might do much worse.
“I need you to get better,” he continued. “I need you to listen to the doctor and fight their influence. I need you to come back to me.” He skated his hand up to my throat and when he gripped it, he forced my gaze back to him. “One way or another, you’re going to do that, Emersyn. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. I will not let them take you from me. I’ll burn them and everything they hold dear to the ground first.”
Real fear crystalized within me.
“Do you understand?”
His dark eyes bored into mine and I swore he could tear through layers of skin, tissue, bone, and muscle to get all the way down to my soul.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I managed to squeeze out past the grip of his hand.
“Thank you, Princess.” His smile was equal parts possessive and relieved. “Having you back means the world to me. I hate to send you away, but it’s the best thing for you. You believe me, don’t you?”
The answer he wanted was my agreement. My acquiescence. I couldn’t give him either. I just stared at him, trying to empty out the anger licking up my insides like a slow-burning, relentless fire that would consume us all. If it were only me…
Fight. Fight and get away. That was what Liam had wanted me to learn. He’d pressed that over and over and over again.
Learn everything you can. That had been Kellan’s promise.
Come back to me. That had been Jasper’s request.
Tell him… Freddie’s plea whispered up inside me. Tell him whatever he needs to hear.
Survive.
I could do this.
“I believe you,” I said, finally. The words didn’t taste like ash on my tongue, they didn’t cut or slice my throat with their lie as they left me. No, I did believe him. My uncle was a sick, disturbed, and altogether dangerous individual. He meant every single word he said.
“I love you so much.” Even that horrible combination of syllables. He meant it. He just had no concept of how much his love hurt me.
Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.
Bending down, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and lingered there like he needed my touch. The leaden weight of my muscles and my inability to push away or even struggle suggested he’d done more than just deposit me in his bed and use me.
They’d drugged me.
I hated him... “…so much.”
“Yes, Princess,” he whispered again, his breath hot against my skin. “I do love you.”
Whatever else he might have added went unsaid at the firm knock on the door. “My orderlies will be here shortly,” the doctor said through the door. “We should get her dressed and ready to go.”
"I’ll take care of it.” The command in his voice ordered the doctor to stay outside. Then Uncle Bradley looked at me. “I’ll get you all dressed, Princess. Won’t that be nice?”
I had no idea how I managed to not throw up. The next several minutes passed in unbearable and agonizing slowness as if time itself worked against me. He brought a washcloth and soap. He cleaned me up, every touch lingering far too long. His eyes were thoughtful and assessing. I didn’t want to imagine what he saw or why.
Escaping my mind and body for this proved impossible, each time I’d try to drift off, he’d bite me or pinch me. It was like he needed to mark me. Those marks hurt. They invaded the languor of the drug-fueled haze with their throbbing presence.