Page 36 of Brutal

Fuck.

How long can I endure all of this?

CHAPTER 9

Drake

Mimosa has been the perfect doll for the past few days, ever since I dunked her under the bath water a few times, and it’s been frustrating.

Infuriating.

I want a reason to hurt her again.

A part of me remembers that I don’t need a reason to hurt her. She’s mine, and I can do whatever I want with her. But I’m aware that she might have a breaking point, and if I end up with someone like Hunter’s Stef, it’s game over.

Ugh. I don’t understand how he can be so far gone over a submissive little bitch, but my friends seem to have horrible taste in women.

The only frustrating thing is that Mimosa genuinely can’t seem to walk, and crawling isn’t very efficient. It’s harder for her to get my drinks and serve me like she should be when she’s limping so hard.

“Mimi,” I finally say when she staggers across the living room a day later. “Sit down on the ottoman.”

Her expression doesn’t change at all, even though I know she must be in pain as she slowly makes her way to the ottoman and sits down. The only concession to her injuries is how she keeps her feet angled away from the floor.

“Lift your feet,” I order her.

She obeys in that same robotic way she’s been doing everything, and I hiss as I see the bottoms of her feet. Fuck. I know I’ve been pushing her, but I didn’t expect her feet to be this red, this inflamed.

Maybe even infected.

I can’t take her to the doctor, which means I’m left with only Hunter.

I have to make it look like I at least tried before I call him, though.

I grunt and get up, stalking toward the bathroom, and I yank out the first aid kit. I need to get a better one if I’m going to hurt her, because this one only has the basics.

Need your help. Do you have antibiotics? I text Hunter.

I’m sure I’ll get his usual spiel about how he’s a doctor for women having babies and not for women getting the shit beaten out of them, but whatever. He’ll give in for reasons I can’t even understand.

I am not at work or at home, is what Hunter types back.

I grit my teeth, ignoring my irritation.

Mimosa is still sitting there like a puppet, and I text back, Still need antibiotics, bro.

It’ll piss him off, but what else is new?

I grab a packet of alcohol wipes and open it, wrinkling my nose at the harsh smell. “Put your feet up,” I direct Mimosa. “I’m going to clean them.”

Like I should have to begin with, probably, but whatever.

She follows my orders without protest. I don’t particularly want to be on my knees in front of her, but I can’t think of any other way to get her feet clean.

When I look up, I notice that her face is flushed and she’s sweating. I reach out to touch her forehead, and grimace at how hot it is.

Fuck.

My phone buzzes again, and I swallow a sigh of relief when I see Hunter’s response: Fine.